Authoresses: We'd both like to thank you all for reading, and we hope that you all enjoy this story. Cheers!
1. Broken
He had told her to go out that night… To have dinner with her brother… She never would have left him if she had known what horrors lay in store for her that night…
As her brother's carriage pulled to a stop in front of her fiancé's small home, returning from dinner, she was horrified to find it ablaze. Her blood ran cold when she heard the agonized screaming… His screaming!
"He's still inside!" she cried. She bolted from the carriage and ran as fast as she could up the drive, tripping over her skirts. She felt strong arms grab her from behind, pulling her back.
"No! Stop!" her brother cried as he dragged her wailing form away from the burning house. "There's nothing you can do!"
"I have to help him!" she sobbed. "He's still alive!" She looked to the window and gasped. Her fiancé was throwing himself against the glass, a pitiful attempt to try and break it.
Before the flames finally overtook him, he looked out and met her gaze. His eyes were full of unbearable pain and sadness. His face… His handsome, gentle face… It was burned terribly, so that she barely recognized him. But she recognized his eyes… his beautiful, stormy grey eyes…
A single tear found its way down his marred cheek. The way he was looking at her… She realized he was saying good-bye…
"No!" she screamed. She tried once more to run to him, but her brother's arms dragged her back from the burning cottage. The roaring flames, one last anguished scream from her lover as the roof caved, and the sound of her brother shouting her name all blended together to create the most agonizing music she had ever heard…
XxXxX
"Margaret!"
Margaret opened her eyes. The concerned face of her sister-in-law appeared over her.
"Are you alright?" she asked. "You were screaming!"
Margaret rolled onto her side and hugged her pillow close. That terrible night was over, but she was doomed to relive it every night in her dreams.
"I'm sorry," Margaret whispered, tears choking her words. "I had a bad dream…"
"Margaret?"
Margaret looked to the doorway. Her brother was there, still in his nightshirt. Margaret flushed red. Her screams must have awakened the entire household!
"What happened?" he demanded. "Why were you screaming?"
Margaret shut her eyes. "I'm sorry, Raoul…"
Raoul sighed. "Christine? Could you please give us a moment?"
Christine nodded. "I'll be in the bedroom."
Christine left and Raoul just stood in the doorway, not saying anything for a moment.
"This is why you shouldn't come," he said flatly.
"It was a dream," Margaret whispered.
"I'm no simpleton!" Raoul snapped. "I know exactly what these dreams are about! You've been thinking about him."
"I think about him every day…"
"It's not healthy!" Raoul retorted. "Look at you! You could have been married and had a family by now! But you refuse to let him go!"
"I love him!"
"You loved him… And he loved you, too. He wouldn't want you to live like this. He would want you to be happy."
"I will never love again!" Margaret cried, burying her face into her pillows. "No one! That's what we always told each other… 'No one but you…'"
Raoul sighed heavily. "I was reluctant about returning to the Opera Populaire to begin with… What, with that Phantom… The only reason I will return is because it has been a year and there have been no further reports of the Opera Ghost causing trouble… The theatre is doing fine now and, well… It's what Christine grew up with… But it wouldn't be good for you to be in that environment…"
"Why?" Margaret hissed. "Because he was a composer?"
"It will be too painful for you to be near all that…"
"It's what he loved!"
Raoul closed his eyes. "Think about this, Margaret… Is this how you want to live the rest of your life? In mourning?"
He left her alone, and Margaret curled up and sobbed.
"No one but you…" she choked. "No one but you… I'll never love again… No one but you…"
XxXxX
Raoul arrived in the kitchen the next morning to find Christine already sitting at the table sipping her tea. He slumped down into the chair across from her with a sigh.
"You didn't get back to sleep, did you?" Christine stated more than asked.
Raoul rubbed his temples. "It's a bad idea… She shouldn't go back with us. She should stay here."
"Staying here hasn't helped her heal," Christine pointed out.
Raoul couldn't argue. Margaret had been living in his estate for the past four years since the death of her fiancé in what the police said could have been an intentional fire. Who could ever wish to kill a penniless composer was beyond him.
Raoul hadn't thought the musician was good enough for his sister. Imagine, a woman of Margaret's status cavorting about with an impoverished artist like him. But she loved him. He could see that plainly. And the man treated her well. Raoul knew that he could see his sister married off to any number of aristocrats who would slap her around and speak badly to her, only to sneak off in the night to his mistress. This man was not like that. He treated Margaret like a queen.
Moreover, he was a gentleman. Before proposing to Margaret, he had come to Raoul to ask for her hand!
Then there was that awful fire. Margaret hadn't been the same since that night. She would not be comforted. What bothered him most was that he hadn't seen her smile since.
"Perhaps a change of scenery would help," Christine continued. "Who knows? Maybe living at the theatre will help lift her spirits."
"I hope you're right, Christine," Raoul whispered. "I hate seeing her like this."
Christine opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment Margaret walked in. She said not a word as she sat at the table. Her face was pale and drawn and her eyes were bloodshot, indicating that she had been crying.
Christine shifted a little uncomfortably in her chair. She managed a weak smile. "Good morning, Margaret."
Margaret only nodded in response. She didn't say a word. Christine glanced at Raoul, then turned back to Margaret.
"Well," she tried to sound as cheerful as possible. "We leave for Paris tomorrow… Are you excited?"
Margaret nodded, but she certainly didn't look excited.
"I grew up in Paris," Christine continued. "Perhaps I could show you around the city?"
"Forgive me," Margaret stood up. "I'm not feeling my best this morning. I think I will skip breakfast."
"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," Raoul told her. "You should eat something."
Margaret shook her head. "I'm not hungry." Without another word, she left the kitchen and entered the den.
XxXxX
Margaret sat at the upright piano in the den. She ran her fingers lightly over the dusty ivory keys. No one in the entire household played the piano. It had always been merely a decoration.
Until he came into her life…
Whenever he visited the de Chagny estate, he would sit here in this spot and entertain her for hours. He made the old instrument play the most beautiful music she had ever heard. Sometimes he would sing. He had the most beautiful voice she had ever heard.
It was that voice that first brought them together…
XxXxX
Five years earlier…
Margaret had been out riding and hadn't seen the storm coming. Darkness was all around, interrupted occasionally by a flash of lightning. Rain pounded down on her and the horse. Why did she have to ride so far from her brother's estate today? She hated storms…
Suddenly a rich, heavenly voice rose above the rain and thunder. So beautiful it was, it was like it was calling to her through the dark. It crescendoed, rising and falling with the storm. Who could possess such a lovely voice?
The storm was growing worse. Her only hope was to find shelter until the skies had cleared. Margaret urged her horse in the direction of the voice. A few moments later, a modest cottage came into view. Margaret leapt from her horse and ran up the walk and onto the porch. She pounded on the door. The singing ceased and a few seconds later, a man opened the door.
Margaret couldn't believe how incredibly handsome he was. He was tall and built, towering over her like some dark avenging angel. He wore a pair of black trousers and a white shirt of which the top few buttons were undone, exposing part of his broad chest. The wind blew into the house, playing with his hair, which was as black as pitch. He cocked his head, looking at her.
"Mademoiselle?"
His voice was gorgeous!
Margaret flushed, realizing that she had been staring. She must have appeared a sight.
"I-I… I was looking for shelter," she stammered. "M-my horse–"
"Say no more," the man said. He left the warmth and safety of his house and entered the storm, reaching out to take the reins of the horse.
"Oh!" Margaret followed him. "Let me help you, Monsieur! Moll doesn't take well to strangers!"
But the mare did not object when the strange man took hold of the reins. He stroked her muzzle softly and led her in the direction of a small stable. Margaret followed them. The stable was tiny and sad-looking, but it was warm and dry inside. A black gelding stood in a stall munching hay. He looked up with a lazy glance when his master entered with the brown mare. Then he returned to his meal.
The man began to remove the saddle from the wet animal. Margaret worked quickly alongside him. In no time they had removed her tack. Margaret brushed her down while the man forked some hay into the manger. Finally, he put a warm, dry blanket on her back.
At last, he turned to Margaret. "You probably should have gone inside where it's dry," he told her as he glanced out the doors into the storm-blackened night.
"I'm already wet," Margaret pointed out with a hint of amusement.
"Indeed," the man laughed. He offered her his hand. "On three, we run like the Devil's chasing us?"
Margaret took his hand, smiling. "Alright…"
"One…"
"Two…"
"Three!"
They plunged into the storm. Wind and rain beat at them from all directions, but strangely Margaret found herself unafraid. The man's reassuring grip made her feel safe. He had large, strong hands… Hands that were calloused… Hands that knew work… But they were also long and graceful, like a musician's hands…
At last, they burst through the door of his home. Margaret was almost disappointed when he let go of her hand.
"Well, that was refreshing," he said as he began to peel off his wet shirt.
"Uh…" Margaret cleared her throat.
He froze, and his cheeks grew red. He pulled his shirt back down.
"Sorry," he said, obviously embarrassed. "I'm, ah… not really used to having ladies in my home… or anyone, for that matter…"
He pushed a soggy lock of black hair out of his face, and Margaret found herself captivated by the beauty of his stormy grey eyes.
"You must get out of those wet clothes," he said. "You'll catch your death… I have a robe you can wear. You may change in my room."
He led Margaret to a small bedroom. It had a single cot and a dresser. Nothing more. He handed her a robe and she began to peel out of her wet things.
How fortunate she was that such a kind man had given her shelter!
When she entered his sitting room, he was seated with his back to her in front of an old-looking upright piano. He had also changed into dry clothes.
"Do you play?"
Her question startled him, for he jumped. Margaret had forgotten, he wasn't used to company.
"Ah, yes," he answered. "Since I was a child… I'm… ah… I'm a… a composer…"
"How interesting," Margaret said. "Was that your voice I heard when I arrived?"
He blushed again. "Yes… That was me… I was working out the tenor part for an opera I'm working on." He stood up. "I made tea. I thought you might like something to warm you up."
"Thank you," she whispered when he handed her a cup. He shifted on his feet uncomfortably for a moment.
"Forgive me," he said finally. "But I don't believe we have been properly introduced."
"Oh!" she set her cup down on a nearby coffee table. "I'm sorry… My name is Margaret de Chagny."
He took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips, kissing her knuckles.
"Erik Destler," he whispered.
XxXxX
Erik had seen her back to her brother's estate when the storm had passed. And then he kept seeing her… He often invited her to his home for dinner. Sometimes they would go riding. But what she enjoyed most was when he would play his piano and enchant her with his angelic voice.
He hadn't been able to afford a fancy ring. But he had saved every sou he had for months to buy a small, but beautiful diamond. He had been so worried that she would reject his proposal. But she couldn't imagine ever being married to anyone else.
Margaret looked down at the ring he had given to her in love, which she wore on a chain around her neck. She never took it off.
"I miss you, Erik," she whispered as tears fell freely down her face. "I love you so much…"
"Margaret…"
Margaret froze. She could have sworn she heard someone whisper her name!
She grew stiff when she felt warmth encircle her, as though someone was wrapping their arms around her. She felt warm breath against her ear as a voice stated slowly and simply:
"No one… but… you…"
His voice!
"Erik!" she shrieked.
The presence retreated as quickly as it had come, leaving her cold and alone. Her eyes searched the room. No one was there.
"Margaret!"
Raoul burst into the room, obviously concerned when he heard his sister scream her lover's name.
"Margaret, what happened?" Christine followed her husband.
"He's alive, Raoul!"
Raoul's face became a look of surprise, then annoyance. "Don't be ridiculous, Margaret… You can't–"
"I felt his presence, Raoul!" Margaret insisted. "I heard his voice!"
"It was your imagination."
"I didn't imagine it! I'm certain! It was him! Or his spirit, or–" She stopped. She could tell by the look in her brother's eyes that he thought she was crazy.
"Don't you see?" Margaret asked. "He promised me that no matter how far apart we are his soul would always find mine! He's alive, Raoul! He has to be!"
Raoul took her arm and pulled her from the piano bench. "You had a hard night, last night," he said. "And you are obviously tired. You should get some rest."
"No!" Margaret tore her arm from his grasp. "I know what I heard! I'd know his voice anywhere!"
"Margaret, stop this!" Raoul shouted.
"It's true!"
"No, it's not! Erik is dead! He is gone and there's nothing that can be done about it!"
"Why won't you believe me?" Margaret cried as she ran to the doorway. She stopped and turned to face her brother. "He would have believed me!"
With an angry cry, she ran from the den and up to her room, slamming the door as hard as she could.