We heard the screams just as Madame Giry finished lacing my corset.
After Carlotta's rather humorous co-ack, the managers had dragged me from behind the curtain and presented me as the new Countess in Il Muto. I had sensed Erik's eyes from somewhere above and knew how triumphant he must have felt. As the ballet corps frantically tried to get in formation, Madame and I had hurried to my dressing room to prepare me for the stage. I had been unconsciously stroking the soft petals of the rose Erik had left for me on my dressing table when the shrieks of the dancers and cries of horror from the spectators reached our ears. Hardly pausing to think, I rushed out of the room in barely a corset and underskirts, wrapping myself in my cloak for modesty. Madame and I hurried through the halls back to stage.
We nearly collided with two of the actors playing the fops, and they quickly informed us in terrified whispers that Joseph Buquet, the head flyman, had dropped from a catwalk, hung in a noose made of the rope that hung the scenes high above the stage. Dead.
Erik, I must find Erik! My thoughts raced. He had dealt with Carlotta, why had he killed Buquet? Did the flyman find himself in the way of the Opera Ghost? And if all Buquet had done was be at the wrong place at the wrong time, what would Erik think of my relationship, even with a questionable statues, with Raoul?
Just as I had escaped from Madame and had climbed up a flight of stairs, intent on reaching the catwalks, Raoul appeared from a side hall, apparently intent on rescuing me. I sensed Erik's eyes on us, despite our standing in a doorway. Taking lessons from a man who never showed himself taught me to understand his moods by only the intensity of his gaze. The only comprehensible thought in my mind once I felt his penetrating gaze was that I was standing with Raoul, and that meant he was in danger.
"We can't stay here!" I cried, seizing the hand of the young man next to me. I dragged him up, up, up the flights of stairs, to the roof of the Opera Populaire. Raoul had been pelting questions at me as we raced up. Now I turned to face him, intent on explaining everything, when he uttered a statement that shocked me: "There is no Phantom of the Opera."
Oh Raoul… you may be a man of the city, but you are still so naïve, my mind cried. You have no idea how inaccurate you are. There is indeed a Phantom of the Opera, and he is everything to me- a challenging yet caring teacher, a man of seduction, and someone I understood far more than he thought I did.
I insisted to Raoul that while Erik may terrify nearly everyone he came into contact with, he and I shared something that Raoul would never understand: music. Erik had made my voice what it was; he understood the passion for music that had been instilled within my soul when my father first played a song for me on his violin. Although he was demanding and difficult at times, Erik's wondrous teachings and sly plans had given me the chance to attain my dreams of being recognized as the star of the stage.
Raoul promised me that he would never leave me or abandon me to the Phantom, this man of darkness. And yet, I couldn't help but remember the short conversation Meg and I had when Raoul was introduced along with the new managers. I had excitedly told Meg about the days when Raoul and I were children, when we would beg my father to tell us stories or play a song for us. As Raoul walked offstage, passing not a foot from me, I opened my mouth to greet him, but he pushed past, either not aware of my presence or simply dismissing me as another ballet rat. I resignedly told Meg that he wouldn't recognize me, but she, the eternally optimistic romantic, had insisted that he simply hadn't seen me.
But now, facing Raoul on the rooftop, I couldn't help but think of the past I shared with the two men that my mind churned between. Erik had loved me…yes, loved me… before I had even shown any intent, or any capability, of taking the role of lead soprano within the Populaire. Raoul had known me simply as a girl who lived near his summer estate, and only remembered me once I was in the spotlight of the stage. Erik had known me when my world was all darkness, just after my father's death, and had shown me glorious music in that darkness. Raoul was part of my bright and happy world, with my father and the sea. He was not there for my father's death and my struggles after. He had only appeared once the light had again appeared, this time singling me out as wealthy patrons reverently applauded my voice.
But as Raoul wrapped me in his arms, I could not help but remember the other side of Erik, the terrifying killer and manipulator, whose gruesome past I was neither fully knowledgeable on, nor did I really wish to be. The young man standing beside me was everything I should hope for: comforting, willing to lead me from the discomforts of a difficult young life out of the darkness and into the light. But as much as I wanted to leave sadness behind, I could not help but think that I did not want to leave Erik behind. I could still feel his eyes following me on the rooftop, and knew that no matter what happened, I would always feel those eyes on me and would never forgive myself for leaving their owner behind.
As Raoul lead me back towards the door into the Populaire, I heard a soft crunch of snow and turned around to see tall, black form standing beside one of the statues. I turned Raoul to face the building before he could spot Erik, and asked for a few minutes alone on the roof, making an excuse that I needed to collect my thoughts and warm up my voice. He looked at me questioningly, but I laughed-a bit forcibly- and assured him I would be right down. We were standing in front of the only door off the roof, where else would I go but through it, back inside?
He left me after a moment's hesitation, but did not shut the door firmly as he turned to walk back down the many flights of stairs. Now I stood, with a strip of light across my face from the Populaire, and Erik, clad in his usual black, behind me. I sighed and turned on my heel to face him, but what I saw surprised me- he was no longer standing with his usual imposing grace and power, but knelt in the snow clutching something that took me a minute to recognize.
The rose! I thought, horrified. I had been holding it when I ran from my dressing room, I must have brought it to the roof and… dropped it. Oh no.
As the panicked thoughts galloped through my mind, Erik turned his head and faced me. His expression erased all dread I held and replaced it with pity and self-loathing. He looked defeated. He claimed to be a demonic gargoyle, chained in hell, and the look on his face looked like the devil himself had just tightened Erik's chains, driving any thought of escape away.
I now stood on the doorstep, facing the city, the roofs of other buildings just in front of me. On my right stood the door to the Populaire, ajar, light hitting my face. The windows also glowed with the warm, welcoming light of the place I had called home for nearly six years. But on my left was Erik. A powerful mystery of a man, the little hope he had seemingly crushed beyond all repair. But this man was part of the Populaire, my home, and the life it had given me, part of the reason I held it in such a loving light.
And yet…even though this man claimed to be a devil, a corpse, bound to the darkness, didn't he wear a white mask? He hid his demonic face with the very light he tried to avoid. Erik could make all the excuses in the world for his dark behavior, but his actions betrayed his yearning for the light. And wasn't that what he told me? Was I not his light, his music? Slowly, I turned her head away from the light of the Populaire's windows, studying the man crouched on the snowy roof. Surely a man such as Erik could not be a demon. After all, demons cannot know the heavenly glory of love.
I resolutely stepped from the doorway and walked towards Erik.
A/N- This is the first POTO-related story (even if it is just a one-shot) that I've posted on FFN, so go ahead and give it some reviews.