Prologue: Authors Message
This is a sequel to the ALW Movie, first and foremost. That fine movie was the inspiration that led to a creative awakening within me. I hope you enjoy this tale, because it was a labor of love, constructed over many months. As the story progressed, elements of Leroux and Kay were added to bring depth and complexity to the story. The story in this form is an extensively reworked version of the Phantom of Luxembourg, presented as it was written, chapter by chapter onto the POTO website. I became a storyteller with this tale, staying true to the muse within my head, despite some misgivings. This work is my baby. I thank my beta-readers for their invaluable assistance and loving support. I thank my devoted and consistent readers for their constant words of praise that kept me going. You know who you are. I love you guys…
Chapter One:
The torch flamed up in the path behind the broken mirror. Slowly, the burning wood revealed the unmasked, tear streaked face of Erik, the Phantom, his pained expression reflecting the gloom permeating the stone walls around him. He stood as if paralyzed for a moment, devastation making his insides quake, struggling to find some strength, some will to actually move. He stumbled up through the sliding stone wall, taking a path that would eventually lead to the outside world.
Erik climbed with difficulty, a broken man. Feeling along the cold, damp wall, he grabbed the cloak, mask and full purse he had stashed in a crevasse in the wall for such instances. He pulled himself up through a trap door into a corridor. This was his secret entrance to the labyrinth, and only he knew the way out. As he walked away from the lair, away from his cursed life, the only life he knew, he heard the screams of hatred. The angry mob behind him was calling for his demise. He treaded heavily, hands scraping along the rough, dark walls for the clues to the path out. It took great effort for him to drag himself through the dark, winding corridors. His mind was in a shambles, memories of the occurrences of the last day repeating in his mind, eating away at his soul. At the last turn before the exit of the shadowy maze, his drive to go on vanished. He collapsed onto his hands and knees on the floor of the cold, lonely corridor, sobbing deeply.
I have never felt so truly alone, so utterly hopeless. My heart is shattered, broken into as many pieces as the mirrors I just smashed. I hate this face, this horrible face that destroys any chance at a semblance of a real life. I hate myself, what I have become. I will never be able to touch, to hold Christine ever again. Will I ever be that close to love ever again? I must accept it; I can never, will never be loved. I can never return to this cold dungeon I called home. Will I ever be able to bring myself to sing or write music ever again, my only source of joy? Why in hell did I set the opera house on fire, the place I shed my own blood, sweat and tears to build? Why am I such a wretched devil?
His tortured cries echoed in the loneliness of the labyrinth. He suffered a moment of madness. Or was it clarity?
I should just put out this flame now and lay down in my defeat. It is right for me to perish this way, alone in the dark, this place as my crypt. I deserve it. I welcome death, but only if only it will stop this pain. I know that the flames of hell await me. Oh God, please, I beg you, remove from the earth this horrible, putrid creature you created. For once, have pity on me.
He slammed down the torch and sunk face down on the cold, wet ground in anguish, the scent of death and decay strong in his nostrils.
PING
A noise echoed in the silence and took hold of him, dragging him away from his spiraling despair. Wiping away the tears so he could see, he lifted up the now barely lit torch and crawled in the direction of the noise. He found it sparkling in the dark corridor, lying on the edge of a step, shining brightly in the dim torchlight: the ring.
While he was writhing in his agony, he had dropped it. It had rolled down the gentle slope, dropping onto a ledge, creating the noise that captured his attention. He reached over and picked it up, putting it on the little finger of his left hand. He sat back against the cold stone wall, staring at it in the dim light. With a dirty finger he stroked the jeweled band of gold. This ring had just been on Christine's hand, just for a moment, as a symbol of her devotion to him.
She was my betrothed, if for only a fleeting instant. She had accepted my evil proposal, but, I could not let her. Her love was not mine. All the rage in my heart could not make me look past that obvious fact. Maybe, just maybe, I will be able to see her again, someday, just for a moment, just for an instant. Maybe that could be enough.
He pressed the ring up to his lips, remembering clearly that undeniably beautiful kiss. The tears came again. Somewhere, deep inside, the will to go on awoke once more. He composed himself as best he could.
He placed his skin colored mask over his face, the one he used when veiled by the darkness of night to exist outside the opera house. Wrapping himself up in his hooded cloak, he walked up to a brick wall. He pushed on it with his shoulder and a section of the wall turned like a revolving door. He slid out to an alleyway, applying just enough pressure to return the secret doorway back into its rightful position. He broke the mechanism so that no one, not even him, could enter or leave this way ever again. Silently, he moved with his usual stealth, a shadow in the darkness until he reached the stables. The area was quiet, and seemed untouched by the chaos in the theatre. The horses were still there, everyone else either in the main part of the opera house, or trying to get away from the flaming building. He quickly saddled up his favorite stallion; a dark, powerful horse named Caesar; the same one he used to carry Christine not so long ago.
The phantom rode fast through the bedlam of the Parisian streets. Distressed folk gathered around the opera house, seemingly the whole city out in the night air chattering about the 'great disaster'. His dark shadow riding past them did not even attain a glance. He rode out of the city of Paris and into the countryside to the northeast of the city. The hooded man rode hard and fast in the moonlit night, along well traveled paths, like a man pursued by the devil himself. He attempted to clear his mind and hold back the cries of despair from his aching throat as he rode. To feel some relief from the pangs of grief within him, he concentrated on the tempo of the hooves beating on the earth and the noisy panting of the stallion as he galloped.
All sense of time was lost until the gentle glow of dawn. Buried in deep his thoughts, he was oblivious to it at first.
I had to let her go. That was the best way to show my love for her.
By this point, the stallion was trotting, shaking his head and snorting loudly, complaining. Looking out from his foggy inner world, Erik spied a stream in the woods and took a turn off the path to lead the thirsty, tired horse to water. He bent over to wash his hands and splashed some of the cool water on his face. Scanning the surroundings, he saw a small cave-like rock formation on the hill.
"We'll stay there for the day, Caesar. We should travel only at night, tired one," he said to the horse, stroking its neck and offering it some oats from the saddlebag. Travel to where he did not yet have a clue.
In the days that followed, Erik rode on, beyond familiar locations, over low hills and past many small villages. He hid in the thick, bright woods during the day, and stopped for food only when pangs of hunger and the threat of starvation demanded it. They stopped at dark, noisy inns where his hooded figure would not seem out of place. An extra coin always bought silence, and he would take the food and drink quickly and leave quietly. Years of learning how to be a shadow kept him hidden. The daylight in which he was now hiding mocked his inner darkness. He was a man possessed with sorrow, with no set destination. Carefully, he rationed his money and supplies, knowing they would eventually run out. He did not have the mental energy to design a plan for his future just yet. Sleep was fitful, his nightmarish dreams filled with regret. The music within him was painfully silent.
On a particularly cold night, he checked in late at a rooming house, paying off the innkeeper so that he would not be questioned until the following night. In the weak light of a lantern he cleaned himself, washed his clothing, and trimmed off the facial hair that had grown. Unmasked, he looked into the mirrored glass on the wall. The mirror showed a more slender man than he remembered, his deep set green-grey eyes, sad and stony above hollowed cheeks. His grotesque scar was the only hint of color on the face in the mirror.
How long has it been? He wondered, lying back in the hard bed. His sad eyes closed.
I'll think of something tomorrow. He drifted off to sleep as the sun peeked through the window shade.
It was a beautiful blue skied day, as Erik gazed on a meadow filled with flowers. There, running in the field was a bright eyed little girl with beautiful golden hair and a white lacy dress. There was a sweet voice singing a melody in the breeze. The little girl laughed and ran up to a woman with long, dark curly hair. The woman scooped up the little girl and as they turned, he saw it was Christine. The two beauties ran frolicked in the meadow as he watched in awe. Suddenly, the sky drew dark and both the little girl and Christine turned to face him.
"A monster!" The girl screamed out in terror, pulling on Christine's arm "Run, Mother, run!" Christine looked at him with ferocious anger.
"Get away from me you beast! Go back to hell where you belong!" Christine picked up a rock and hurled it towards him. In midair it turned into a dagger that plunged deep into his chest. He gasped as he looked down, seeing the blood pour from his chest. There was so much blood. He stumbled and fell onto his knees. He looked up, as hot tears spilled over onto his cheeks to find Raoul standing over him, sword in hand.
"Leave us alone!" growled Raoul, as the arm holding the sword bore down on him. His world went dark.
Erik woke up in a cold sweat, shaking from his nightmare. He sat still for a few minutes to pull himself together mentally. His dreams were becoming more realistic, violent. The sleep he needed was becoming torture to attain. Through the window, he saw it was dark yet again. He pulled himself up, and slowly, eventually hegot dressed. In the hazy evening's glow, he stumbled down to the bar at the Bellows Inn and ordered something to eat. He sat staring at the bar blankly, mired in his despair, not noticing the two men in a dark corner that were studying him.
"Look there, a gentleman about town all by his lonesome." The small, wiry man whispered to his burly companion. The burly man turned around, and turned back, nodding.
"Did you see his purse as he passed us? It seems a wee bit heavy to me. And that ring on his hand; he must be some one important," he whispered back, "or at least wealthy." The smaller man signaled for the burly man to come closer.
"Don't you think it is a bit dangerous to travel alone in these woods? One could get mugged if one is not careful," the smaller man said with an evil giggle.
"Quiet man!" He said, punching the smaller man in the arm. He leaned closer to him and whispered in his ear. "I'm suddenly feeling lucky tonight. I think a windfall is in my future…and I'm not even playing cards," said the burly man with a low cackle.
"I see you are reading my mind, mate. Heh, heh, drink up!" They knocked glasses and continued to talk about their plans, a warm welcome for the unsuspecting stranger, in hushed voices.
The inkeeper was a stocky man named Mason. Standing at the bar after serving his silent, hooded guest, he gave the men in the corner a glare.
Those two are nothing but trouble.Mason thought, eyeing the two men with suspicion.
He allowed his silent guest at the bar to eat in peace, sensing the man was not interested in idle chatter. The man finished quickly and left a generous tip. The two men at the table in the corner got up abruptly and walked out of the bar shortly after the man in the hood left.
"What the hell are they up to?" Mason said to himself, looking out the window after the two unsavory characters.
Erik got on his horse and headed off down a quiet, dark road, at an easy gallop. The trees were tall, partially obscuring the night sky. Little pinpoints of light were set against dark leafy boughs. Erik looked up for a brief moment, drawn by the simple splendor of the night.
The stars are quite beautiful. They sparkle like the candlelight, shining in her eyes. Ugh! I have to stop this. He thought, getting angry with himself for allowing Christine's memory to posses his thoughts endlessly. He then returned his attention to the business of trying to see the darkened road.A short while into the trip, he spotted a carriage heading his way. As he passed the carriage, he nodded a greeting to the driver.
"Good night." said the driver, a tall, strong, middle aged man named Nate. He tipped his hat to the hooded stranger. Cleric, maybe? he wondered, taking note of the solemn tone of the man within the hood, catching just a glimpse of thelower part ofhis faceas he passed.
"Wait, Sir," he said, halting the carriage. Erik stopped his horse and turned to face the carriage driver, sensing no malice.
"The road ahead is dark and lonely, fellow traveler. These woods can be full of mischief. It would be a good idea to keep your wits about you and get into the open road as soon as possible, about two miles down the way. And, oh…God Bless." Nate said with a smile and a bowed head. I think that is the appropriatething to say to say to a priest.
"Thank you for the warning, my good man. I will take heed. And, God Bless to you too." said Erik, a little puzzled at the blessing
You do not know how right you are, kind sir. My road is indeed dark and lonely. He thought as he rode along, quickening his pace.
A little further along the same dark road, Nate spotted two men on horses trotting towards him quickly, slowing down as they approached the carriage. Unlike the previous traveler he encountered, these men made his hair stand on end, and fired up his defensive instincts. He pulled the knife he wore around his middle to the front so its handle would be visible to them. Nate glared at them with a warning in his eyes as they rode silently past him. He lashed the reins and made the horses take off. He looked back a minute later to make sure the men were not on his tail. A small window in the front of the carriage opened.
"Hey, Nate, what was that all about?" said Jacque, a young manservant.
"Nothing, just a couple of evil spirits passing by. They're gone now." They rode on in silence until the small window opened up again
"Are we nearly there?" Jacque complained.
"Yes, I see the Bellows up ahead in the distance." Nate smiled at the open window, laughing at the childishness of this young servant. Just for a second, he looked back along the dark road and wondered if those men would pose any danger to the cleric traveling ahead of them. A little disturbed, he led the carriage into the inn, pulling up the horses to the trough to have a drink before the last leg of the trip, their return home. Nate walked into the Bellow's Inn to greet an old friend of his, the innkeeper, Mason.
Erik returned quickly to his quiet inner world of turmoil after his brief encounter with the carriage. The darkness of the path was actually comforting to him. He could be sad and alone in peace. He began to ruminate about what he could do in the future. Again he was a man without a home, without purpose, without anyone to care if he lived or died. The instinct of survival was the only thing to keep him meandering upon this earth, constantly alone. It gave him little reason to expend the effort necessary to keep going. He thought about becoming a hermit in the mountains. The problem is and always was that he was a creative soul that craved, needed some type, any form of human interaction to survive. He desperately wanted to dwell among people; but society would not let him, he had been ostracized at every turn, his frightful appearance scaring away most of them. His bitterness and inability to control his temper got rid of the rest who dared to try and keep his acquaintance.
"Yah!"
The silence of the darkness was shattered by the sound of hooves and horses being whipped into a fast run behind him. He spun around and saw two dark riders heading towards him. He kicked Caesar with his heels and the horse took off down the road, as if it knew the danger they were facing.
It was too little too late; the riders behind him were at a full gallop. They caught up with Erik within a few strides. One of the men grabbed his cloak and yanked Erik violently off the horse. He felt himself fly through the air and land with a sickening crunch on the road, rolling in the dirt. He was only peripherally aware of the pain ripping along the right side of his chest. He tried to get up, but his right leg buckled under him, his lower leg broken. The two men wasted no time, jumping off their horses and attacking him. Erik, being inhumanly strong, was able to wrestle the man from behind him, smashing his face with the back of his head and whipping him over his shoulder. He kicked the other man in the stomach with his good leg. The two men then pounced on him at the same time. One held him from behind and the other one pummeled him with fists in his face and stomach, knocking his mask off to the side of the road. He then felt a sharp pain in his head and the world faded to black…
The burly man threw down the club he had used to knock out the stranger, and both robbers stopped, bending over for a minute to catch their breath.
"God damn, he fights like a lion." said the burly man holding his stomach where he got kicked.
"He got me in the mouth!" Said the smaller man, wiping blood from a busted lip. He kicked the crumpled body in his anger. There was no response. The burly man turned the stranger over and rummaged around for his purse, which he found laden with coin.
"Here's the booty!" he laughed. Leaning over the still man he grabbed at the blood soaked hair and lifted it up. He jumped back when he saw Erik's face.
"What hells work is this? He's a freak! Look here! The Devil's mark on his face!" The smaller man looked over.
"What an ugly thing! Leave him here on the road. No doubt he'll be dead by morning." The smaller man stripped off Erik's cloak with some effort.
"I could use a new coat" said the burly man, grabbing the cloak with a guffaw. The smaller man growled in defeat.
"Fine, But I want that ring!" The smaller man knelt down and started to try to pull the ring off the man's finger.
Erik awoke suddenly, his entire body in pain. He felt someone pulling at his hand where Christine's ring was. He came to his senses; he would die before letting anyone take it.
"No!" he yelled, starling the man in front of him. He pushed the small man over and jumped at his throat. The smaller man still had a hold of Erik's finger, which he bent back and broke. Erik let out a blood curdling scream and punched the man hard with his other hand, smashing his face.
"Get him! get him!" screamed the smaller man until Erik's grip grew tight around his neck. The man's eyes bulged, and he struggled in vain. Erik tightened his grip, looking darkly into the little man's eyes as his life leaked away.
The burly man had been mounting his horse when Erik awoke. He ran and got the club, returning to try and free his friend from Erik's grasp. He bludgeoned Erik again and again. He was able to plant a few good blows, but they did not render Erik unconscious this time. Erik whipped around and grabbed the club, pulling the man over to the ground. Erik was fully enraged now, finding the strength to partially stand with the club in hand. His eyes were on fire and he panted like a beast. Both men backed away, scurrying to their horses.
The blows on Erik's head were still ringing in his ears as he fell down to his hands and knees, then onto the ground. Blood was streaming into his eyes and down his face. In the impending darkness he saw the men riding off out of view. Every limb hurt, every breath hurt. He rolled over to look up to the darkening sky as he felt consciousness leaving him. The sky went dark as a shadow came over him.