Disclaimer: I do not own Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. He is Gaston Leroux's. I am just borrowing him to give him some of the happiness of human life he never had the chance to experience.
Author's Note: This is the first Phanfic I wrote. So I do need MUCH review to tell me where to improve – and to make suggestions what is to happen next. ;-) Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy the story as much as I did in writing.
Chapter One – The Body in the LakeA man sat in front of the organ. He played some tunes and put them down to paper feverishly, afraid the smooth accord would escape his mind again. New notes arose, echoed and died away in the darkness of the huge hall. Only the organ's keys and a dozen sheets of note papers were lit by a single candelabrum. The warm yellow light encircled the man together with his instrument holding his entire world – the world of music.
For weeks already he worked like that: concentrated, obsessed, maniacally. He whether cared about eating or drinking or even sleeping. The organist took no notice of the chillness, either, creeping from every wall and every distant corner towards the flame. Underneath the heavy woollen black cloak falling over the organ's bank to the floor, he wore a fine white shirt covered with an elegant black waistcoat. Those first-rate clothing constituted the last faint connection towards human culture existing up in the streets of Paris, a world the man had entirely isolated himself from by dwelling five storeys under the city. His last contact to mankind dated two years back.
Composing had become his unique pastime and joy in life, the only activity that could fully consume his mind and save him from gloomy self-destructing thoughts. Writing music had pulled him back from insanity which had befallen him when a soprano, the love of his life, had refused him two years ago. The man had stayed behind to die, but death had not come…
Suddenly the shrill sound of a bell destroyed the lovely stream of cadenzas just like scissors cut the fine tissue of black velvet. The man in front of the organ startled. His hand slipped and instead of a carefully drawn note spots of red ink were scattered over the sheet.
"Mon Dieu!" He exclaimed and flung his fists down on the keys. The resulting mistunes made his ears aching.
"Mon Dieu!" He repeated as he saw the spoiled paper, grasped and crumpled it to let it vanish somewhere in the darkness.
This stupid bell has ruined my entire aria! He thought furiously while leaving the organ and taking the candelabrum with him. Now I have to reinvent it and god knows if I get it this good again. No, not even he knows…
He cut this stream of thoughts. Now was not the right time to have philosophical discussions concerning the existence of a higher entity called god with oneself. The ring of this certain bell meant that something or someone had entered the lake beneath his lair through the secret little passage connecting the water with one of the side channels of the Seine that crossed whole Paris. An era ago, when he had built his house, the organist had also created this tunnel as an escape route in case he had to abandon his home.
If there was someone he would not live long enough to find out what was outside the lake. The man swore to the possible intruder while rubbing his palms in anticipation of vengeance. You have ruined my song and that shall not do you any good.
He crossed the room, entered a long hallway that was not lit and walked until he reached the shore of a lake. There was no light, either and the candlelight reflected in black water that softly splashed against the solid ground. He stood silently for some seconds, listening intensively if there was any breathing audible. At the water it was even colder. Slightly shivering the organist pulled his cloak tighter around him. He could not hear any sounds.
"The candle won't be enough." He mumbled and retreated to enlighten two big electrical lamps, one on each side of the lake. A rather large cave lay before him now, still not enlightened very well but sufficiently to see the ceiling in a height of three or four metres and the dimensions of the entire lake.
Slowly he let his gaze wander over its surface, searching for the object that had caused the alarm. He spotted an undefined form near the other side of the water. It drifted lifelessly from the secret passage towards the middle.
"What the hell have you delivered now, Seine?" He whispered under his breath, still angry about the interruption of his work. What a pity that it was no intruder, someone he could vent his rage on! A nice murder, fast and clean, would have brought such satisfaction to the enraged genius.
The object had to be cleaned from the lake, however. Therefore the man entered the boat laying towed up at a small dock and with powerful strokes rowed in its direction. The nearer he approached the more distinguishable the silhouette became and soon he discovered that it was a human body. A drowned body!
Oh no! He thought. This day could not get worse. He hated drowned bodies, he absolutely hated them! They had such unpleasant properties. Firstly, it was always so very difficult to get rid of them and bringing them back in the Seine was no easy action to perform, either. Secondly, they constantly returned to the surface, no matter how one tried to sink them to the ground. Thirdly, a drowned body rotted so damn slowly and stank unbearably. The cold water would decelerate the process in addition.
He steered the boat along with the corpse and immediately realized it was a woman for she floated face-up. Suicide maybe? The man did not care a bit. His only concern now was in getting it out of the lake and out of sight as fast as achievable. In consequence he grasped one of her arms and heaved her into the boat under a flood of curses because his whole cloths became quite wet with cold water. Finally the organist succeeded.
As the woman lay in the gondola and he headed back towards the shore the physician in him inspected her thoroughly. Her skin was white and the lips of grey, almost blue colour. Drowned or frozen? He wondered. Perhaps he could enlarge his knowledge in human anatomy on this body before he got rid of it? It would be a suitable and welcome possibility for a change that he did not get too often.
Having reached the shore, he intended to take her to the kitchen where he could carry out the bloody work without dirtying his entire lair. He did not know why but put two fingers to her neck as if searching for a pulse.
There was one! Puzzled he controlled his actions to find himself confirmed. There was a pulse – faint but definitively there. The man laid one gloved hand on her thorax registering a low breathing and a weak unsteady heartbeat. This woman was still alive but very, very, very near the threshold to death.
"What do I do with you now?" The man asked himself standing indecisively over the body. He could kill her just now, repaying her for his spoiled aria. Somehow he doubted that it would satisfy him to kill a harmless woman who was not able to give him joy in defending herself. Or he could try to save her. But then he would betray himself of vengeance.
It did not matter. Most probable she would die anyway and then he still could perform the autopsy. In the meantime he could accept this vast challenge for his medical abilities and try to play a trick to god, a god who had bereft him of everything that was worth and dear in human life…
Having made up his mind the man carried the body utterly affected by hypothermia to a small bedroom he had kept locked since two years. Only when the man placed the young woman on the bed he remembered that it would be completely soaked. The fine sheets, what a pity!
Unfortunately there was no way to determine how long she had lain in water. Anyway, at first she had to get warm again as fast as possible what could be achieved easiest by removing the wet cloths. Without any further ado he removed a rather shabby blouse, skirt and an apron but hesitated as he came to her underwear.
One would it think very inappropriate if a man, even a doctor… Who cares? The organist scolded himself angrily. He had done with mankind. 'One' was no-one to him so why even think about public opinion? He hastened to remove the bodice and to cover the icy skin with two blankets lying on the bed.
Christine had always complained about the coldness… The name caused a sharp sting in his heart. Christine. "Concentrate, boy. Concentrate." He told himself several times and was finally able to prevent a relapse into lovesickness.
He fixed his mind on his task. What else could be done to have a little heat here? He headed towards the wardrobe. In one of the drawers, if he remembered correctly, should be a hot water bottle. Pulling nearly every single one open he mostly spread their content to the floor until he found the desired utensil.
The filled bottle burnt his hands even through the gloves as he went from the kitchen back to the bedroom to place it at the woman's feet. Now, he had to wait.
The man cast a judging glance upon her. The pale almost white skin was interrupted every here and there by red and green bruises and scratches. Her lips were blue and the wet dark hair stuck to her head. That girl's definitely no beauty. He thought as the faint candlelight reflected peacefully on the body accenting the girlish features. He wondered how old she was. Most probable she had not completed her 21st winter yet.
Christine had also been very young though not that young. Two years ago she had left him and he nonetheless missed her – her voice of an angel, her innocence, her naivety, her beauty… and the feeling his life still had a sense.
This had been Christine's room during those short periods she had dwelled with him. The organist looked around. Nothing had changed – because he had not entered the room since. The giant wardrobe contained all the wonderful robes and dresses she had worn, the lower cabinet all the little things she had used.
"I must get out of here." He whispered to himself. Wounds threatened to open which had never healed completely! What the hell had he thought in taking this strange half-dead woman into the room bringing the sweetest and most horrible memories back to the surface! "I'm out of mind."
He fled with tears entering his eyes.
So this was chapter 1. What do you think? Review, please! Thank you so much.