The dimmed gas lantern cast the room in shadows, the only thing visible in the manager's office of the Opera Garnier were the large oak desk and the two occupants who sat on either side of it. On one side a woman sat appearing in her late thirties, a crooked frown placed on her tan face hidden mostly by dark curly locks. Her coal colored eyes stared at the opponent in front of her the only thing visible of him was the wide brimmed fedora and the white flat mask that covered his entire face. Giving a sigh, the woman leaned back in her chair before making eye contact with the gold iris that seemed to stare right through her.
"So Monsieur, am I to understand you wish to simply buy the Opera Garnier from me?"
"Madam." He spoke with a voice that wisped through the air like velvet. "Am I to understand you think this opera house does not already belong to me?"
One month earlier…
"Are you going to stare at the board? Or make your next move Daroga?" Erik sighed from his seat. True the old friends has been enemies in countless chess games over the past thirty years, but each game seemed to hold a bit of originality to break the cycle of boredom. Every game held it's on strategy, a separate plot, however each game seemed to contain Erik's taunts for Nadir's slow plotting. Plotting that no matter how well planed ended up in Erik's victory.
"Don't rush me. You left your bishop exposed and I'm trying to figure out if it's a trap or a careless flaw from your arrogance." The Persian frowned running a finger over his thick mustache.
"It's just a bishop Daroga, I use to have two until you took one. Goodness you're more paranoid than I am these days." The masked man chuckled taking a sip of the thick Turkish coffee.
"Hm, we'll see who's arrogant." The oriental smiled moving his knight to the bishop's square and knocking it over. "Check."
"Mate." Erik finished moving his queen to the new landed pony and blocking his friend's king.
"Damn."
"I believe that is now six wins in your favor, and five thousand eight hundred and thirty-six in mine." The phantom stretched.
"You know you've been living here for two months." Nadir sighed. "You could at least swing some compensation my way."
"Compensation?" Erik stared. "Daroga, I have never once accepted the money from my victories. If you are asking me to pay rent, you need only ask, I have already offered."
"I met compensation by toning down your wins." The dark skinned man laughed, waving his hand. "You know your money is no good here."
"As you constantly remind me, now please excuse me for a moment, old friend." The tall man rose gracefully making his way down the hall toward the water closet.
"Two months indeed." Nadir sighed, leaning back in his chair. Two months ago when Erik had departed from sanity, and had attempted to take everyone along with him. It seemed years ago, that his friend had let the little Daae girl go with her lover, and bare handedly destroyed his entire home. He had smashed his pipe organ, destroyed his twenty year old score, and laid down in his mother's bed ready to accept death. Then a turn of events, contrary to the stars had come. Ms. Daae had returned before her wedding to hand deliver an invitation…just as she had promised. The Persian lead her to Erik's bedside and gave them their privacy and even kept the viscount away when he demanded to know what had become of his fiancée. An hour later Christine reappeared holding that damnable feline, she departed with her lover, and the rest, he was certain, was happily ever after.
For two days he remained by his sick friend's side, devoted to see him off to the after life. On the morning of the third day, he was amazed to see Erik rise his head up slightly.
"Erik?" He whispered.
"There's something wrong with my heart Nadir…It's still beating."
After his friend became more stable and began walking around, the oriental had urged his friend to come back to his flat with him. His guest room was always open, and he was convinced that left alone in that dungeon full of memories that his friend's condition would eventually worsen. "Allah works in mysterious ways my friend. There is always time for another redemption."
"Redemption and Allah are things who I have defied numerous times…but I-I will accept your invitation for now. Only for a while."
"A while, or as long as you need Old friend. My door has always been open to you."
Once he was settled in to the small guest room, Erik immediately refused the detective's plea for a physician. "Que sera sera." He said. "I do not need a doctor to determine that for me.
Slowly the man's health returned, along with his whit, concluding that Erik had risen from the dead again. All his friend could wish for him now, is that he would live out the remainder of his years, above ground and in peace. The opera ghost was dead. Long live Erik, Nadir praised.
"Sir?" His long time man-servant whispered coming in from the front door, and quickly kneeling at his employer's side.
"Ah Darius. Certainly took you a while to fetch a paper, didn't it?" The Daroga noted eyes studying the clock on the mantle. "I take it the recent political events have the streets crowded with all sorts of people." He smiled.
"Nadir." He pleaded. Although Darius had been a long time devout to the Khan family he had often referred to his charge as Sir, even though he had been permitted to use his given name. However, Darius only used the title for urgent matters, which the employer quickly recognized.
"What is it?" He whispered.
"Where is HE?" The man looked around.
"Call of nature." The Persian informed, gesturing to the hall. "Why?"
"Why Nature called, Fate has been cruelly plotting." He shook his head, handing his master the paper. "Page eight."
Quickly the ex-officer began to flip through the paper, eyes immediately catching the headline of the entertainment section. "May Allah have mercy…"
"Allah's mercy is not what I worry about." Darius sighed watching the European make his way from the hall, to the sitting room. "Until then I shall be at the market." He informed quickly heading for the door.
"Coward." Nadir whispered, eyeing his friend as he reentered the room and took his seat.
"Darius is certainly in a hurry." He commented.
"Ah, a market vendor has saved some pomegranates for him. I don't think I've had one since Persia."
Yellow eyes quickly threw an odd glance the eastern man's way. "Pomegranates are seasons away."
"A-are they? I meant the other fruit. The um-ah my French escapes me."
"Kumquats? Mangos? Apricots?" Erik questioned, his language changing to Farsi.
"One of those." He reassured. "I suppose we'll find out around supper."
"Everything alright, Daroga?" The French man inquired studying his friend carefully.
"Fine, fine…How about another game?" He urged.
The mask tilted as if to consider the idea before eyeing the newspaper on the table. "Maybe later, right now I think I'd like to read for a bit."
"A splendid idea." He agreed, snatching up the paper, and reading from the middle pages.
"Daroga? Would you mind if I had the Entertainment section?"
"Oh, um, I'm actually reading that right now."
"Since when do you read the entertainment section?" Erik chuckled. "You're usually nose deep in matters of politics and the mundane crime stories. Monsieur Flamone was robbed., culprit still at large…You're being silly, now come on, let me have it. I haven't had news of the opera in months. What production are they up to?"
"Shall I read it to you?"
"Oui, and then perhaps you would tuck me in and kiss me good night. Daroga," He stared, tone changing to that of a cat who had his eye on a wounded mouse. "You're hiding something."
The Persian sighed, "Alright my friend." He sighed handing him the paper.
Erik took the parchment eyes scanning over the open page eight.
'Madam Iliana divorcee wins ownership of Moncharmin and Richard's Opera Sale'
Very comely the tall man closed the paper and folded it in his lap. "Hm." He uttered, nodding to himself his body beginning to shake unexpectedly.
"Erik!" Nadir demanded concerned, until the shaking finally erupted in laughter.
"This is it!" He shook his head. "First I am damned with this face, and life, I manager to live over half a century, and spend my dying years as a love sick school boy mad with someone else's fiancée. Then God mocks me again by causing me to LIVE again…and now my creation, my child…is bought by some spoiled uneducated spiteful divorced woman who knows nothing of art. I suppose she will fill the stage with those cliché romantic acts, after first decorating the hall ways in pink lace!"
"Erik," Nadir sighed, "If you even bothered to pick up a newspaper for more than ten minutes of the art section, you would know a feminine reputation is the least thing concerning Madam Iliana."
The masked man paused his malice laugher to look his friend in the eye. "Well then as a bystander to the society woes…Inform me!" He demanded.
"Madam Karissa Iliana, formerly Madam Wilson. Was an immigrant from Greece. She resided here in Paris for a while doing mediocre jobs until she married Monsieur Wilson, a former Diplomat of England. Is any of this ringing a bell?"
"Bloody Hell, you are the chief busybody, aren't you Daroga?" Erik sighed, rubbing a temple. "Continue."
"Monsieur Wilson resigned as a Diplomat and began working as an investor in the iron industry. He's made millions…well he took up a mistress, and Madam Ilianna initiated a divorce."
"She initiated a divorce?" Erik repeated. "Then they were married in England?"
"Well it couldn't have been France…but what's strange is Madam Ilianna walked from her divorce with nearly half of her husband's fortune. No one knows how…They assume she used guilt on him. Everyone knows they never appeared happy through out most of their marriage, though she seemed devoted to him."
"Monsieur Wilson was a former diplomat, no? Then it certainly wasn't guilt." Erik sighed, putting aside the paper. "Odds are she knew something folly, and black mailed him."
"Her reputation is vulgar through out society, now. Buying the opera house shocked the press, they assume she just did it as a personal interest."
"Personal or not." Erik stood heading toward the writing desk in the corner. "I'm afraid I cannot allow this, personal travesty of hers, to bury my creation." Pulling open a drawer, Erik began sorting through some stationary.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going to arrange a little meeting with this Madam Ilianna, and give her the proper terms of how to run such a masterpiece as the La Garnier."
"You stubborn fool!" Nadir shouted in Farsi. "Have you learned nothing. I bring you here after the shamble of your attempts as an opera ghost, and you wish to continue haunting a building? I thought this was your start as a human being! As a great man!"
Unfazed Erik picked up a quill and began to scribble on the parchment. "Human being and great man are debatable terms…but take ease Daroga. I have no intention of continuing on as an opera ghost."
"Y-you don't." The Persian stared.
"No…I'm going to buy the place." He shrugged.
"Buy? Buy! Erik your funds are-"
"They are what?" He turned. "Nadir did you really think that I was broke? I collected twenty thousand francs a month for over ten years. Do you think my extravagant taste squandered all of it? I have investments, and a small nest egg. Surely you don't think me a faulty business man."
The man sighed, falling into his chair, and shaking his head. "You never cease to amaze me old friend. After all these years…but how will you run the opera house Erik? That requires a lot of public relation skills…something I think you would frown at."
"That's the least of my problems." He waved, continuing to write. "Figure heads, and a publicity manager can be bought. I simply wish to wait in the shadows, and keep track of the artistic matters."
"Assuming of course she accepts your offers."
"Your faith in me is disappointing Daroga. Do you think any of her protest could begin to rival my stubbornness?"
"…You really know nothing of women, do you my friend?"
Well I'm back to phan writing. Without being to personal…this has been the worst year of my life. I lost my love, my trust, and partial sanity. I was actually so depressed I was hospitalized after a second suicide attempt and a broken heart. And so I have moved back in with my family, and am starting school again…Reading over my old Portrait of the Soul, and Susan Kay's original 'Phantom' …I was reminded that Erik gave me strength in the past. All I can hope is that he will guide me through the future through writing. Thank you for reading, and please review, I have no idea where this story came from none the less if I should continue. Please let me know. Remember I do not own Erik…I merely worship him.
-Siren
