AN: this is my first lengthy fic and it'll be one of those things that I'll only continue on with if the feedbacks good/if there's any feedback at all.
When I say lengthy, it'll probably be between five to ten chapters but they'll be LONG ones…well, as long as my inspiration will hold out anyway…
Constructive criticism accepted, outright criticism won't be tolerated (I'm talking to you, perfectionists . 3)
May I apologize in advance for my attempts at writing harlequin-esque in places (I hope you don't laugh reading it as much as I did writing it)
Consider yourself forewarned
Happy reading
Phantom of the opera (second chances)
Chapter One: Descent, part one
Down that path into darkness deep as hell
Erik splashed blindly through the dark canals. His saturated clothing clung to his frame like a frigid second skin. He gulped for air, burning his lungs and sending bolts of pain from the stitch in his side. Nothing seemed to quell the hot tears streaming down his face, and he no longer cared. Gone were the torturous emotions that for the past few months had plagued his hateful existence, in their stead was a blissful numbness, enveloping him.
Erik couldn't even guess how long he'd been running as all concepts of time fled from his mind, self preservation and adrenalin forcing him onwards. His legs worked mechanically, carrying him down the path of the narrow, deserted tunnels. He could feel the throbbing pain in his side and left arm growing more acute. Erik detachedly noted that it must've been a glass cut from the mirror he'd broken to escape. He slowed and clumsily lost his footing.
Erik's knees buckled out from under him, he collapsed clutching the lancing stitch in his side. The rancid water swelled around his stomach and he shuddered as something brushed past his thigh. He could hear the tireless scurrying of rats; the only other living inhabitants of this tunnel; aside from himself of course.
Erik thought of the attempts he'd made to leave the putrescence of the sewers, thought of the manor in the isolated French countryside he'd purchased at a silent auction so that Christine and himself could live out their "happy life" together. But they'd never have had a happy ending, he'd seen to that. An image of them sheltered in each other's arms as they'd drifted away in his boat came unbidden into Erik's mind.
Flashback
Erik gave a decent yank on the rope around Raoul's neck. He gave a satisfactory retch and spittle flew from his mouth, dribbling down his bloated puce face. Erik smirked at the obvious pain the young man tried to hide underneath a hard, blue stare of hatred so intense if Erik had been anyone else, he might've been intimidated. Erik turned from Raoul to Christine, pinning her with a cold, amber glower.
"Make your choice! Every second you hesitate is a second he cannot afford." He boomed, his sonorous voice seemed to reverberate and echo around the dull, grimy room. Erik tried to ignore the look of shocked betrayal dancing in her eyes and the fat tears making slow tracks down her perfect, porcelain cheeks.
"You're paramour's life grows shorter; delay any longer and he shall perish!" He emphasized his words with another hearty tug on the rope, the wrought iron gate creaking in protest.
"WELL?" he let the threat hang in the air for a few moments, "HIM OR ME, CHRISTINE?!"
Christine did something then that he never could've anticipated; descended the steps, crossed the body of the water, sullying the white dress, and tilted her head upwards until her warm brown eyes held his.
She tenderly placed a hand on his damaged cheek, the soft caress sending bolts of something Erik couldn't identify through his body. Her lips quivering, Christine raised her other hand to the other side of his face, forcing him to look into her eyes, "My poor angel, what has the world done to you to make you this way…. May god give me the strength to show you are not alone in your despair?"
Erik opened his mouth to protest but was quickly silenced by Christine's lips closing over his in a chaste kiss. He had never experienced anything like this in all his life; she tasted of honey and smelt of spring rain, her body warm, soft and pliant as he gingerly placed his one hand on the small of her back while his other still held on tightly to the rope. Almost as quick as she leaned in, Christine hurriedly drew away, her scent leaving a lingering ghost trail in her wake as she continued to pull away.
Tears flowing once more, she gave him a look of such pity that Erik could feel tears beginning to stream down his face as well. He touched his lips, looked once at Christine, then once at Raoul, who was only remaining conscious from sheer force of will.
He could hear the sound of the angry lynch mob approaching, their loud voices carrying clearly down the hallway, bloodcurdling choruses of, "SLAY THE MONSTER!" echoed off the stone walls with eerie clarity.
Erik drew three raged breaths and let go of the rope. "Get out! Get as far from this wretched place as you can! Take my boat… GO NOW!" He stumbled backward until his feet meet with the steps leading to his lair. "Tell the gendarmes nothing of this place," He swept his arm in a wide arc, "or of this abomination you see before you!"
Christine wasted no time in running to her lover, she untied him quickly and they quickly embraced before she helped Raoul into the small gondola he'd used all his life to traverse the underground canals.
Erik, turning his back on them both, leaped up the stairs and made his way to his most coveted possession.
She came to him then, as he huddled, desperately clutched the music box to his chest, humming along to the baleful tune. Erik turned and with great difficulty, met her eyes. "I'm sorry," Her angelic voice faltered, "I can't" She placed the diamond ring on the dresser and left.
End of Flashback
Erik reached into his shirt pocket for the offending ornament. Even in the dark tunnels it gleamed. He felt the anger surge through his body and made as if to through it away. In mid-swing he paused, studied it once more; the ring glinted maliciously. Erik breathed deeply and placed the ring back in his pocket.
Erik squinted at the sludge through tear-blurred vision as it surged around his body, infesting his wound. How easy it would be just to put my head under water, let the vile liquid fill my lungs as I fade into blissful oblivion. The morbid thoughts surfaced before he could stop them. I'd be doing everyone a favor, just disappearing in water as cold and repugnant as the world that I was spawned into.
Only then did Erik allow the futility of his situation to dawn on him. He wept shamelessly, chest-wracking sobs that left him breathless and caused his throat to tighten painfully. I tried to make her love me, but she abandoned me just like everyone else. Repulsed by my abhorrent face. Suddenly, the voice turned into Christine's, I could never love an abomination, I merely used you… Thanks to you I'm no longer a paltry chorus girl, I now have fame, money and the Viscount… I have no need for a monster's twisted notions of affections.
She's right, he thought hopelessly, I am a monster.
Trapped in the dark recesses of his imagination, thoughts of suicide once again playing across his mind, he lowered his face to the water. Erik drew closer and closer to the inky blackness of the water's surface until he was merely a hairsbreadth away, the putrid stench burning his nose hair and making his eyes water anew.
For minutes on end it seemed Erik lay there, unmoving and uncaring as the muck coagulated to his once pristine white shirt. The piercing shriek of a sewer rat shook him from his reverie.
Erik's tears finally subsiding, he gained a semblance of control over his recalcitrant limbs and his mind. He raised himself from the body of the water and allowed his feet to carry him down the dank, labyrinthine tunnels that were once his playground.
Eventually Erik reached the end of the tunnel. He gladly clambered out of the water, his breath pluming with every exhaled breath. He paused to briefly re-familiarize himself with his surroundings. If his calculations were correct, this particular sewer opening should lead him to the opera's grand stables.
The stable currently housed thirteen stage horses, six carriage ponies and ten sheep. There was never another theatre that he'd come across in all of his wanderings that could make such a boast.
The exit of the grimy tunnel tapered outward, with a gentle slope upwards into the back alleys of the opera house and barn. The entire opening was all but obscured by the thick, black smoke. The opera was ablaze. In the chaos underneath the opera he'd all but forgotten the chaos going on above.
At least the confusion would aid his escape. Moving silently through the shadows, he made his way to the opening, the putrid odor of the canals were replaced with the acrid stench of smoke. Erik drew a great breath, left the tunnels for the last time and ran to the stables.
It was pandemonium; in the terror of the opera fire, the animals had been abandoned. Horses desperately kicked at their stall gates and sheep pulled at the rope tethering them to the walls.
Erik worked quickly; withdrawing his cutlass from his sodden boot, he systematically severed the rope of every bound animal and then progressed to the stalled animals. Luckily the blaze hadn't reached the stables yet and it was only the smoke that had them spooked.
That's strange, he thought, cézar isn't in his stall…A closer inspection revealed a frayed rope that suggested the stallion had broken free from his lead rope. Erik exhaled only to choke on the fumes which were growing thicker as the fire became more intense. He entered the stall and blindly felt around in the fresh straw to withdraw the saddlebags he'd concealed there days before.
Erik whistled and waited as the seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness. He stood outside the stable, attempting to peer through the thick, billowing miasma. Finally, a familiar nickering saw the white stallion materialize through the black smog.
The giant beast approached and nuzzled his hand, expecting sugar cubes.
"Not today, old friend." Erik rasped, the effects of the smoke now becoming painfully apparent as his eyes stung and the air burned his lungs. He fumbled with the saddlebags and swung into the saddle, his left arm hanging limply at his side.
Erik dug his heels into the horse and took off into the night, never to return.
Gabrielle Moreau awoke to the ghostly sound of hoof beats, it broke the eerie tranquility of the night and sent a shiver up her spine. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and squinted at the small clock on the mantle. 1:15.
Who would be traveling with such urgency at such an ungodly hour?
She slid off her large four-poster and blanched when her feet hit the cold, hardwood floor.
Gabby wrapped the heavy blanket around her shoulders and made her way over to the window. She cringed as the floorboards creaked in defiance with almost every step she took.
She wiped the condensation from the glass with a corner of the rug and peered though. The full moon bathed the front garden in silver, it's brightness making everything as clear as day.
Her window overlooked the driveway of the prosperous Moreau Estate. The hoof beats grew in intensity as the rider drew closer.
Gabby stared at the gate expectantly, her breath fogging the glass. She drew the blanket even tighter around her and quickly glanced at the clock. The hands read half past one. She was just about to head back and disregard the hoof beats as a hallucination brought about by the emotional stress of the past few days when she saw it.
It was over in an instant but an unmistakable flash of white flew past the wrought iron gates of the entrance. Gabby inhaled sharply and scrambled to her closet, all thoughts of stealth abandoned.
She found what she was searching for quite easily; a worn pair of breeches and a loose, white shirt; both belonged to her brother who had outgrown them years ago, but fit her close enough.
By the time gabby had located her under-things and a spare cloak and got dressed it was a quarter to two. She rushed to the window, tugging on her shoes. In her haste she banged her knee against her dresser and cursed loudly.
Her hands flew to her mouth as she waited for the angry footsteps of her father. Her heart in her throat, she waited, too afraid to move. After fifteen seconds yielding nothing, she threw open her window and blessed whoever built the estate had also chose to plant a chestnut tree next to her window.
Gabby swung out of her third storey window with practiced grace and into the limbs of the tree and began her swift decent. When her feet hit the dewy grass she ran to the stables.
She withdrew sugar cubes from her cloak and headed to Judas' stall. The jet black palfrey poked his head out at her approach and nickered loudly. She shushed him and fed him the sugar cubes with one hand and unlatched the stall gate with the other.
Gabby let the gate swing open as she reached for his lead rope. Judas trotted obediently to Gabby's mounting steps.
She looped the rope around his neck, clambered up the steps and onto his broad back. She pointed him in the direction that the phantom shape had been going and dug her heels into his side.
There was really only one place the rider could've been going; The old Durand Estate. As the last house on a dead end lane it used to be renowned for it's vast vineyard and spectacular wine. However, an unfortunate succession of bad crops coupled with poor management had forced the Durand family to borrow astronomical amounts of money from the wrong people.
Subsequently, the family had been forced to leave their home and it'd been abandoned ever since, as far as Gabby knew anyway.
Cézar was exhausted, Erik could feel the horse's movements slowing with fatigue. When the horse tripped over a loose stone, Erik almost lost his seat
Once inside the stables, Erik fell more than dismounted cézar and patted the horse's foamy side, he fumbled with the saddle straps twice before giving up and stumbling towards the manor.
Plagued by exhaustion, heartbreak, shivering in his sodden clothing and clutching his bloodied arm, he approached the door and leaned against the heavy, whitewashed wood. He drew several deep breaths and waited for the world to stop spinning. The pounding in his head lessened slightly as Erik slowly lifted up a leaden hand to the doorknob.
The door swung open, he took three haltering steps before collapsing on the hardwood floor. Blackness inked his vision and the last thing he heard was the door swinging shut before he embraced blissful unconsciousness.
Gabby passed through the open gate, her suspicions confirmed. She kept her eyes on the house and slowed Judas to a trot as she made her way up the lengthy driveway. Passing a large water fountain, she realized that if the interior of the house was anything like the exterior, the new inhabitant would had to have been wealthy indeed. As she neared the house, she stared in wide-eyed shock, pulling Judas to a halt.
The châteaux itself, having been abandoned three years ago, had fallen into a sad state of disrepair; the roof had lost most of its tiles, numerous windows smashed, paint had peeled and the lawn had become an overgrown mess.
She couldn't believe she was staring at the same place; instead of the dilapidated ruins, a proud, white palatial manor stood before her, gleaming in the moonlight. She dismounted, Judas nickered softly and she stroked him absently between his ears.
Gabby led the palfrey to the stables she knew resided behind châteaux. Having known the Durand family very well (they used to have a daughter the same age), she was well acquainted with the layout of the grounds. Gabby remembered her devastation when the family had been evicted from their home.
The path stones crunched loudly and she wondered about her excuse should she be discovered. That gave her pause; here she was, stalking someone (in a man's clothes, no less) who'd waited until the dead of the night to travel… how would she explain herself should the new occupant come storming out angrily to see her snooping around in her brother's shirt and breeches? What would she do when she reached the stable? How would her father react when she would be escorted home? Just another shame that Gabby would've burdened the family name with…
Gabby shook her head realizing her stupidity. She turned to go when she noticed dark spots of something on the white stone path. She crouched and brushed a finger over it. Blood, she realized with a start. Her heart jumped into her throat.
She followed the trail to the stables and pushed the barn door with her shoulder, her sweaty palms gripping Judas' lead rope. Moonlight shone through a skylight and various open windows. The white stallion reared and pounded the hay-strewn floor. The whites of it's eyes flashed and one side of its body was covered in blood. Gabby's feet were glued to the floor as the horse charged towards her only to have it stop five feet in front of her.
Gabby dropped Judas' rope and dug in her cloak pocket for more sugar cubes. She took one tentative step, then another, her palm open and extended. The white beast sniffed her hand, it's sides quivering. While the horse was preoccupied with the sugar cubes, Gabby ran her free hand down the horse's bloody side, searching for the wound. When she couldn't find one her frown deepened. Regardless of who's blood it was, she intended to give the owner a piece of her mind. Leaving an animal in such a state was downright inhumane!
After seeing to the horse and Judas, saddlebags strung over one shoulder, she strode back to the house and rapped loudly on the door. She waited, readjusting the saddlebags and shifted her feet, suddenly nervous. She knocked again.
"Hello?" She tried peering through a window from her spot on the doorstep.
Nothing, no candles nor any other means of illumination burned from within.
Gabby shrugged and tried the doorknob. It swung open easily. Her courage and anger flared once more, she stepped over the threshold and tripped over something that sent her sprawling on the hardwood floor and the saddlebags skidding across the room.
Rubbing her skinned knees and cursing loudly Gabby turned back to the doorway to see what'd been so carelessly placed in her path. All rational thought fled from her mind as she saw that what she'd tripped over was not some inanimate object, but a man.
As she neared him his features became more distinct, as did an unholy stench that seemed to permeate the air surrounding him. Gabby realized with disgust, that the source of the smell was his soiled clothing. He wore a linen shirt that'd once presumably been white but was now umber, like he'd either dragged himself, or had been dragged through the mud. The shirt was untied and exposed a chest of chorded muscle. Gabby cleared her throat, forcing herself to look away, which proved to be easier said than done. A deep gash on his left arm explained the numerous blood splatters in the drive and that covering the horse. A sodden pair of black breeches and knee-high boots completed the ensemble.
The most peculiar thing was not his clothing, however, but was a ghostly white mask that glowed in the iridescent light of the moon. It completely covered the right side of his face and gave his general appearance a slightly demonic visage. His flesh itself was ashen and his face was drawn.
Caught between the instinct to fight or flee she neared the recumbent figure and nudged his leg with her boot, staying a far enough distance that she could run if need be. Even though he looked in no condition to attack her, she knew that a wounded tiger was still dangerous and she wasn't about to take her chances.
After ten seconds of gentle prodding and no response, she kneeled down and felt his neck for a pulse. She hissed and withdrew her hand; he was stone cold! What if he was dead? He certainly felt it. Gabby could feel the panic rising in her throat. She was now sorely regretting not getting back into bed.
"Excuse me," She shook his shoulder gently. Nothing, not even a grunt.
She lowered her ear to his smooth chest and was rewarded with a shallow heartbeat.
Gabby breathed a sigh of relief; it was shallow, but constant. She sprang into action, throwing off her cloak, she ran into the closest room to the left; which she remembered was the sitting room. She paused in the doorway. When she'd visited the room had been sparsely decorated, modest; with a card table by a large window box, comfortable chairs in front of a large fireplace and one moderately sized bookshelf.
What confronted her was extravagance. The card table had been removed and in it's place stood a gleaming, black grand piano. The windows were now draped with thick, crimson velvet drapes. In front of the fireplace was a studded leather lounge suite placed atop a rug that could've been Persian. Instead of only one bookshelf, the three walls were covered in floor-to-roof bookshelves that was brimming with so many tomes that it made her head spin to take in them all. She shook her head. Now was not the time to indulge in her love of literature.
Gabby ran to the fireplace, threw a few logs and a conveniently placed newspaper (kindling) haphazardly over the grille and felt around the mantle for matches. Her frantic searching yielded a small matchbox and she struck one which sputtered weakly before flaring to life. Once she was convinced the fire wouldn't go out, she ran back to see if the unconscious man was still breathing.
She moved around his large frame, to Gabby's estimation he would've been at least 6'4", and wondered how she would move him to the fireplace. She lifted up his arms and tugged. He didn't budge. She dropped his arms and instead tried to sling him over her back and drag him that way. Getting him into the correct position proved to be difficult however, and she was worried she was going to develop a permanent slouch from bearing his weight.
Gabby only dragged his cold, lifeless form for about twenty feet but had worked up a sweat and a serious backache by the time she'd reached the fireplace, which was crackling happily. She pushed him as close to the fire as she was game while she decided what her next move should be.
Clothes, she realized, she had to get rid of his wet clothes. She'd read somewhere that a person was better off naked than wearing sodden clothing. The thought of seeing this man naked brought flames to her cheeks; the only man she'd seen naked was her brother, Pierre, when he was fifteen.
Flashback
It had been a particularly hot summer and all the village children had been playing by the river, she'd been nine years old, when Gerard, the undisputed 'trickster' of the group, had snuck up behind Pierre and pulled his trousers down. Pierre, who'd been flirting with his village sweetheart, had been so shocked that he'd tripped and fell face first into the river.
End of Flashback
Gabby left the man lying by the fire and sped to the kitchen, where she filled a pot with water and honey and selected a sharp knife from a wall rack. She made her way back with the water pot and the knife tucked into her boot. She decided that it would be wise to relive him of his clothes before she went on a pilgrimage for blankets.
She put the water over the fire and kneeled on his left side, while his right side faced the fire. Gabby set to the task of cutting the clothes off his body. She started by pulling off his boots. She tipped them upside down and was shocked to see soiled water trickling in a steady stream from his left boot. When she tipped his right boot, however, in addition to the water a shiny metallic object fell and hit the floor with a dull thunk. She set both boots by the fire to dry and turned her attention to the thing that fell out of his boot.
Gabby picked it up of the rug. It was beautiful; a knife with a retractable blade ornately carved with jewels encrusted into the handle. The craftsmanship was so intricate that Gabby surmised it must be foreign. She set it reverently next to the boots. Now that she had his boots off, she started hacking away the cloth around his legs. When her cutting reached mid-thigh she stopped, not game to go any higher.
Gabby then moved to the shirt. The knife hovered over his chest, her hand shook uncontrollably, she took a deep breath to compose herself. The knife sliced through the light linen shirt significantly easier than his breeches. She set his ruined clothes in a heap to dispose of later on.
Gabby wiped the sweat from her brow and turned back to the semi-naked man. Toned, tawny flesh gleamed in the firelight. Broad shoulders gave way to a flat chest and chiseled abdomen. Black hairs lightly trailed from his navel to disappear beneath his waistband. Gabby stared at his narrow hips, her cheeks flaming. She tore her gaze away from his groin with some difficulty.
Gabby concentrated on the unusual mask adorning his face. I wonder what it conceals. She thought innocently as her hand reached toward it.
Endnote: CLIFFHANGER .