Welcome to my third Phantom work of fiction. This will be a different take for me. I am not normally an Erik/Christine person, but I decided to do away with my own misgivings, and try my hand at it.
Thus, "The Dawn Through the Night" was born. Erik is played by Gerry Butler…for me, there is no other. Christine resembles the movie Christine, as does Brigitte Giry and Raoul.
I do not think that my story line bashes Raoul, but I do think it keeps in line with the times. The aristocracy were a cheating, back-stabbing, blood-thirsty bunch…I have made Raoul no different than any other nobleman.
For the sake of my story, the last scene of the movie does not happen. The chandelier never falls, and the story picks up after his mask is removed during the performance of "Don Juan".
Also, for the sake of my story, Madam Giry never married; and therefore, Meg does not exist.
Enjoy my little chickadees!
THE DAWN THROUGH THE NIGHT
CHAPTER ONE
May 31, 1872
Scene: Opera Populaire, the night of the "Don Juan Triumphant" performance, Christine has just removed the Phantoms's mask during the performance.
He had prepared for this; she had done exactly what he thought she would do…betrayed him. She stood in front of him now, with her hand on his grotesque cheek; looking at him as if his visage had no bearing on what she had done.
Agonizing fury raged through him…no one would ever understand him…he was beyond comprehension, his face, his genius, his talents; they all made him more of a demigod than a human; and he was tired of fighting. He had sealed his fate tonight…he knew that; he had known it before he walked out onto the stage.
The officers stood at every exit, ready to gun him down if he so much as flinched in any direction. This was it…the end of the line; the Phantom would be no more; the life he had known amounted to nothing. The skills he possessed; the knowledge he possessed – all would be lost.
He had the trap set, he could easily propel them both down the shaft and straight toward his lair, but of what use would it be? It would just prolong the inevitable. She had already made her choice when she ripped the mask from his face; in actual fact, she had made her choice in the graveyard…how he wished that boy had rammed that sword through his heart and prevented this entire, desperate, plea for love.
She had done this to him, her and her meddlesome lover. The Phantom thought about all that he could have done differently as he felt this heart leap in this chest. He marveled at how long it had taken the events of his life to catch up with him
She would never know…she would never know how much he loved her. The plan had been to confess his true intentions to her tonight; now he was relieved he had not humiliated himself by telling her he loved her.
Did he love her? He really wasn't sure, he had no real knowledge of love and how it felt. He had neither given it nor been shown it.
Trying desperately to hide the pain in his eyes, he dropped them from her searching ones. She had never been his…he knew that now. He had wooed her and given the best he had to offer…not himself, you see…of course not; no woman would want that…he had offered her his music, his genius; it was his only legacy; his only beauty.
She had been the first in years to see his talents used for good; and she, as did all the others, betrayed him. Many of the things he was accused of over the years, he was guilty of; robbery, deceit, torture of the mind and body, drug abuse…how ironic it was that the crimes he stood to answer for in the next few days…were not his.
His music; the one steady companion in his, otherwise, dreary and lonely existence; he had wanted to share it with someone…first with his mother, then with his gypsy master, then with Madam Giry. Even in his short stay in Persia, he had found those with whom he wanted to share it. All but one had betrayed him. The child had been the only one to appreciate the gifts he shared with him. Overall, Persia was a part of his life he wished he could forget; he still heard the screams in his nightmares.
He had returned to Paris a more damaged than he had been when he left. He had been nothing but a ghost when he returned; a cold, unfeeling, corpse. He was barely nineteen when he left Persia – but his mind had seen and participated in far more than any nineteen year old should have to; much of it, he had no choice in, but that did not change the wrongness of it.
Then, there had been Christine; the girl he had coached and wooed. She had just turned ten when he returned from Persia, and she needed a friend to guide her after the death of her father. He assumed the role of an angel and trained her voice to reach levels she never thought were possible. He gave her his gift of music by coaching her with his own voice, his one point of beauty.
He had somehow lost Brigitte. She had pulled him from the gypsies grip and given him a place to live. She had seen the uncanny, almost inhuman intelligence he possessed and catered to it with books, parchment paper, and pencils. She had been many things to him; rescuer, teacher, friend, sister…now, she had become aloof and distant; he knew she feared what he had become; at least, in the eyes of mankind...but it was probably for the best.
Now, she resorted to being his messenger…carrying his demands to the managers and operators of the Opera Populaire; beyond that…she had nothing to do with him.
He backed away from Christine, slightly, and made no jerking moves. She was a good actress, he would give her that. She had almost convinced him that she cared for him, if only a tiny bit. Her eyes, as she held his ugly face in her hands, had displayed many emotions.
She had ripped the mask from him and shown the audience, players, and anyone else present, his horrid visage…and everyone had screamed; except her. It was as if she were looking straight through him. He would never forget the look of fear and loathing in her eyes…it would follow him to the grave.
He turned to Christine one more time, allowing his cold, yearning eyes to meet hers as he whispered and put his hands in the air, indicating his surrender, "You're free…go to him."
Had he ever loved her? Was he capable of love? He really had no idea. He knew one thing at that moment, he would shield his worthless heart from ever feeling this agony again, should he live past this week; or this night, for that matter.
Christine felt hot tears rolling down her face…this is what she wanted, wasn't it? What they wanted; he was a murderer and rapist, not worthy of a second thought. He belonged in the henchman's noose; or, at the very least, in prison.
But something just did not seem right. Why did it hurt so much to see his beautiful, wounded eyes and hear the grief in his angelic voice? She pulled her eyes to his one last time and saw that they had gone cold and detached; it was as though he had purged his heart, soul, and mind of her.
She turned her back to him, not wanting to see his paradoxical face; one side horribly scarred and the other, breathtakingly handsome; what kind of life had he lived that had forced him into the shadows of solitude and loneliness? She never realized when she turned her back on him that she turned his heart to stone.
She didn't know him…not really. He had been in her life for six years, but she had known him as the Angel of Music. It was only a few short months ago that he had revealed himself to her as a man. She had immediately been drawn to his charisma.
She had only spent a few hours with him on a few occasions, and had begun to think of him as a friend…there were so many compelling and attractive attributes about him; she wondered if things might have been different if…
She stopped in front of the officer poised at the end of the bridge. She nodded her head to him, indicating that the Phantom had surrendered. She moved out of the way and immediately left the stage, as four policemen barreled down on him and violently subdued him. She may have betrayed him, but she did not have to watch him be taken away.
He made no sound as they beat him with rods and mocked him. One burly officer read the charges he was being arrested for;
"Monsieur Phantom,
"You are hereby charged with two counts of murder in the first degree; and five counts of rape with intent to do bodily harm.
"How do you plead?"
The phantom did not speak, he couldn't speak; he had been beaten into a semi-conscience state. His eyes rolled back in his head as they roughly hauled him down the steps, not caring about the blood seeping from his mouth and head.
They literally dropped him on the floor, bound his hands and feet and attached them to a rod. He was hanging like an animal beneath the rod with his head dropped back in his unconsciousness.
"Let is be so noted that the Phantom did not respond when asked how he pleaded…entered as 'guilty'."
This was the final notation the officer made as The Phantom of the Opera was hauled out of the theater to a robust applause from the audience. The players all stood in stunned silence as they watched the scene unfold before their eyes.
No one seemed to notice the group of dancing girls huddling in the corner, right next to where the Phantom had been captured. They all had doubtful looks on their faces and they were shaking their heads "no".
Raoul came down from the box seat, headed backstage, and ran toward Christine, pulling her into his embrace. She stiffened slightly, and Raoul pulled back.
"What is it?" he asked; concern in his voice.
Christine was crying; hot, searing tears that burned her skin. "Something does not seem right about this, Raoul." She watched as his face showed what he thought was the absurdity of her words.
"Don't patronize me…I may not know him that well, but he is my friend; I could see something in his eyes…" Christine spat, aggravation coming out in her words. "…his eyes did not have the look of a madman nor the look of a guilty man…they looked…wounded and hurt; like a man who had been betrayed." She finished.
"Christine, it had to be him…who else would have done those thing?" Raoul reiterated.
It was Christine's turn to roll her eyes at him, "I don't know Raoul; all I know is what I didn't see in his eyes."
"Christine, I understand that he taught you to sing…but he's not worthy of your affection or your concern." Raoul stated, unaware of how brutal those words sounded to her. "You're young and influenced easily…he's quite a bit older than you are…" Christine jerked her head up, not sure of what Raoul was accusing her or the Phantom of, "…whatever he did to you was not your fault…" Raoul announced; and holding his head proudly and nobly, he added, "…and I forgive you."
She narrowed her eyes at him and spoke menacingly, "Forgive me?" Christine had not seen this side of Raoul, and she did not like it, "Just what are you insinuating?"
Raoul, being headstrong and used to having his way, continued without concern, "I know you were down in his lair with him…I am sure, being the animal that he is, that he tried to violate you…he may have even succeeded...he is a rapist after all."
He stopped to rake his eyes over her frame, wondering what the Phantom might have done to her. Raoul wanted this woman for himself; and now, knowing that she most likely had been sullied, made him want her even more; virgins were such a bother.
Christine stood with determined vexation, looking at Raoul as if seeing him for the first time. Was this the same man who had promised undying devotion as he held her in his arms just hours before?
"Raoul…he never did anything to me…he never even touched me…and he's only three years older than you." Christine fumed, she had the overwhelming urge to smack the galling smirk off his handsome face…handsome yes, there was not doubt, but he lacked substance.
Raoul doubted that she was telling him the truth, after all, it was a shameful thing to give ones self to a man before marriage; not that it really mattered to the man, but parents certainly frowned upon it. But what his parents didn't know, wouldn't hurt them.
Christine shook her head and turned from Raoul, she had had enough of him for now. He reached out to grab her arm and she turned vehemently toward him, "Don't touch me!" her eyes were aflame with rage, "You have some nerve Raoul de Chagny…"
Christine ran away from him at that point. She could not bear the reality of what was going to happen to her teacher and angel. He had always been there for her in her times of need and had only asked one thing in return…her companionship.
She preferred to remember him, as he had always been to her…a mystery. He had taught her to use her voice as an instrument of beauty and passion; he had proven himself adept at just about every aspect of life; from science to literature. She had found in him a man whose intelligence intrigued her and whose attractiveness bewildered her.
In her presence, he had always been gentle and patient, teaching her music and voice. He had never touched her, not really. His hands were always gloved, except for tonight, during "The Point of No Return"; she had felt his warm hands for the first time as he grasped her throat and hands.
She could honestly tell herself now; she had been very attracted to him; perhaps even falling in love with him. He was handsome and intelligent, and he not only encouraged her to be better than what she was, but he inspired her to be.
Then, his temper had shown itself. She could forgive the morning she had torn the mask from his face, the morning she had discovered he was a man and not an angel; she had invaded his privacy with her curiosity. However, his obsessive hatred and anger toward Raoul and his murderous turn on Monsieur Bouquet…those things were not so easy to forgive…and then, she heard about the rapes.
She could do nothing but deny her growing love for the man, and, in the end, betray his trust.
TBC