Author's Note: This story is based on the 2004 film of Andrew Lloyd Webber's play The Phantom of the Opera, with slight adjustments to the dates to accommodate the siege of Paris from September 1870 to April 1871. I do not own any character that appears in the movie, or the book by Gaston Leroux, only those I have created for this work. Erik/OW
Copyright J. Niles, 2008
Paris, December 1870
Raoul de Chagny cautiously advanced the last few feet toward the archway leading to the Phantom's lair, pistol in hand. He moved slowly through the waist-high water of the immense lake far beneath the foundations of the ruined Opera Populaire. Although the shadows of the great cavern protected him from sight, he remembered the creature's acute sense of hearing and tried to move silently.
He paused to examine the object of his hunt. A single candelabrum on a small round table picked out some of the elaborate carving on the organ beyond, but most of it pooled around the figure hunched in a chair by the table. The profile showed black against the soft golden light. Raoul shuddered. That perfect line of forehead, straight nose, mouth and strong jaw divided the face of a monster: the left side fair as an angel's, smooth and handsome; the right a disfigured horror with reddened and pinched flesh surrounding the eye and ruined ear, even going into the hairline.
The vicomte did not underestimate the creature's hearing. Even as he stealthily slid another foot closer, the dark head turned and the figure unfolded itself to approach the water's edge. Raoul froze until he heard the voice his wife described as dangerously hypnotic.
"What do you want, de Chagny?" The question held nothing but bitterness. "Are you here to gloat? Please, do so properly." Raoul gasped in spite of his determination to remain unintimidated. Although he had not detected any movement from his prey, several ornate candelabra emerged from the water around him, burning brightly. After hours wandering through pitch black tunnels with only a single torch, he winced and shaded his eyes. "Or have you come to put your ghost to rest?" He indicated the pistol in Raoul's right hand with a mocking gesture.
The young man found his voice. "I am not here to gloat, and this – " indicating the weapon he held pointed up to the ceiling " – is to preserve my own life should it be necessary. I assure you that your death is the last thing I want just now."
"Oh?" The single drawn-out syllable expressed a world of disbelief on the Phantom's part.
Raoul ignored it. "I am sorry to have disturbed you -- Monsieur. May I approach?"
"And if I say 'no'?" His opponent snarled the question, his light eyes blazing with contempt.
"Then I will stay where I am and speak to you," the vicomte replied calmly. "I would not have risked my life with your little traps except for an extremely important reason." He licked his suddenly dry lips. "Christine needs your help."
A harsh bark of laughter echoed in waves from the high ceiling as the Phantom turned away from his unwelcome guest. "Indeed? Please be so good as to give my regards to Mademoiselle Daae – forgive me, I should say 'Madame La Vicomtesse' – and inform her that her Angel of Music has done everything he can for her. She is on her own."
"Then she may die," Raoul said simply. He watched the creature slowly turn back to him. A muscle twitched in the ravaged right cheek. "May I explain? Christine is not in danger at present, but if you will not help her, she will be."
"And why can't her noble husband protect her?" The words hissed like a whip across the dark waters of the lake. "Why the hell don't you take care of her, you stupid boy?"
Raoul kept his gaze on his prey and prepared to use his pistol if need be. He could have been standing in his own drawing room as he replied, "I am protecting her by coming to you. I cannot help her because I don't know these tunnels and you do."
Silence stretched between the two until the lair's occupant abruptly shattered it. "Come out. Explain." He stepped away from the edge of the stone platform that made up his living space.
Still gripping the pistol, wary of any tricks, the vicomte cautiously made his way to the stone steps across the shallow lake. As he climbed them, he studied the wretch who had nearly murdered him only months earlier.
He was startled to see that the once powerful Phantom of the Opera looked like a beggar. No longer immaculately attired, the creature before him stood tiredly, a wrinkled white shirt and dingy trousers hanging off his gaunt frame. The wretched face had thinned as well. An unexpected pang of sympathy struck Raoul as he noted the lines of suffering around the former 'ghost's' mouth.
He realized his pity must have shown on his face, for his rival sneered, "Forgive my appearance, dear Vicomte. I seldom bother to dress up anymore, as I receive so few visitors."
Raoul replied with equal contempt." Is that because you destroyed their home or because of your homicidal tendencies, I wonder?"
The other man's eyes slitted dangerously. "Do not try my patience further, boy. It would not disturb me in the least to see Christine a widow. And your own appearance leaves much to be desired." That was true enough. Raoul's once-starched shirt clung to his frame while dirty rivulets of water ran off his body onto the smooth stone floor.
"Enough." The young nobleman did not try to hide his scorn. "I have more pressing matters than exchanging insults with you." He looked the other man over carefully, hoping he was rational and sober.
"Then state your piece and get out." As if guessing his concerns, the creature defiantly poured three fingers of brandy into a glass and tossed it off.
Raoul rolled his eyes. "You may possibly be aware that the Prussian army has surrounded Paris for the last three months."
"Since September, yes." The Phantom shrugged. "Is this supposed to be significant to me?"
"I have no idea," the vicomte snapped. "My first concern is my wife. Food is already scarce in the city and the situation will only worsen as winter continues. I also have reason to believe that while the Prussians have not used artillery and canon on the city so far, they will do so before much longer."
"And just how do you come to know so much, boy," the older man sneered again.
Now Raoul's face tightened bitterly. "He cannot disinherit me from the succession, but my father cut off my income for marrying 'a common opera whore', as he described Christine. To support us, I obtained a minor government position. Although I refuse to associate with anyone who insults my wife, I have a few true friends remaining. One of them is a reliable source of military information.
"The only property I actually own is a house and a small piece of land in the Massif Central inherited from my grandfather a few years ago." He forced himself to look the Phantom in the eye without showing his revulsion. "I beg you to take her through the tunnels to the outskirts of the city, along with a few others in our household, and from there south. I must remain at my post in the city, but Christine does not."
The Phantom snorted. "Touching, little vicomte, but for one thing, I am not sure myself if the tunnels under Paris reach the edge of the city. For another --." He approached, daring Raoul to retreat. The nobleman stood his ground. "I don't think your staff will follow me, even if Christine would."
"Yes, they will, for one of them knows you. Meg Giry accepted a position at La Scala, but they did not require her mother's services. Catherine Giry has been living with us." Raoul watched an expression of relief cross his adversary's face. Perhaps the man felt some guilt for the destruction and death he had caused, after all.
He took a breath and imperceptibly tightened his finger on the trigger of his pistol. "If you will swear not to hurt her, Christine promises me that she will go with you. She seems to be under the impression that you will not go back on your word."
The Phantom looked at him coldly. "She knows perfectly well that I would never harm her. You wish me to promise you not to hurt her." The accurate assessment startled Raoul. Before he could speak, the other man paced to the edge of the lake and stood looking across it, motionless. The young man could hear only dripping water and the sound of his own breathing.
"In the end, I never could refuse her anything." The soft words reached his ears just before the gaunt figure turned from the lake. Tiredly, he said, "If I knew I could get her safely away, then yes, I would take her through the tunnels."
"Thank you." The vicomte did not care that all his profound relief showed in the two words. "Regarding the tunnels, you are not the first person to venture into them. In the Prefecture of the Seine there were a few maps showing their placement under the city."
"Were." The Phantom crossed his arms, looking unimpressed. "It would help greatly if their current location is known, boy."
"They are hidden in the old chapel backstage. I stole them." Raoul watched the other man's expression change to one of reluctant admiration. Triumph lanced through him, why, he did not know. Certainly no de Chagny needed the approval this monster.
His voice became more business-like. "I can show you if you wish to accompany me back up."
He caught an expression of longing on the Phantom's face, as if the fellow would have liked company, even his. "Very well." Those light eyes flickered over his wet clothes. "I suggest we take the boat."
