Dear Frankie (actually a PoTO fanfic. Not for those looking for sentimentality or romance…sorry)
The tall, dark haired man sat in his chair, trying with all his might to remain just there, in that very chair. He wanted to dart across the room, throw down his wretched mask and simply disappear into his world of darkness; his world of black despair; his dungeon. He waited for a full hour. Finally, he heard the door knob turn and in came the very man for whom he had spent his entire morning waiting in that infernal chair.
The man walking in was rather short and feeble-looking, or perhaps this was merely by comparison to the other gentleman's larger-than-average height. The man walking in was Dr. Victor Frankenstein, and he (the literary Gods will reserve a special place in English Hell for me after this crossing of genres…lol) had a proposition for his strange French friend.
"Hello Erik" said the good doctor with a dubious smile. He motioned for the masked man to remain in his seat; no need for formalities between partners he supposed.
"What is all this about doctor. I had not heard you were in France, or even planning to visit for another year" Erik's voice veiled a slight edge. Perhaps it was unfair to have characterized their relationship as "partners" they were better described as bitter rivals. Their genius was quite evenly matched, so of course the ultimate goal of each was to outdo the other. This, ironically enough, was the indirect cause of the unusual meeting the doctor had set up on that day.
Doctor Frankenstein had met Erik on one of his many trips to Vienna. Erik was practicing his Punjab Lasso (yes, practicing) and Frankenstein was perfecting his reanimation skills at the local academy (yes, the local academy—in the name of Shelley please forgive me fans of the phantom). They met through a mutual friend. Actually, that is a rather simplistic way of putting it. In truth, Erik killed an impulsive, overbearing little fraction of a man, who just happened to be Victor's most hated Ethics in Medicine professor. They became immediate pals (chums, amigos, buddies…the very best).
Soon however, Victor found himself inquiring as to the nature of the mask behind which Erik constantly hid. The answer was one of great academic importance to Victor, and he simply would not relent (yes, Frankenstein and his medical questions…he is dogged in his approach). Finally, Eric revealed the scarred face behind the mask. Rather than turn aback in fear and dread, the doctor-to-be actually leaned in to gain a better look at the "fascinating specimen" as he had called it.
Erik learned of similar cases throughout history, not the least famous of which had been London's own "elephant man." Erik was not exactly flattered by this last remark, especially since he took the meaning of "elephant man" as a direct assault to his waistline (which, personally, I must comment is a very fine waistline indeed).
"Erik, I am not accustomed to speaking in circles. I like to go directly to the point, say what I mean. Nothing extraneous or unnecessary. This is why if I ever meet a sailor while scouring the artic ocean and he asks me to relate the story of how I came to appear on the cold ice, I will not narrate a whole novel for the man. I will simply say that I am hunting my cursed, soulless creature of a son, and that is that." The doctor finished his verbal run-on in the same matter-of-fact tone he had used to begin.
"What?" Erik looked like he had just been struck by bolt of lightening.
"For God's sake; oh wait, I do not believe in God, I am trying to take God's place…hm…very astute Shelley. Anyways, what I am trying to say is that I need your help."
Once again, Erik found himself unable to speak. It was not often he found himself in this degree of shock, except perhaps when he saw Christine in that scandalous nightgown, but that was a different matter altogether.
"Victor. You have officially reached the point of no return. You are stark raving mad" As Erik lifted his long legs towards the door, a single, bony hand tugged him back.
"Please Erik, you are possibly the only man who can help me."
"Victor. Get help. You are insane, and you do not look to well either, have you been sick?"
The doctor shrugged his shoulders "Plague, you know how it is…luckily it seems I am immune, but it still takes ones' appetite away, what with all the corpses littering the street…and the cemetery which I had to dig up every night…"
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Ok. You must help me Erik. Help me catch that monster! That hideous thing!"
Erik had been just about to cross the threshold and exit the dilapidated old building, but that single last sentence pulled him back like a bungee chord—which by the way, had not been invented yet. Mustn't forget the setting now…
"What in heaven's name are you billowing about?" returned Erik, beginning to get sourly aggravated.
"I cannot go into details as of yet, I must keep up suspense if this is to be a proper remake of the Gothic Genre."
"But wait a minute, this is not Gothic, this is a screenplay for a Rock Opera. Isn't it?"
"Oh never mind that! We have more important things to worry about! The monster is loose upon the world. Oh the horror! The horror"
"wait a minute. I thought we were crossing Shelle's Frankenstein and Andrew Lloyd Weber's The Phantom of the Opera, no one said anything about Conrad or Heart of Darkness!"
"Oh don't be silly, besides, we're nowhere near the Congo."
"That's good, because the only thing I can captain is a gondola, and not very well I'm afraid. Those dreaded things do like to get stuck in the most annoying places…dungeons, secret canals, and always when you're about to seduce a young chorus girl into coming into your lair and lying down on your peacock bed."
Now it was the doctor's turn to express confusion, which he did by wrinkling his forehead in he most amusing manner.
"I have no idea what you just said." Finally, the idea seemed to sink into the doctor's brain. With a wink and a broad smile, he continued.
"Chorus girl eh? I'm afraid all I had was a former orphan that my parents took in and raised as their own."
"Hm." The phantom said with a note of disapproval.
"Isn't that slightly incestuous; she's like a sister to you, isn't she?"
"Hm. I guess you are right, but she's not dumb enough to fall for the old 'pose as her father and then pretend to be her guardian angel' trick. It takes a very special sort of bimbo to fall for that one."
Erik was not too sure on how to take this last comment, so he played it safe and lifted the good doctor off the floor by his shirt collar and tossed him clear across the room. The doctor hit the wall with a loud crash and then fell to the floor. The thud and subsequent groan on the part of Frankenstein signaled he had come to terms with gravity once more.
"You are not to speak ill of Christine again! Do you understand me? How did you know about her anyway?"
"Oh forget the plot-holes for a moment will you! Let's concentrate on the task at hand." The doctor made a dizzied attempt at standing erect, which he met with limited success. He sat down on a chair facing the one Erik had previously occupied.
"Now." Began the doctor once again, taking out a handkerchief and wiping his bloodied nose.
"Will you help me or
not."
"Help you with what?"
"The monster."
"What
monster?"
"Oh, you really are
daft aren't you? What did you think I was doing at the academy all
those years ago? I was creating LIFE! And I succeeded!"
"Right.
Sure, let's just get you to the nice insane asylum and everything
will be fine, I hear they make excellent sweaters that make you hug
yourself." Erik tried to take Frankenstein's arm and lead him to
the door. The doctor seemed to snap at the very instant Erik touched
his shoulder. In one convulsive sweep, the doctor was standing
straight and staring defiantly into Erik's eyes.
"If you do not believe me, then I must find someone who does. Or perhaps it is fear that keeps you locked in your little opera cellar? How about that? The famous Opera Phantom afraid of my little-crime-against-nature, though I prefer to call him Frankie Junior."
"I am afraid of nothing and no one. And you sir, are completely loony!"
At the very moment the phantom was speaking, a loud crashing sound reverberated throughout the room; someone had literally torn open the door. A hideous figure nearly nine feet tall had ripped the door off its hinges and had knocked a hole in the concrete wall. The monster wailed madly before lunging towards Victor, then, stopping in mid-attack, the beast turned to look at the phantom, who had now pulled off his mask and was staring straight back at the monster.
They both tore into each other's gaze, taking in each hideous detail; the random reattachment of limbs, the repulsive black hole of a nose. A single tear came to the phantom's eye. The monster, too, was moved to tears, though his expression resembled that of a spoiled five-year-old whose snow cone had just fallen into the dirt. The monster moved closer to Erik; a being, an outcast who shared the burden of ostracism; the price which society demands be paid by men such as they. Men cursed with the fear and the loathing of others.
They collided in a brotherly sort of embrace.
"Hello. I am Erik. Can you speak?"
The doctor, who was just about ready to fly off the balcony, shifted uneasily in his seat. He regarded the scene as one bordering on surreal, and certainly well within the reaches of the ridiculous.
"Yes. I am self
taught. I lived in a cabin, in a hidden room where I taught myself to
read and write."
The phantom seemed overjoyed with excitement.
"Wait. Did you happen to live underneath the cabin, the cellar perhaps?"
"No."
The phantom seemed a bit disappointed by this, but pushed further.
"But, but you still fell in love with one of the inhabitants right?"
"Well, there was this one girl, but she ran off and married this pretty boy who also lived in the cabin. He hit me with a broom when he found me talking to his father, who was blind."
"No kidding? That is great…I'll tell you about my experiences with pretty boys in a little while, but right now, suffice it to say they are not exactly on my Christmas list."
"Excuse me. Are you two about done, because I need to correct my assault on nature and God and destroy this abomination which I have so heedlessly created. The theme of the story is, after all, to take responsibility for your monsters." He pointed knowingly at the monster, who simply wailed and muttered.
"Aw geez dad…do I have to?"
"Yes son. I'm afraid this is heretical and you are a soulless being, not a creation of god but of man. You are a reflection of man's attempt to usurp the power of God, and I am the representation of science and all the evils that come from reckless abuse of technology."
"Wow, that was really perceptive. English major?" asked the phantom.
"Um…no. What are you talking about? I am Doctor Frankenstein; I most certainly am NOT an English student taking a writing 20 course titled 'What is Gothic'"
"Oh, Ok. My fault. Do go on."
"Anyways…Frankie Jr. You are to plunge into the icy abyss of the Arctic Ocean with me, so that our novel…ehem, I mean, out lives will be concluded on a tragic note, showing catharsis for all our sins."
"But…but…" grumbled the phantom, twiddling his thumbs resignedly.
"I just got to meet him. We're friends. You can't take him away from me; he's as miserable and wretched as I am."
The monster nodded in elated agreement.
"Just look at him…he's a sickly yellow, his eyes are red and deformed, his skin looks like its pulled too tightly over rotting flesh…"
"Hey Phantom, you mind giving it a rest. We get the point already, I'm ugly, that's it."
"Sorry man, I didn't mean anything by it."
"S'aright"
"Alright, fine I give in. I suppose we can delay the inevitable for a few months. You two can have a ball while I get things ready, now let's see. I'll need: arctic clothing, fur, snow boots…sled dogs, oh yes, dogs will freeze nicely in the frigid Arctic air. I will be found limp and half-dead amongst the dogs…oh it shall be quite the lark!" The doctor continued his ramblings as he exited through the hole his offspring had left in the wall.
"Are you sure you want to advertise that he is your father?"
"I don't really have much choice. Popular culture has inextricably bound creator and creation, to the point where, in the eyes of the ignorant masses, Frankenstein and the monster are one in the same; we are not even given separate names. As you have probably heard (or perhaps not since the novel has not gained any sort of notoriety as of yet), I am the "monster" and yet, everyone calls me 'Frankenstein' it is quite annoying really."
The monster turned to go as well, promising to return to a nearby dark alley to meet the phantom for lunch tomorrow morning. For the next three months, they were the very best of friends. Inseparable to the very end. Of course, after the three months had gone by it was time Frankie Junior return to the artic and "take the plunge" so-to-speak with his father. And he did, to which fact millions of Shelley fans can attest.
As for the phantom, well, he made his way back to the opera house, where they were having quite a charming gala. A masquerade ball actually. Erik decided to don the Death's head and a flowing red cape in honor of his dearly departed friend. And that is why the phantom did not haunt the Opera Populaire for a full three months between the disappearance of Miss Daae and the famous Don Juan Triumphant incident (in which he looked positively jaw dropping by the way).
