Revenge
Erik was sitting at his organ in his lair deep beneath the Paris opera house, head in his hands, sheets of music written for the next opera production with lines crossed out scattered across the floor and the top of the organ. He was more than just the manager of the opera house, he often wrote entire operas for its performances yet just now he couldn't compose anything he felt worthy of being performed. It was good, just not good enough. The climax had to have more power to it, more sensuality, more spark. After all, this would be the grand opening of the1871 season. The box office for the year would depend largely on this production. Maybe he could…
Nadir entered uncertainly, keeping an eye on the figure at the organ.
"Don't you ever knock, Persian?" the figure asked without changing position.
"I came to offer you a respite, a challenge, if you will."
"I don't need a respite and I have more than enough challenges in my life." He looked up and evaluated Nadir's attire. "Are you going to a wedding?"
Nadir opened his coat to show Erik his suit trimmed in embroidery and removed his hat, gesturing to the intricate embroidery designs worked on the blood red colored velvet background of his brimless hat."What, this? No, just going to visit a friend. Care to join me?"
"Why would I want to do that?" he replied testily.
"Because you need a distraction, something to take your mind off of... her."
Erik turned to face Nadir, ready to tell him just what he thought of this idea when Nadir continued, "It will help. It always does."
Erik scoffed at the idea.
"Come on. You need some fresh air, a little exercise," Erik glared at him ..."I meant the walk, Erik. If you want you can sit and wait until I'm ready to come home."
Nadir held out Erik's cloak and fedora. "Come on. At least a change of scenery might help you gain some perspective."
Erik scoffed again, but got up from his organ and crossed the floor with his silent panther-like stride to where Nadir was waiting. "Change of scenery, huh?" He testily donned the proffered garments and allowed Nadir to hold the door for him and left the lair. They made their way to the concealed side entry to the opera house before stepping out into the alleyway and heading for their destination several blocks away. Once out in the air, Nadir took in a deep breath and let it out before gesturing to Erik to do the same.
"Damp night air is not healthy,"
"It's healthier than that dank stuff you breathe under the opera house!"
Erik shot Nadir a look that tried to be contentious, but he knew that Nadir was right and couldn't quite pull it off. "Maybe so, but I still don't see the point of this."
"Who knows? You might find someone who appeals to you. Someone else you can rescue or train?" Nadir suggested with a smirk.
"Hardly!"
"Well, I just think…"
"And there might lay the crux of your problem. The more you talk, the more you breathe. I prefer not to breathe any more of this damp air than is absolutely necessary."
Nadir opened his mouth and turned to reply, but then thought better of it and shooting an exasperated look at Erik, continued on in silence. Erik glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and smirked, maybe lifted his chin just a bit higher.
It wasn't long before they arrived at Madam Prouvaire's Emporium, although Erik had been able to detect the sickeningly sweet aroma of cheap perfume for well over a block before they got there. When Nadir opened the door, the impact was worse than walking into the women's dressing rooms at the opera house. The smoke from all the cigarettes and cigars mingling with the perfume created an almost palpable presence in the room.
Erik turned to leave, "I'll wait outside."
"I wouldn't advise it, not in this neighborhood. Just have a seat and you'll become accustomed to it."
The only seating in the entryway was cheaply furnished gaudy plush chairs and têtê-a-têtê benches. Erik found a chair as close to the door and as far away from the activities as possible, removed his cloak and folded it in his lap, placing his hat on top. After awhile he became aware of one of the ladies paying particular attention to him. She finally approached, "Bon Soir, Monsieur. Anything I could… do for you?"
He looked at her with her heavily kohled eyes and painted lips, her 'dress' appearing to be more of a night dress with a corset on top of it. "I hardly think so," he replied dryly, looking away.
"Well, I just wondered," she said in a sultry voice, coming closer, "because usually men who sit with something in their laps are covering up, shall we say, a too obvious symptom of need?"
He shot up, all but pushing her aside, "No we shall not say!" and turning red in the face went outside before donning his cloak and hat. How dare she? How could she suggest such a thing? The nerve of her to tease a person in such a way! He started for home, but then thought, Maybe I should leave word for Nadir, and turned back. It was then that he heard a woman (or a child?) scream and a loud thump coming from a side alley near him. He pulled out his Punjab lasso – he had long ago learned to never travel in these neighborhoods without it - and went in search of the sound. Presently he could hear a young woman or a child weeping and begging to be left alone. He rounded the corner and saw a young girl in a heap on the ground with a large brutish man, belt in hand, swinging at the girl. He quickly got the lasso around the man's neck and pulled him away from her. "What's going on here?"
The man turned on Erik, "None of your damned business! She belongs to me and has disobeyed me!"
"This is not how disobedience is cured! She is a woman! How dare you handle her like this!"
The man pushed Erik against the wall and pulled out a knife, not aware that the lasso was still around his neck. Erik grabbed it and jerked the lasso and heard the man's neck snap. The man crumpled like a rag doll before Erik retrieved his lasso and turned to the girl, "Are you hurt?"
She stared at the body of the man who had been beating her. "No. Not much. I've had worse. Is he dead?" She got up about to leave but collapsed back onto the street.
"I'm afraid so." He picked her up into his arms… she hardly weighed anything. "When did you last eat?"
"Uhm… I don't remember? Two days ago? Three?"
"Do you live around here? Where is your father?" Without realizing it, he had begun walking home with her. "My father?" she spit out. "I have no idea where is and I don't want to know! Who do you think brought me here?"
He looked down at this frail being. "He did what?" The depths of human depravity never ceased to amaze him. "Where do you live?"
"Madam Prouvaire's Emporium," she replied quietly, afraid he would drop her and send her back. To be honest, she very much liked the feel of this man. He was so strong, and tall, and very handsome, except for that thing that covered part of his face. And when he spoke, his chest rumbled with a soft purring sound that was so soothing yet commanding.
He suddenly realized that she was trembling. "Are you cold?" he asked in as gentle a tone as he could muster. She tried to shrug, but that was hard to do without shaking even more. He set her down long enough to wrap his cloak around her before picking her up in his arms again. "Better?" She nodded and snuggled against his chest, grateful for the warmth.
"Good," he said and continued on with more determined steps toward the opera house, but turned off and took a different street. He stopped at a dressmaker's shop and rapped on the door "Do you have a name?" he asked while they waited.
"Babette."
The door opened to a diminutive woman with red hair and a slight figure wrapped in a dressing robe. "Erik! What?" she questioned as she opened the door wider so he could enter with Babette."Margot, can you take her for a few days? Get her something to eat?"
He took his cloak off of her and she began shivering again, so he put it back on her. After a glance at her skimpy and tattered dress he added, "and find her something to wear?" He reached into his pocket and gave Margot a handful of coins, then slipped his wallet and lasso into his waistcoat pockets. "Let me know if you need more." He turned to leave, then turned back, "Her name is Babette and she needs a place to stay. Didn't you say you needed some help in the shop?" He turned to Babette, "Can you sew?"
She looked from one to the other, "Well, a little.."
"Good!" he declared, "Then it's settled. I'll be back tomorrow for my cloak"
After he was gone they looked at each other, stunned.
"Well, let's get you something to eat. Would soup be alright? Maybe some bread?"
Babette's eyes widened, "Yes, Madame." and she fainted.
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Nadir entered Erik's lair and hung up his coat, noticing that Erik's was not there, but his hat was. 'Curious,' he thought before venturing further to find Erik in the same location and position as when he'd arrived earlier.
"You'll need to air out that coat before leaving it in here or the whole place will have the stench of that establishment you visited."
"And where do you suggest I do that, here in your enclosed cavern?" Nadir asked testily.
"At home. You do have one, do you not?"
"Of course I do. I only wished to ascertain that you had arrived home safely … but I couldn't help noticing…"
Erik turned to him, "Yes?"
"Your cloak appears to be missing?"
"And?"
"And… I was concerned that you may have run into trouble on your way home."
Erik looked at Nadir, knowing he was mainly being nosey, so told him as little as possible, "I loaned my cloak to someone who needed it more than I. Does that satisfy your insatiable curiosity?" He could see that Nadir was not satisfied but wasn't about to offer more information.
Nadir let out a small sigh, "Very well. But I would caution you to perhaps take it to Margot and have her clean it for you before bringing it back here. You never know what it might have picked up during its absence."
Erik turned back toward his music lest his expression give anything away and wondered whether the Persian had now learned to read minds. He sincerely hoped not, for what he was thinking was none of Nadir's business. Even though the man thought he was Erik's very conscience, Erik preferred to keep at least a few of his thoughts private. And this was one of those times.
After reading the notice in the paper a few days ago that Christine and the Vicomte had announced their betrothal, he wanted nothing more to do with women in general nor Christine in particular. If that foppish, shallow imitation of a man was what she wanted out of life, who was he to stand in her way? How could he begin to compete with someone so devastatingly handsome as Raoul? He had the looks, the breeding, the title, and the suave flirty mannerisms that could sweep any woman off her feet. His clothing could rival that of a king, not that it was to Erik's taste, yet it was attractive to women, from what he'd heard. He knew that he just wasn't in the same league. What right had he to expect that she would see in him a life-long companion, a trusted friend, a lover, someone to whom she would surrender her heart? No, it was an impossible gap to be bridged. Yes, she had been a willing and eager student, excelling in her lessons to become the diva of the opera. Hearing her voice as it soared over the heads of the opera patrons made his own heart soar with it. How could it not when he had been the one to nurture that voice?
Tonight, the cry of Babette in that lonely alley had caused something within him to stir and he wanted to compose something for her, but the pain of losing Christine was still too raw, too recent to allow him to find his music deep within. And so he sat at the organ, head in hands, waiting for the pain to subside so he could lose himself once more in his music.
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Margot got Babette up on the divan and covered her with a blanket before heading to the kitchen to prepare a rich broth. By the time the broth was ready and Margot had broken some bits of bread into it, Babette was beginning to stir, crying out against someone called Rogier and flailing her arms around. Margot had to set down the broth to keep it from being spilled. "Shush, little one. You're safe here…"
Babette suddenly swung her fist and caught Margo in the eye. Margot screamed, waking Babette from her nightmare. Babette looked at her surroundings, perplexed at the strange environment. Then she saw Margot stooping and holding her hand over her eye, tears streaming from both eyes. "Oh, NO!" she rushed to hug Margot, "Oh! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean that!"
"Oh, I know that, sweetie. Don't worry about it. Here, I brought you some broth," she said, handing her the mug with her free hand.
While Babette drank the rich broth, Margo wet a cloth in cold water and held it up to her eye, sharply drawing a breath through her teeth at the contact. Returning to the parlor she quipped, "You have quite a swing there, young lady. I would guess that you've had some practice!"
Babette looked into her mug, "Yeah. You could say that."
"Would you like a nice hot bath?" She saw Babette's blue eyes go wide and smiled. "Take your time with the broth. I'll let you know when your bath is ready."
Margot was sickened when she saw the scars and bruises on Babette's skin and made sure to be gentle in areas that appeared to be sore. The next day she found some children's dresses that fit Babette. They would have to do until she could alter something to a size small enough to fit the girl – maybe one of her own dresses? Babette turned out to be a fairly capable stitcher, and with a little tutoring Margot felt she would make a fine seamstress, but Babette didn't seem to have the initiative to pursue such a mundane line of work. She would continually ask Margot about different occupations and how much money she could make from them, but seemed dissatisfied with any of Margot's suggestions. What she didn't tell Margot was that she was comparing each occupation mentioned and the money she could possibly make with the money she could make running her own brothel. For she needed money, money for revenge.
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Over the months Erik would visit Margot's shop to have custom orders filled or to have clothing repaired, and he always asked about Babette. She was doing well, he was told, but she was often so tired that Margot began to worry about her. Her work was good, though not inspired. Erik suspected she was sneaking out at night to earn some extra cash and decided to follow her.
He waited across the alley from the dress shop until he noticed a darkly clad figure emerging and followed. He watched as she ducked into an alley and emerged transformed with her skirt hem tucked partly into a broad belt and her lace-trimmed bodice dipping low enough to reveal a goodly amount of her ample breasts, with a thin scarf draped teasingly across them. She went a few blocks before encountering a mark and took him into a nearby alley. Erik waited a few minutes before descending on them. She screamed and tried to run while the man fled, pulling up his pants as he did. Erik held her arm with an iron grip, "What are you doing?" he growled.
"Making some money!" she spat at him.
"I don't understand. You have a decent job with Margot, why would you go back to doing something where you know you can be hurt? It isn't as if you don't have a choice."
"Don't I? I earn two francs a month working for Margot. I can earn two francs a night out here, maybe more! What's more, if I could run a place like Madame Prouvaire I could earn ten times that!"
"Why?"
"What?" she asked, caught off-guard.
"I asked you, 'Why?' Why do you need to make that much money?"
She turned away from him, "Because I do."
"Not good enough. Turn around." And he pulled a hankie from his pocket and held it out to her, "Spit."
She did and he used it to rub the kohl from her eyes before holding it out once more, "Again." This time he removed the red tint from her lips. "That's better. Now, why is it you need this money?"
"Because, I want to have my own business - a bordello, a nice one."
"I thought you wanted to have your own dress shop?"
"Doesn't make enough money," she admitted.
"And so we're back to the beginning; why do you need this money?" They had been walking back toward the dress shop and now stopped so she could change her clothes. "By the way, that outfit you had on was quite fetching, in a coarse sort of way. It would look good in a stage production."
"You think so?" she asked animatedly.
"Yes I do, but that does not answer the question."
She huffed before answering, "My father. He sold me to Madame Prouvaire and Rogier because he wanted to be rid of me and join the French Foreign Legion. Once my mother had died, I had become a burden to him, an anchor, thwarting his advances on women by my mere existence."
"That was a horrible thing for him to do, and to his own daughter?"
"I want to buy infected prostitutes to send to Prouvaire's and when her business is done for, I will buy her out and build a school for poor girls to teach them useful trades, like sewing, the theater, dancing, painting, cooking… skills so they don't have to live on the streets."
"Hmm… a worthy cause, although your methods leave a lot to be desired. Why the use of infected prostitutes?'
"To lower the value of the establishment so I can afford it," she declared with the simplicity of youth.
"Hmm… perhaps there is another way…" he said thoughtfully
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Even though Christine was beyond his reach romantically, Erik still held control of the opera house, overseeing its business matters and the execution of its musical presentations. This often included Christine. He'd tried to ignore her now, and allow her to progress on her own until the day she came to see him to tell him she was leaving.
"You're WHAT?" he roared, jumping up from the piano bench in the rehearsal room and upsetting stacks of music which cascaded, unnoticed, across the floor. "You can't do that! Not now! We've been rehearsing for months, the show is due to start next week and you don't have an understudy."
"And whose fault is that?" asked another voice from the hallway.
"Raoul, please, no…"
"Why not? You are mine now, surely I can speak for you."
"That is rather presumptuous of you, Monsieur, since she is not yet legally your wife," Erik answered, barely keeping his anger under control.
"Raoul! Darling, please, stay out of this!" she pleaded with him.
"Why? So he can wheedle you into doing yet one more opera for him? Make more money for the opera, for him? You will soon be a Vicomtess and will be my wife and will no longer debase yourself by performing for all those ignorant and vile masses."
"Raoul! Stop it!" she shouted at him. "Leave us alone!"
He scoffed at that. "You expect me to leave my betrothed alone with this, this monster? I think not!"
Erik took a few steps closer to Raoul, within easy reach of him, when Christine stepped between them. "Stop it! Both of you!" and pressed her hands one on Erik's chest and one on Raoul's. She couldn't help noticing the difference in the feel of them. Raoul was not at all in bad shape, but he felt, well, normal. With Erik, on the other hand, she could easily feel his muscles rippling underneath the simple white shirt he wore and he felt rock hard, as if he had been lifting heavy weights. She was sure that if they came to blows that Raoul would be on the losing end.
"You lay one hand on me and I will have you imprisoned for assault!" threatened Raoul. "You will never see the light of day again!"
"Is there a problem in here?" A very large man, meaning taller than Erik, stepped into the room wearing a shirt without sleeves, displaying arms at least the size of Raoul's leg that were covered with tattoos.
"Yes, Squelch. This… gentleman seems to have lost his way. I believe he was looking for the exit," Erik replied congenially while glaring at Raoul.
Squelch reached out to take Raoul's arm but Raoul pulled away angrily, then turned back to Erik, "You haven't heard the last from me, freak!" Squelch escorted him out.
Christine stared in awe at the huge man as he left with Raoul, "Who was that?"
"He is a man that I met while traveling in Normandy about a year ago. He had been arrested for vagrancy after leaving a traveling circus. We began to talk and since I needed some help with security here and he needed a job, I hired him. As it turns out, he also has a beautiful baritone voice."
"Would you like some tea?"
"No, I…" She got a defiant look in her eye, "Yes, that would be nice."
"Good. Wait right here and I'll see if I can't find Meg…" he said, stepping out into the hallway.
She pulled up a chair that was close to the piano and sat, looking through the sheets of music as she picked them up off the floor around her. "This will be a splendid production, you know," she told him when he returned.
"So long as you will sing for me," said Erik suggestively. "How is it that he has such control over you, and yet you are not wed?"
"He isn't always like that," she began, thoughtfully. "Yet at times I think he needs a dog more than a wife; someone he can order around, lord it over them, show them how powerful he is by taking command. And yet, he can be so sweet at times, so understanding, so charming…"
Erik looked at her with sadness for her situation, yet knowing that it was of her own doing. Still he longed for their old intimacy, the ability to speak freely of whatever came to mind, to laugh.
"Christine!" Meg's pronouncement jerked him from his reverie, "How nice to see you!" she exclaimed, setting down the tea tray on a nearby table."We've been so busy with the dance numbers and Mother has been a little under the weather, so I haven't seen much of you lately! How is everything?" she asked with her normal exuberance.
"Meg! Hello there!" She got up to give Meg a hug after she had set down the tea things. "Things are going very well! I'm just here to speak with Erik about the show."
"Oh! Well, then I'll leave you to that. Don't stay away too long!"
"I won't," she replied as Meg left the room.
"So…", she said pensively.
"So…," he replied with the same intonation.
"I wish I could…" they both started to say at the same time.
"Sorry," again they both spoke at the same time.
Christine lowered her head, gazing into her tea to allow Erik to speak. "Sorry."
"No need to be sorry, angel. Just say that you will stay for the run of the show."
"And how long will that be? A month? Three months? A year?"
"Does it matter? You don't seem to have any urgent plans."
She looked up at him as if wanting to say so much more. If she asked Raoul he would tell her that they had important functions to attend, 'important people' she had to meet, and engagements that he had or wanted to set up and he would have all of her time scheduled with his frivolous nonsense. She knew that if she simply told Raoul that she needed this time for the opera that he would get mad and drag her away and set up a situation where Erik would have to fight Raoul to allow her to perform. So she held back lest she say something she should not and shook her head, "No I don't." She took a deep breath and looked up into those elegant aqua eyes that held so much sorrow and so much hope. "Yes, I will."
Erik all but dropped his teacup as he leaned forward to grasp her hand, "You will? You really will?"
She nodded her head, "On one condition."
"Anything."
She looked into those eyes again. How could she ever deny him anything when he looked at her like that? His expression was that of a man dying of thirst begging for just one drop of water from her. "You must promise not to antagonize Raoul."
"That's it? That's your only condition? Of course I will promise that!"
"I mean it," she threatened. "No teasing, no locking him out of his house, no pranks – no Phantom stuff!"
He got a look of innocence on his face, "Who? Me? I wouldn't think of it."
Christine tried hard not to giggle at his attempt to portray himself as innocent. "Erik! Be serious now! I mean it! Any monkey business and I will leave. Understood?"
"Of course, Christine. I would never do anything to jeopardize our relationship."
"Good. Now, what do I need to work on?"
"How much time do you have today?" he asked hopefully.''
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Three hours later Christine met Raoul sitting on the front steps of the opera house, chatting, while not amiably, at least civilly with Mr. Squelch, who had been asked to keep an eye on the Vicomte to prevent him from re-entering the opera house. "There you are, Darling! Did you have a nice rehearsal?"
"Yes. I have to be back by seven for costume fittings and I'm starved!" she declared.
Raoul pulled out his gold pocket watch, "But it's four o'clock now! How can he expect you to find a place and have a meal in such a short time?"
"It can be done, Raoul. There are many places to eat around here."
"In this neighborhood? You expect me to eat food around here?" he asked incredulously. She could see that he was becoming obstinate.
She took him by the arm and walked him to a little brasserie about two blocks away. When she turned to enter he pulled her back. "You aren't serious? Christine, do you have any idea what sort of clientele they have here?"
"Of course I do. I have eaten here often, when I have time and can afford it. The food is good, it's fast, and it's not expensive." When he hesitated, she gave his arm a playful tug, "Come on! It won't kill you to rub elbows with real people for a change!"
"Christine, I don't know what's got into you, but hanging around with these… people… has made you act vulgar, common, and I don't like it one bit."
"Raoul, this is who I am. I am not a fairy princess. Now, come in and eat with me or leave. I don't care either way, but I am hungry and am going inside."
Once inside, Christine was greeted warmly by many of the restaurant's patrons while Raoul tried to avoid touching or being touched by anyone or anything. When she sat down at a table with its red and white checkered tablecloth where two other people were already seated, he pulled her away and loudly requested, "Monsieur Garçon! A table for two, please!"
The waiter came over to them and offered them the seats Christine had just been about to take when Raoul announced, "Pardon, Monsieur. You misunderstand. I would like a table for only two people."
Christine took his arm and pulled him close, "Raoul, stop this! It is a busy time. Can't you see they have no tables for two?"
"Fine. Then we're leaving." And he hauled Christine out of the restaurant.
Once outside she began walking back to the theater, saying, "Fine! Then I'll eat in the kitchen with the ballerinas. You may eat wherever you please."
"Christine. Christine! If this is what it means to be performing for the opera, then I withdraw my consent. I will not allow you to participate in such a farce!"
Christine rounded on him, "YOU will not ALLOW? Who do you think you are? You are not my lord and master! I don't think I even like you right now, Raoul!"
"Christine," he pleaded, but she turned and began climbing the steps to the theater. Others had left the same restaurant and were also returning to the theater and paused to give Raoul a 'once over' before continuing up the steps. Raoul finally demanded of one person, "What are you looking at?"
The woman replied, "I was just wondering who made your costume? It's much too gaudy for the current production. I was thinking it must be from a different theater."
"It's not from a theater, you fool, its my clothing! You obviously have no appreciation for fine workmanship!" Raoul angrily replied before turning and hailing a taxi.
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