Disclaimer: I do not own Erik or anything/anyone related to or mentioned in The Phantom of the Opera, whether the musical, book, or play…obviously.
Author's Note: The events in this story take place five years after the burning of the opera house. The reader must disregard any events in the movie or book that take place after this time or conflict with the story's events in order to fully understand, make sense of, and appreciate this story.
Chapter the First
IN WHICH The Operahouse Receives Visitors
PARIS, FRANCE
For five years the operahouse had stood undisturbed, the tragic events which had taken place there forgotten or at lease unmentioned except by those closest affected. No living creature stirred within its walls, save that of an occasional pigeon or rat that happened to seek a home inside its vacant rooms.
The Phantom's fire had take its toll on the operahouse. Sections of the walls were charred or obliviated. A fine layer of dust and ash coated almost every surface. In the midst of the destruction lay the infamous chandelier, a reminder of what had passes on that fateful night five years ago.
No attempt to rebuild the magnificent structure had been made, nor any attempt to sell the building. Though most believed the Phantom had either been killed in his own fire or fled, a general feeling of uncertainty and caution was upheld. No one dared enter the operahouse for fear of the Phantom's horrific rage and grief. Monsters such as he, they believed, were best left alone and undisturbed.
Caution was well taken, for the Phantom still lived, lurking in the dark shadows of his once magnificent domain. After the small party of investigators had finished searching for him and found nothing, he had crept out of his hiding place and tried to form some semblance of the life that he had had before Christine had so carelessly broken his already scarred heart. The Phantom found that while he could not bear to live without Christine, at the same time some twisted part of him was glad she was gone. It was as if the memory of Christine still poisoned his soul, every bit as much as she had before she had fled with Raoul. The Phantom longed to find the part of his heart that Christine still possessed and rip it out of his chest, rip out all remembrance of the beautiful girl with the equally beautiful voice so that he would never again cry himself to sleep over what he had lost.
- - -
"Amelie, are you sure we should be doing this? There are plenty of other historic buildings we could go to that we wouldn't have to break into!"
"Oh do be quiet Jenny, and help me get this board moved. If we get this one off, we're in."
The two struggled to pull the board off the doors. Amelie looked around to check for policemen. They were at a side entrance but it was still possible that someone from the main street could see them.
With a grunt, Amelie finally pried the not-yet-rotten board off the door and the two young women snuck inside. The dust coating almost every surface was not thick yet was enough to rouse a few sneezes from the pair. The dust was not enough to diminish the operahouse, however. Gold and velvet covered almost every surface. Amelie and Jenny had never visited the operahouse during its glory days but now they understood why so many Parisians had bought tickets to every show. Just to stand staring at the opulence of the place was worth the price of a ticket.
"Oh Jenny, it's beautiful…"
The pair continued out of the side room and into the main room. Everywhere was something gorgeous to gaze at, wonderful artwork covering the walls. Then a sight made the girls stop suddenly and gasp. On the floor, crushing several rows of seats, lay the chandelier. Jenny walked up to the massive light fixture and ran her hand along the side, sending dust into the air. Amelie came to stand next to her. When she spoke, it was in a voice full of reverence and curiosity.
"This is it, the chandelier from the stories. Do you think the Phantom is really dead, as all the tales say?"
Jenny snorted, though Amelie could not tell if the action was due to disdain, amusement, or dust.
"Most likely, Amelie. After all, rumors have to start somewhere, correct? I heard that the patrol that was sent in after the fire found his quarters but that he was nowhere to be found. All his things were there untouched but he was gone."
Amelie started walking down a row of seats, brushing her fingers against the back of the seats to send dust swirling into the air.
"But he wouldn't stay here, would he? Why would he?"
Jenny followed her for a distance but then turned and lazily waked back to the chandelier. She pulled a drawing pad and pencil out of her satchel.
"You go ahead and explore a bit, Amelie. I'm going to stay here and draw this monstrosity, all right? Just don't forget to do five sketches before we go or Madame Le Tour will take points off at class tomorrow."
"Okay, Jen. I'll see you at, say, seven o'clock?"
Jenny turned from her sketching.
"Seven o'clock? I didn't plan on staying that late, I've got things to do. Won't you be missed?"
Just before Amelie disappeared behind the curtain, she called back, "And who would miss me, Jen? Mama and Papa moved to Nice last year, remember? I haven't heard from them in months. No, I'm not going to be missed.
- - -
Amelie continued down the hallway. She could just imagine actors and actresses bustling here and there, eager to start rehearsal or a show. Stage hands carried costumes or props, setting up scenery. Lights sparkled to life in their holders, shining on the faces that followed bodies to their destinations. The show began and the music echoed off the walls in salute to emotion and passion.
Breaking out of her reverie, Amelie realized that she had no idea where she was. In front of her lay two staircases and four doors. She peeked inside the doors but didn't notice anything out of the ordinary except a large floor-length mirror in the nicest room.
Making up her mind, she ascended the staircase that led up to the rafters of the stage. The view was dizzying but exhilarating. From here Amelie could see down onto the stage and all the seats of the operahouse. She moved farther, holding onto the ropes that were all that was keeping the boards she was standing on from falling to the ground.
"Woo, what a rush! Hallo, Jenny!" She shouted to the figure sitting below her next to the chandelier.
Jenny jumped, surprised out of her concentration.
"Amelie! That's not funny, you know! And just what do you think you're doing, running around up there? You could fall and break your neck, you cretin!"
Amelie threw her head back and laughed. The sound bounced off the walls and echoed throughout the huge room. It reverberated down the halls, down every passage, down even to the room where the Phantom lay thinking about his perpetual obsession. It was a sound that startled him as he had thought the building still deserted, a sound that reminded him of everything he had lost, taunting him with his failures. The laughter filled him with rage at whoever enjoyed life while he sat in the shadows despising his. The fact that the laughter was musically female and reminiscent of hers, his lost love's, did not escape him. He turned over, deciding to let the purposefully sawed ropes do their job, but then picked up his cape from where it lay gathering dust on the floor. Another's misfortune could not dampen his spirits any more and perhaps he would enjoy this young woman's bad luck. Maybe she even looked like Christine…and he could watch her plummet to her death. Almost as good as watching her suffer…
He stepped out of the room he had spent most of the last five years in and took a look around. There was his piano, dusty from neglect, long-cold candles sitting amongst tattered, shredded sheets of his music. His bed and its velvet sheets lay in the alcove, same as they had for all the years he had inhabited these rooms. The Phantom took in the burned dolls on their ashy stage, smashed mirrors, and dust with no emotion…until he saw Christine.
- - -
Because she was laughing, Amelie did not hear the ropes begin to break. Within seconds, the platform jolted and Amelie realized that if she did not act quickly, severe pain would be in her immediate future.
"Jenny! The ropes are breaking, help!"
Jenny looked up from the sketching she had turned back to and paled.
"Oh my God! Hold on, I'll go get help!"
Amelie jumped onto another platform just as the ropes broke.
"No! If anyone finds out we were here we'll be arrested! I'll just…try to get back over to the side."
The ropes on the platform she was now standing on began to creak. Amelie looked to either side. If she stepped left she would be moving farther away, but to get onto the platform on her right, the one that was closer to the built-in platforms connected to the stage, she would have to jump with all her strength. As the ropes began to snap she made her choice – and jumped.
"Amelie!"
- - -
The wax figurine had been damaged by the fire. Christine's dress, the dress he had designed and had poured into all the love he possessed, was burned and blackened. Part of the figurine's face was melted. The Phantom reached out and gently stroked the melted half of Christine's face, then brought his hand up to the scarred half of his own face.
Suddenly he felt his rage at Christine come full-force. He picked up the figurine and smashed its head into his already ruined mirror, slamming the figurine with all the energy he had combined with all the anger and loneliness he had felt these five long years of suffering. Again and again he beat out his frustration until he kneeled in pieces of wax, all his energy and hatred retreating as quickly as it had come.
The Phantom stood with a sign. Something had to change. He could not go on living this way, if one could call his way of life living.
A scream pierced his thoughts, loud and shrill. The ropes must have broken. He imagined the girl lying in a pool of her own blood – with Christine's face, staring toward the ceiling – and hurried toward the stage, insane eagerness written on his face.
- - -
For a moment, Amelie believed she would make it. Her hands would catch the board before she fell. She would clamber onto the board and back down to where Jenny waited anxiously.
Then she knew: the platform was nowhere near her outstretched hands. As she fell, plummeting towards the stage, she thought she was a face watching her from above. But the face, and everything else, disappeared when her body hit the stage with a sickening thud…and she saw no more.
Jenny had watched her friend's struggle for survival from an agonizing distance but now she rushed to Amelie's side, her heart already knowing what her mind did not. As she reached Amelie's still body, Jenny's mind finally understood.
"Amelie? Oh God, please say something! Don't be – you can't be dead!" Her words broke into sobs as she bent over her friend – failing to notice a faint heartbeat.
The Phantom watched from above, a pleased smile on his distorted face. Though the girl looked nothing like his Christine, a death was a death – all in all, still satisfactory. He chuckled softly, the sound reverberating back to Jenny. The grief-stricken girl was crying too loudly to hear his pleased laugh and sat next to Amelie, absorbed in her mourning and thoughts.
"W-what am I going t-to tell your parents? O-oh G-god!" For many minutes she continued sobbing then finally lapsed into silence.
The Phantom knew, from listening to stories he overheard from cast members and reading the odd stolen newspaper or book, that desperate people often tried to shift blame for various things off themselves, even went as far as to incriminate friends and family members. So it was no surprise to him when Jenny spoke again:
"They'll blame me, I know it! Y-your parents never liked me. I-I've got to think of something. I know! I'll leave the body here, and then take some of her clothes from her apartment…no one will bother to search in this old place…and I'll board up the way in so that no one will suspect…"
Jenny got up and scurried toward the exit, suddenly transformed from loving friend to shameless plotter, whether from grief or perhaps unmasking her inner self, the phantom could not decide. When Jenny had placed the boards over the door back in place and all noise had ceased, indicating her absence, the Phantom turned to go celebrate the death – then he heard a moan, and looked down to see the bloody, beaten corpse turn and try to sit up.
- - -
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