Disclaimer; I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.
Author Note; Hello fellow fanfictioners; finally, after much procrastination and laziness on my part, I am starting my new story! This one is called 'Echoes of a Forgotten Opera' and takes the characters of POTO away from Paris in a chain of events that none of them could have ever predicted... It is completely separate from Someone Worth Living For.
Some of you might know from reading my other story that I like to update fairly regularly, weekly if possible, but there will come a point this year where I will have to completely stop fan fiction as crazy exams and revision take over my life. When this does happen; I'm not abandoning! I will be back- I promise! :-D
Okay, quick briefing on Erik's past. I'm going with the same back story as Someone Worth Living For, which suggests that Erik is 36 and Christine is 18 after the prologue. It will soon become clear in the prologue as to where this fic is set in terms of the actual POTO story- which, by the way, is a mash up of book/musical/film for this fic. Only change from SWLF Erik is that he spent a little longer with his gypsy captors before escaping- perhaps until he was about 8 or 9.
Soooo...without further ado...it's onto Erik and co for the fic!
There is no love that is not an echo- Theodor Adorno.
Prologue
(Opera Populaire, at the climax of the shocking new opera 'Don Juan Triumphant')
As the surge of orchestral melody that flooded through the palatial auditorium of the world renowned Opera Populaire, the gem of Paris and the musical hub of France, fell to barely a whisper on the lips of a child, there was a moment of horrified silence through the crowd, the endless rows of well-dressed faces all masks of horror and disapproval. What an opera! A fiery, dark manifestation of all that was satanic and sinful, thrown together with that horrendously provocative dancing-! Many wives, bedecked in various glittering jewels that winked as they caught the light, had a firm grip on their somewhat red-cheeked husbands, bristling with the indignation of such a thing being shown to them of a public stage- a public stage!
It was as if Andre and Firmin could see the waves of horrified anger radiating from each and every mortified aristocrat in their audience. With worried frowns, they turned to their young companion in the box that gazed over the stage, seeing that his eyes were locked upon another pair, his hand clenching onto the rail of the box as he grimaced down at them, willing one incompetent policeman to slip on the trigger, to simply shoot that monster-
"That's not our tenor, is it?" one manager hissed as he stared down at the cloaked individual, holding the troublesome soprano Christine Daae captive with his hypnotic voice and his hands, caressing her so that her head went limp on her neck and her eyes rolled in their sockets. It was disgusting- pure indecency!
"No, you fool!" the other, his counterpart, hissed back. His face and shirt showed his nerves though his voice hid it well- he looked as if he had been swimming in a lake of sweat rather than watching an opera in his own box. Both stole another glance at the Vicomte, whose eyes still had not left the couple on the stage as they stood frozen in their own embrace, as if lost to the sea of waiting audience members and the irate managers. But Raoul de Chagny knew, with blinding and angered certainty, that the hideous gargoyle who stood holding his fiancée and beloved in his clawing grip was perfectly aware of the gentry and the policemen- it was a game to him, a warped, twisted game, in which they were all is pawns.
"This will end tonight." He murmured to himself, turning quickly to the strained faces of the managers, who were leaning forward in complete unison to catch the barely uttered words as they fell from his almost cherubic lips. "Monsieur Andre, Monsieur Firmin...in a few moments, we should give the signal. I know that the man on your stage is not Piangi- it is the Opera Ghost!"
On the stage, unaware that his name was in whispered discussion amongst managers and the rather agitated fop, Erik gingerly stroked the cascading curls of Christine Daae, closing his eyes in dreamlike bliss as a small smile crept onto her face- she was beautiful, achingly beautiful, and she did not flee from his touch. As if to prove this to himself now, he tentatively moved to release her from his caresses only to touch her face, the black gloves a stark contrast to her creamy, moonbeam skin. Her eyes fluttered open, the ecstasy fading slightly as reality broke through the fog of confusion and desire.
He could tell, as soon as her eyes were open and perceptive again, that she knew who he was. She spun back from him, her hand flying to her throat and then slipping in an almost provocative manner to rest upon her heart. She looked so troubled, so torn as she let her gaze slip to the floor and stare resolutely at the stage she knew like her own hand, and so Erik reached out again, not expecting her to take his hand and grip it as it were a lifeline in whatever stormy sea she found herself drowning in.
"Christine." He barely whispered the word, suddenly aware that the audience were frowning down at them in their silent confusion, expecting an opera. Erik knew how his opera was supposed to end- Don Juan takes Aminta and she allows him to, thinking that he is Passarino. The love is forced, a lie, and yet to Don Juan the crying maiden is simply another woman he has conquered, another name to swell the lists of his lusts. It was as if ice had smothered the fire of Erik's anger- he no longer felt cheated, or desperate for revenge, for if he took it- if he forced Christine- it would be a lie.
It felt as if someone had punched their curled fist straight into his chest to stop his beating heart and hold it, squeezing it until he wanted to fall at her feet and weep out his sorrow, his wretched apology. For he was no Don Juan, no unfeeling lecherous seducer, and she was no Aminta- Christine Daae meant the world and more to him and his shattered heart, and he was not about to seize her love if she did not give it in consent. If her love was a lie, it would be as good as hate to his broken soul.
"Christine, I am...I am so sorry..." he choked a little on the words, seeing her head shoot up in alarm, her eyes instantly on his, searching for something in his eyes that begged her to see the truth, the whole pitiful truth, of his words. "I will never...I will never torment you again, Christine...please...go to your Vicomte, I beg you..."
He stopped the words before they became an unintelligible mess of sobs and moans of sorrow, desperate to retain a little of his pride- oh, how Nadir was going to relish in this, proved right again. He took her face in his hands again, feeling her tremble a little in his hold, and he bowed his head so that his forehead met hers before he allowed himself to cry silent tears, dribbling miserably down the surface of his mask and trickling in their melancholy stream onto Christine's face.
"Please, forgive me Christine, forgive me." He started to cry in shaking whispers, feeling her hands creep across his face, nimble fingers barely resting on his flesh or the mask, silently ghosting ever closer to the edge of his loathed facial covering. "You have saved me, from a life in the dark yet I...I have plunged myself back into that lonely hell- you don't deserve that too. Go to your love, Christine...that's all I ask of-"
And then the audience erupted into gasps and horrified murmurings again, pleased that the actors had not completely abandoned their storyline yet utterly insulted by the path this story had taken- so utterly inappropriate! As the majority of the aristocracy watched with narrowed eyes, already penning their letters of complaint inside their outraged minds, Raoul de Chagny felt his heart slam into his ribcage, his breath gone from his body, his head spinning as his eyes stayed locked upon that terrible scene-
That was his Christine, his fiancée, his love- and she had just willingly slipped her arms around the vile neck of the monster, the hellish beast...and had placed her lips upon his own in a kiss that seemed to shine with...with...Raoul turned away, anger bubbling under his own skin now and coursing through his veins. He wrenched his eyes away from the stage and turned to the astonished managers, his eyes wild and dancing with rage, silently demanding for them to put an end to this sham, this endlessly horrifying spectacle that was replaying through his mind again and again even though his back was now facing the stage, his eyes no longer stuck upon the scene he had never envisaged. Surely Christine couldn't actually return that monsters deluded affections? He was hideous- a complete madman!
Erik was, for once, thinking and agreeing with his rival as he forced himself to stop shaking and to seize the miraculous snatch of happiness that had been granted to him somehow. He slipped his hands into the mass of gorgeous brown curls, tasting roses and honey sweet delight as his lips frantically sought out hers, somehow awakening from their long dormant slumber and coming alive in harmony with her own. He could feel her hands, tracing his face and neck so gently, as if he were delicate and precious. No-one had thought him precious or treasured before, and he found himself shaking too hard to continue with the stolen kiss, breaking contact and stepping back as his hands came to rest at either side of her perfect face.
She looked at him then, her eyes set with unshakeable resolve, and his heart seemed to freeze before beginning to pound erratically inside him as she slowly yet purposefully took the lapels of his jacket and pulled him close again.
"Erik." She whispered, his name sounding like an answer to an unspoken question, suddenly bringing all the scattered shards of his life together and fixing them in place, mending him and his broken soul in that moment as he stared into her wide, pleading brown eyes. "Erik you must stop imploring me to leave you, as forcing me to do such a thing will shatter what remains of my heart. You...you must forgive me, Erik, for it is I and I alone who has made this ordeal more torturous and painful than it needed to be. If only I had not been so foolish-!"
"Christine, I don't understand." He turned his head to look upon the now fuming audience, many of whom were starting to get up and storm out of the auditorium as the actors engaged in their own private conversation and refused to continue the storyline. A feline smile suddenly appeared on his face for a brief second, before it faded back to a frown of confusion.
"Oh, Erik." She was nearly laughing, or crying, touching his exposed cheek again and this time allowing her trembling hand to linger there. "I am such a fool. But the lie I have created and tried to live, in order to escape the feelings that seem to control me and make me act in ways that scare me, is too much to continue. I cannot hold the facade anymore, I must tell you..."
"Tell me?" he repeated in a voice that sounded so hopeful, so desperately hopeful that he might break down into schoolboy tears.
"Tell you that...that for a length of time I can never hope to know for sure...my heart has been entirely yours." She paused for a second, frowning in slight annoyance as the words did not come as she had imagined them. "No matter how wrong it may be to those who stand and stare...Erik. I am in love with you."
A comical, wild giggle did escape her lips then as the tears began to collect and flow down her face, and his grip on her tightened, as if trying to snatch and cling onto the shreds of a dream, not wanting to wake and be thrown from warm bliss to cold reality again.
"You...no, you can't mean that you..."
"But I do. I know it as definitely as I know my own past, Erik." She smiled at him, that honest smile he had not seen for so long- it was as if that smile was the proof for him, and his heart felt warm inside his chest rather than a dead weight. "I love you, Erik- and how wondrous it feels to say it!"
Erik opened his mouth to reply, his head swimming with ecstatic thoughts that filled the empty spaces reserved for self-piteous wallowing and melancholy shattered dreams, but before the shining words could escape his mouth there was a deep groaning sound, as if the gates of hell were opening beneath them. The ground rumbled in duet with that awful groan, leading his eyes away from the stunned face of Christine to look up- look up in horror at the great sparkling mass of chandelier that had broken free and was now ripping its way through the ceiling towards them, spewing and spitting crystals and plaster and dust as it came charging at them, unleashing panic and frenzy amongst the now terrified audience.
Erik gripped Christine tight round the waist, feeling her turn rigid with fear. A quick glance to the managerial box- there was Andre, Firmin and Raoul frozen in complete terror for their beloved (for money, or for...well, Erik felt rather strongly that the Vicomte's emotions for Christine had a lot to do with her celebrity status as well as her glowing personality) soprano- and then his eyes wrenching back to the enormous chandelier... Erik knew that there was no time to run. His legs felt like huge blocks of ice, immobile and useless. Could he throw Christine into the orchestra pit and save her?
Suddenly, as the chandelier reached the end of its journey tearing through the ceiling and starting to swing towards them, a deadly pendulum, Erik recalled the trapdoor. With no hope of ever reaching the lever at the edge of the stage, he brought his foot down as hard as he could on the ageing wood of the stage, and then the other, and with a great cry he jumped and brought them both down at once, feeling the wood of the stage give beneath his desperate feet. Suddenly, without warning or indication, they were falling- tumbling through the air and feeling it rush around them. But instead of coming to a bruised halt beneath the stage, they continued to fall- Erik had luckily left his own trapdoor open, the one he had used to reach the performance this evening in the first place, and the air surged about them in an arctic blast until, with surprising pain, they landed right in the centre of the icily cold lake.
As the sudden force of the cold water hit him, Erik felt Christine fall from his strong grip. He instantly started to thrash in the water, flailing desperately until at last his hands came into contact with her. He was an extraordinarily strong swimmer, despite his gaunt and deathlike frame, and so the journey to the shore of the lake took mere moments. Once out, and standing dripping, he picked her up and carried her into his awaiting house, trying not to linger on how the drenched clothes clung to her slender frame. His heart stuttered and he angrily averted his eyes, storming into the bedroom made for her and laying her onto the bed, stepping back instantly and moving to the edge of the room, feeling guilty and shameful somehow.
Christine sat up straight away, shooting him a look that questioned his need to carry her like an invalid into this house, getting off of the bed but draping a coverlet around her shoulders, her saturated curls dripping and clinging miserably to her back, but she still resembled a goddess to Erik.
She approached him cautiously, sensing his unease and trying not to laugh at him for it, stepping slowly and carefully and trailing the coverlet like a cape behind her. She reached him, and at once put her arms back around his neck, as if they belonged there.
"We just nearly died." She said in a very matter of fact voice. "Thank you for acting so quickly- I was useless. Was...was Raoul safe in the managers box?"
"Yes." Erik replied in an indifferent voice, seeing her shoulders sag in relief and at once telling himself to not worry- she loved him, Erik the monster, Erik the freak, poor unhappy Erik who was destined to be unhappy no longer, against the fate decided by his hideous face he would be happy! Christine reached out and stroked his face, her hands like silk against the mauled, mutilated and disgusting twists and lumps of flesh- then he froze. How did she have her hands on his ugly corpse of a face?! Where was his mask?! "Christine, get off of me! Don't look at me, I beg you, don't look at me!"
"Erik!" she gasped, wrenching her hand back and staring in irritation as he hid his scarred flesh with his trembling hands, backing away from her as if distance between them would protect her from the ugly sight. "Stop backing away from me! It is only you that appears to have a hate of your face at the present time- your mask came off when we fell into the lake. If it makes you feel more comfortable, we can retrieve it together, but please for goodness sakes remove your hands from your face! I've told you, at long last, that I love you- and that means that I love all of you, including the parts that aren't perfect."
As she strode crossly off and out of the house, Erik stared after her in wonder before urging his frozen feet to follow her. She seemed so sure of herself now, so strong- when had foolish, naive little Christine Daae matured so much? He felt as if he had somehow been unconscious or indeed blind though this change in her, and as his feet moved quicker and quicker along the macabre carpet of his gloomy abode he felt a smile play once again at his lips.
He found her wading through the lake, struggling not to laugh at her as she tripped a little and managed to dunk her head well and truly into the water again, before she at last took the mask that lay floating upon the lake and turned to return to him, her face flooding with teasing anger as she saw him laughing.
"Erik!" she cried in indignation, starting to fight back through the water to him, her face coloured red with embarrassment and anger. "Don't you dare laugh at me as I struggle through this horribly cold lake of yours to find your mask for you!"
"I'm terribly sorry Christine." Erik spluttered, suddenly incapable of holding back the laughter that battled against his pursed mouth, echoing out into the cavern and making his eyes light up as he threw his head back and laughed again and again. Christine finally reached the shore and felt her heart stutter to see him so stupidly happy.
"You should be!" she replied in mock anger, handing the mask to him and turning away to give him a moment to compose himself. She hated it that he needed that facial cover to feel human in her presence, but then she had screamed in his face so many times- he had to think she was a shallow fool. "You know, when I first saw your- your face and was terrified...I am not that stupid little girl anymore, Erik. The fear I felt upon unmasking you was...was due to your face, I will not lie, but it was more that I had done something so incredibly altering- unmasking the angel to find a man underneath. I promise that your face has never been a reason for me to hold back my emotions. I felt wrong for loving you, as if it was incorrect, and it was a frightening thing to admit that the man who was supposed to be evil was in fact the only thing my heart craved. And the extent to which I wanted you- it was frightening. But it doesn't frighten me anymore."
"I didn't help matters, and I am sorry for that." Erik muttered, feeling guilt again wash over him as he recalled the countless evil and sadistic things he had done in the last year, feeling his face flood with colour as he recalled the various threats and disasters. No wonder she had been terrified- she must have thought herself insane. "They were all jealous acts- I never wished to scare you. I just...I cannot seem to control myself in matters concerning you, Christine. You make me act impulsively and unfortunately that impulse was often the urge to rip your fops head clean off his shoulders-"
"Fop?!" Christine burst out laughing, tears of hysteria glistening in the corner of each eye. "Erik, that is cruel and uncalled for and yet so...so brilliant!"
"On account of his girlish features and that long hair." Erik chuckled darkly, and Christine reached out only to shove him a little, causing him to stumble and nearly fall into the lake again.
Then she laughed and tried to get away from him, but he caught her and held her over the lake edge, taunting her as he laughed again, the sound so new to him and to her and yet somehow so fitting; it felt as if he had never spent a day without laughter at his lips. She eventually wormed free and took his hand, leading him back towards the house, shivering a little with the cold and the damp clothing that had chilled both of them to the bone now, forcing them to leave this childish hysteria in favour of warmth and a change of clothes.
"You cannot know how I dreamed of this moment. How I wished that you might someday return the love I feel for you, Christine." Erik murmured as they crossed the slippery stone, staring back across the dull expanse of water and then up at the trapdoor they had fallen through, saving their lives and by some morbid twist of fate showing Erik that Christine could even look past his horrific surface in this new blissful reality. "I cannot comprehend it- I feel as if it is all a dream, and when I wake it will be a cruel fall back into reality."
Christine stopped in her progress to the house, coming back to stand with him beside the lake and to hold his hands in her own, her eyes sincere as she looked up at him, bedraggled and dripping with murky water and yet somehow the most serious he had ever seen her.
"Erik...this is reality." She said gently, before bringing his face down closer to hers so that she could kiss him again. Amid the heat and the heavenly sensation of feeling Christine, his Christine, place her arms around him and hold him close to her heart, she moved one hand to his face to slip the mask away again, uncovering the mutilated flesh and before Erik could object, placing her hand against it and softly stroking it, exploring the lumps and bumps of that ugly surface, as if trying to understand it. He could not tear his face back, for then she pressed her lips against that hideous patch of flesh that had plagued and tainted his very existence for all of his life, and he melted against her, inhaling her sweet rose water smell and feeling as if he could laugh or cry- it would make no difference, for he was in heaven.
"I love you with all of my wasted heart, Christine." He murmured.
"And I love you." she replied, her lips just millimetres away from the surface of his skin and the words like kisses themselves. She left the deformity and was about to press her lips to his own again when suddenly Erik felt a searing pain explode into the back of his head, paralysing him momentarily, so that whoever had inflicted the blow could seize his collar and drag him back with all their might.
He stumbled in the confusion, and felt yet another implosion of pain rocket through him as something hard jammed against his back and forced him to the floor. Suddenly feet- he presumed they were feet- resumed their hold upon him, holding him in place against the floor, and as he frantically looked up from where his attacker had him pressed down he saw a scene that made him start to struggle to get free against the iron grip.
Christine was also being dragged, someone's hands around her waist, and she was kicking and screaming as if she were on fire, desperately crying out against the attacker and trying to free herself, her anguished eyes meeting Erik's, seeing his predicament, and at once peaking her hysteria.
"Let me go!" she screamed, thrashing wildly against the hold of the unknown assailant. "You don't understand- I LOVE HIM! Let me go- let us both go!"
She suddenly managed to break free, ripping her already damp clothing as she tore out of the attackers grip and she dove for Erik, her eyes fixed onto his so that he saw every emotion that flickered in those gorgeous brown eyes as the next awful occurrences played out before him in their morbid, soul obliterating manner.
One moment, she was making for where he lay pinned to the ground, and the next her attacker was reaching out for her, trying to grab her but failing, instead pushing her with extraordinary force. She tumbled, caught unaware, and on the slippery rock she could not regain balance. She fell, landing sideways and breaking Erik's heart and soul as her head flew against the rock and cracked against it, the sound ringing out and echoing in the underground setting.
Once her head smashed against the unforgiving stone, she did not move.
"CHRISTINE!" Erik screamed out, struggling as if his life depended on it- and in a way, his life and existence did depend on this mad struggle to free himself from the iron hold of countless feet, to run and take Christine away from this, this attack that he had not anticipated and had been useless against. He had failed to protect her, a fact that burned itself into his soul as he watched uselessly, seeing a man step forwards and lift her unconscious body into the boat that was bobbing silently on the murky expanse of water. He murmured something to another attacker, slipping something into his hand, and then before Erik had the chance to do anything else than writhe on the floor he too climbed into the small boat and sailed away with Christine.
Erik wanted to shut his eyes- to block out the scene that was playing out before his eyes and crushing him as it did. Perhaps this was all a mad dream; that made sense, surely, as Christine couldn't have just admitted to love him. Yes- yes it would all be a dream, a mad and hurtful dream that would crush his very soul but would still be preferable to this horrific occurrence. The sound of her head smashing into the stone floor rang through his vulnerable mind again and again, the image of her still body lying crumpled on the floor forever branded into his memories, and he found that he was sobbing again before he had the chance to stop it. Would a person survive such a trauma to the head?
"Christine." Erik gasped out the word, the panic crushing him as he struggled to breathe, the pressure of an attackers foot pressed unkindly down onto his windpipe making the hideous state of breathlessness even worse. She couldn't be dead, she just couldn't be. His Christine couldn't die like that, crumpled on the floor as if she were a discarded rag doll! "My Christine...no..."
The other men, who had been loitering idly, doing little else than gawping at their surroundings and throwing fragments of rock into the lake to watch the ripples spread over the gentle water 's surface, suddenly began to move towards him, as if they were vultures crowding and swooping in on a rotting carcass. They cackled and joked amongst their crude masses, assessing him as he lay weeping on the floor with their mean eyes that sunk into the glistening, sweaty mass of flesh that formed their corpulent faces. One, the same who had taken something from the very bastard who had taken his Christine away in the boat, slapped the other men on the back. Erik loathed it- the idle, unintelligent banter, the camaraderie, the way they all smirked and looked so utterly pleased with themselves. Didn't they know what they had done? Didn't they see the havoc they had wreaked with their unfeeling actions? It made him even angrier to see how little they cared, how their work tonight meant absolutely nothing to their thick heads when to him the world had ended.
"Well, looks as if we've been left with the clean up job." The man whom Erik wanted to strangle the life from with his bare hands sneered, earning appreciative yet dumb laughter from the other lackeys. "So, what shall we do with our beloved O.G, boys?"
"I say that we cut off that disgusting face- it's not as if he'll miss it!" another cackled as he cracked his knuckles, failing to achieve the desired threatening look.
"Or," another man suggested in gleeful tones, edging his way to stand right next to where Erik lay sprawled and crying silently on the floor, the toes of his shoes close to touching Erik's exposed face. "We could chop of his hands. Those musical, talented hands that wandered astray to kill many innocent people and, of course, to violate the innocence of our little soprano. Those hands have been many places, gentlemen, and it's time that we end their offensive adventures once and for all, I say!"
Erik felt his face flush red with both the anger and the shame of hearing such crude and appalling comments. He cringed away from the words, scared that they would really sever the only part of his disgusting body that he valued rather than just leave him here to bleed slowly and agonisingly to death, wincing as they sniggered at the mention of the 'little soprano'. Erik shuddered- he would never have dreamt of touching Christine in the way their crude minds eagerly imagined; he had never wanted to possess her like that, never wanted to make her feel as if she were some cheap whore for him to lust over. He would have rather died than ever behave that way.
"Ah, but you cannot violate the dead. Though he might try!" they all began to roar with laughter at the coarse comment, leaving Erik to fall back into his despair on the cold, soaking wet floor. No-one had checked her pulse, or so much as looked at her- they couldn't know whether she lived, surely!
But what if the plan was indeed to kill her anyway? Erik could see no reason for this attack on Christine as well as him- he could not honestly imagine that anyone, save that fat frog Carlotta, might be able to dredge up even one bad thing to say about the innocent, shy and yet wondrously talented young woman- but his mind was in no place to be optimistic, or indeed hopeful that anything might sway in his favour.
He felt tears dribble pathetically down his grimy, exposed face as he considered it- Christine, dead. He simply could not imagine it, it hurt to even think it, his heart protesting angrily for this unwanted torment; he could not think of her lying cold and lifeless, her beautiful eyes closed, her moonbeam skin grey and devoid of colour or warmth. He felt that he would die if he thought it for a second longer and yet that horrible image, conjured up from his own morbid imagination, refused to go away.
"Oh...Christine..." the words cracked as the gasping sobs began, seizing his body as they bent and broke him. The men crowding him heard the odd, gasping noise and looked down at him, immediately jeering and laughing as they prodded and kicked him with their unkind feet, apparently finding unequalled humour in his suffering.
"Look at that- the ugly beast is crying!"
"What a turn, eh? Some scary monster you are, Phantom!"
"I don't even know why he is sobbing like a complete wretch. It's not as if she loved him- if he had any decency, he'd be begging us to end his murderous life once and for all!"
She did love me! Erik wanted to scream the words at them, to stand in front of an entire audience at the Populaire and just let the words explode from his lips, let them ring out and sink into the fat, ignorant heads of every man and woman in Paris who had already decided that his face and past had damned him to a life of darkness and pitiful solitude.
"Pathetic, really." The man who was evidently their leader sniffed, as if disgusted by the man sobbing for his only love and light on the floor. He sounded bored, the game losing its appeal now and the call of drunken delights in some slimy backstreet tavern louder than the previous thuggish delight of ending this loathsome wretch's life. He prodded Erik again with his foot, not scared to sneer down in mocking taunt as Erik was still firmly pinned to the slippery floor by another man's foot taking hold on his windpipe. "A deluded maniac, that's all he is. Well, boys, what do you say? I think we should really do the wretch a kindness and put him out of his sheer misery as soon as we are able."
The man proceeded to bend slightly and wrench Erik's head back, stubbing his foul cigarette on the vulnerable flesh of Erik's neck. As the hot object made contact with the exposed skin, a hellish burn seemed to rip thorough his flesh, and Erik screamed out in pure, unadulterated agony. He hadn't wanted to give them the cruel satisfaction, but the pain overcame him and had him writhing in torture.
"Show me your pretty face." The man cooed at him, the lackeys holding Erik's head so that his face was upturned, forcing him to meet the cold eyes of the smug man who stroked his own chin thoughtfully. "Let's end your miserable life then, shall we O.G?"
He reached into the depths of his coat and drew out a long, thin and hideously sharp blade, waving it before Erik's stricken eyes before leaning forward deliberately slowly, still holding the blade before him as if it were some divine object. Erik was very aware of his exposed neck, as if a target for the knife, so he closed his eyes and found himself hoping that it would not be drawn out for any longer than necessary. I'm sorry Christine, he thought brokenly and awaited the razor sharp kiss of a blade slicing his neck and letting his lifeblood drain away.
But it never came. For then, in that instant, there was a cry and Erik's eyes shot open to see the cruel faced man drop his knife with a clatter, shortly before falling to his knees and collapsing, his clothes suddenly saturated with the sinister red that could only be blood- Erik looked up hopefully to see Nadir Khan stood in the place of the attacker, holding his own blade thoughtfully in front of him, a lethal force to be reckoned with rather than the often irritating and generally well meaning companion Erik only knew him as.
"Evening, gentlemen." Nadir said briskly, wiping the blood from his blade purposefully, much to the horror of the other lackeys who stood watching with eyes bulging from their sockets. "Now, are you going to release that man you have so needlessly pinned to the floor, or will I be forced to try my hand at negotiations again? I should warn you, I normally cut straight to the point-" he brandished the blade, "-quite literally."
But there was no further need for Nadir's blade skills. In the shock of seeing their leader run through and crumple to the floor, the man holding Erik at bay with his foot had dropped his guard, freeing him. Erik sprang up before anyone had time to breathe or indeed utter one terrified gasp at the rage and malice glittering in his eyes as he seized them each by the throat, snapping them with his bare hands, dumping them to the floor with a look of contempt and disgust twisting his already hideous face. He felt out of control, as if it were not blood but fire searing its tortuous path through his veins; his head hurt and his hands clenched tightly, rounding on the lifeless bodies ready to rip them to shreds in a mutilating frenzy just to rid himself of this awful hatred bubbling inside him.
Before he could let his hands loose on those bodies, Nadir wordlessly stepped in and simply pushed each one with his foot into the lake, staring at them as they sunk and left no trace save a few bubbles lingering on the mirror like surface of the lake. Somewhere, water dripped hauntingly in a metronome fashion, contributing to the already uncomfortable atmosphere. Nadir shivered.
"Hm. It would seem that your negotiation skills are no better than mine." Nadir commented drily, looking around him again at the catacombs, before turning to Erik, waiting for the reply that never came. He watched, in mild horror, as Erik sunk to his knees and stared dejectedly at the floor, tears even welling up and spilling down the rough surface of his unmasked face. He didn't care to place the facial covering back over the marred lumps and twists of flesh, and this told Nadir that something serious was wrong. "Erik? Whatever is the matter with you? Why aren't you cursing me for arriving fashionably late, as you normally would?"
"Christine." Was all Erik could manage to mumble, the word saturated with misery.
"Yes, I saw you kiss her on stage. I also saw you nearly die when that suicidal chandelier broke free- that's your own fault, by the way, for unhinging it earlier in anticipation of causing a great disaster. It would seem that, for once, your own devilish antics caught up with you." Nadir replied in a bland voice, his dry humour lost, his eyes softening. "What happened, then? Where is she now?"
"She... Nadir, she told me that she loves me." Erik choked on the bittersweet words, seeing Nadir's worried face smooth out into an elated smile. But that was not all- if only that was all! "I used the trapdoor to save us both, you saw it- but when we arrived down here, some minutes later we...we were attacked. Someone knocked me down- I tried to reach her Khan, I tried! I have never tried so hard to do something in all my life! But she broke free, and in that dash to reach me she- she was pushed down- her head hit the floor with s-such a s-sickening c-crack...and now...and now my Christine, my wonderful Christine- she is dead!"
The sobs that had been battling through his attempts to speak the awful words caught up with him, taking over his whole body until he crouched on the floor weeping as if the world had ended- and to him, it had. Nadir knelt beside him, the sight of his once enemy and now friend pulling on every caring instinct in his body. He frowned as he replayed the words over in his mind, trying to ignore the guttural sobs choking out of Erik beside him- it didn't make any sense to him.
"Hit her head?" he repeated, his voice dripping with doubt. "You're sure she died from hitting her head? Did you see anyone take her pulse, try to revive her-?"
"No." Came the faint reply.
"Well, then." Nadir straightened up and moved to help Erik stand alongside him, his tone firm and his mind set. "I doubt that she is dead- in fact, I would bet that she is very much alive. Was she not the victim in the eyes of the public? Maybe this was an attempt to rescue her from you, an attempt that went disastrously wrong... if the intention had been to kill her, then they would have done so here alongside you and dumped the body. It would risk being caught if they carried her through the streets, don't you think?"
Erik stood up shakily, his mind absorbing the facts. Nadir's logic made perfect sense; he had been head of the Persian police, once upon a time, and so he had little doubt in his thought process and thus his optimistic conclusions. His heart leapt at the very thought that Christine could still be alive, and so when he turned to face Nadir he did so with a new energy.
"Then I must get her back." He said firmly, almost to himself rather than the Persian. "I must find my Christine and rescue her from wherever that brainless thug on the boat took her."
"That much is evident." Nadir muttered. "But how we will do such a thing is another matter entirely."
It took Erik a moment to realise what the Persian had just said, and another moment after that to recover from the shock that Nadir looked deadly serious. After months and months of lectures and scornful comments, criticising his dependence on Christine and telling him over and over that he shouldn't waste another moments thought on such a shallow fool- and now the Persian was offering his assistance on bringing her back into Erik's life?
"We?" he repeated hesitantly, almost expecting Nadir's eyes to become humoured and sarcastic. But they didn't- they remained steadfastly serious, already hazy with thought as Nadir was clearly already listing the ideas in his brilliant investigative mind.
"Well, I'm hardly about to let you go gallivanting off on your own, Erik!" Nadir responded drily, suddenly rubbing his hands together and looking about him at the darkness of the cavern, his eyes giving away the fact that he still found the atmosphere down in the catacombs a little too eerie to be pleasant. "Please tell me that after all we have braved together you think a little better of me than that, you foolish man."
And that was that. In less than an hour, their joint efforts had packed everything of significance to their trip into two small suitcases they found lying behind a chaise lounge, pushing the rest of the furniture and possessions into the back room of the curious little abode, packing it all in alongside a macabre coffin decked in black material and an organ on the far wall, watching their frantic motion with a silent, imperious gaze. They were to bring with them the bare minimum- clothes, money and one item of comfort. The last was only agreed after Erik made several heated pleas to take the small framed portraits of Gustave Daae and Christine, knowing that she would want to have her father's picture once they were reunited and he needing to take the artists impression of his beloved, his only light, in order to survive each day. Nadir relented eventually- he didn't even dare to object to Erik packing his music either, hearing the barked explanation that he would play to earn them money and simply shaking his head, his mouth pursed. If a picture and yellowed pages of notation were truly enough to prevent his friend from falling back into that black pit of despair, he would not question it.
At last, with his home prepared for maybe years of abandon, Erik lead Nadir out to the lake and locked the hidden entrance firmly shut before taking him down yet another shadowy passageway, which he knew lead to the concealed entrance at the Rue Scribe. A few rats scurried past their feet, making Nadir shiver a little, but Erik didn't even notice. He was too busy collecting his thoughts into a mantra- you will find Christine Daae and you will save her from those brutes, or you did not single-handedly dominate the world renowned Opera Populaire! For once, you will not be a pessimist! You will be successful and you will savour the love you have at last received!
"Shall we?" Nadir gestured to the surface of the Parisian streets, bathed in moonlight and shining with the damp, turning each cobblestone into a pearlescent precious stone rather than muck smeared cobbles.
Erik simply nodded, locking the gate behind them with an ominous metal clang. The gate was shut- giving up and skulking back beneath the Opera was no longer an option. Erik made himself a promise as Nadir smiled and they started their journey across the Parisian streets, the moon his only witness to this silent vow; when he next returned to the Opera Populaire and re-opened those passages, he would do so with Christine, his Christine, holding his arm and smiling. If not, he knew he would die.
And so, the search began.