To my regular readers, this is a story that popped into my head. Erik is a protagonist, as always in my stories. In this one, so is Raoul, as he was in my original two stories. I owe him as much since he was portrayed very evilly in my last story. Trust me and give it a chance. Please read and review as always. FYI I will not likely update as quickly as you are used to in my stories. I am writing a novel concurrently, and have other distractions, but I have never yet abandoned a story. The more reviews favorites, etc that I do get, the more likely I am to update but even then it might be a little slow, in other words normal for this site.
Chapter 1.
Paris, France, February 12, 1881, In the Phantom's lair far beneath the Opera House.
A slight and beautiful young woman, barely out of childhood, stood facing the man, who was once her friend, teacher and Angel of Music. Her eyes were ablaze with an array of emotions; hatred, anger, disgust, despair and yes, pity towards the man before her. The man met her gaze with his own tortured stare staring into her very soul,half threatening, half pleading. Only a short time before he had been betrayed by her before all of the elite of Paris. The man wore a mask to hide a cursed and hideous deformity from a hostile and uncaring world. A world that had repeatedly rejected him, until he donned a persona so feared that they did not dare harm him, or belittle him. But that mask of invincibility had been pierced, revealing the vulnerable man crouching within it. The screams of horror from the audience dug deeply into his heart and mind, like a thousand daggers piercing his flesh, ripping away the last shattered shards of his sanity. Now there was no more mask to hide behind to protect either his spirit or dignity, she had taken that from him, and yet he still loved her. How he loved her to the innermost moorings of his tortured soul. But it would never be reciprocal, and this at last he realized with a bitterness that deadened his bleeding heart. How could he hope to compete with him; it was the handsome boy that she loved. The same heroic fool who was trapped in his web, he held the power to either kill him or release him and he would use it. His eyes bore into her soul as he made his impossible demand.
"You try my patience, make your choice," he blustered menacingly, yet inside he was crumbling.
In his heart he knew that even though he had told her that either way she chose she could not win, it was a lie. A complete farce. The truth was plain, and painful to concede even to himself. It was he who was the one who had played the game and had lost everything already, no matter which way she was to choose. He had hoped to sway her to light her affections towards him, yet failed to do so. Now, no matter how it ended, she would hate him forever, and he would still be as alone as he had always been. A hideous monster, that no one had ever loved, not even his own mother. Now no one ever would love him, yet soon his pain would be over. Today, once this true life opera had ended, would be the day that he died. A vengeful mob was approaching fast, and he would not resist them, he resolved not to. Death would be a welcome release. Why cling to a life as empty as this one? For he now knew what fate had been preordained for him from birth. For him, love would never come; only more of the same hatred, and cruelty, that had always littered his path. As he had told Christine only moments before, he had been wallowing in blood forever. It was his curse, his sentence for attempting to survive in a world that despised him, simply for how he looked, a man with the face of a monster. He looked away from her for a moment to wipe away a tear that he did not want her to see. She could not yet be shown his vulnerability, even though he had already lost. He owed himself that much. His last moments in this world would at least have that dignity. He was brought back to reality when he heard her words, she had made her choice.
"Pitiful creature of darkness, what sort of life have you known? God give me courage to show you, you are not alone."
To his surprise her arms wrapped around him and she pulled his hideous face to hers and placed her perfect lips on his, giving him a kiss. He had been shocked that she would do such a thing. No one had ever come even close to kissing him, the feeling was exhilarating. Then, she did it once again, this time he could feel her lips sear his, as their souls spoke to one another; for a moment he felt a sensation of hope, perhaps love would not be denied him. Time seemed to stand still and for the first time in his miserable life he felt a spark of happiness, a taste of what life might have been if he had been born with a normal face. Then suddenly he pulled away, that kiss had not changed an iota of what was to be. It only served to seal his own dark fate even more firmly than before. She had slammed the door to his prison, and he would not fight for his freedom. It was pointless to try. He could not claim Christine Daae, she was not his to grasp. She was an angel of light trapped in his world of darkness but she could not survive in the dark, nor he in the light. He had no right to claim her love; he never did. It was not that he would stop loving her, he never would, but he could not chain her to him, because no matter what came next he would never truly own her love. He had to let her go; to fly free, back into the arms of her fop. Into the arms of the man that she truly loved, not the vile angel from Hell that he was. He could hear the mob approaching, coming to tear him limb from limb. He would not fight them; Christine had made her choice and now he made his...
Saint-Etienne de Malbaie-Murray-Bay Quebec, Canada, January 29, 1895
A fierce northern storm was swirling around the small rural cabin in a distant part of Quebec, far from either the large urban city of Montreal, or even the smaller but still decent sized city of Quebec. Their home was small but functional. It was a far cry from what they would have enjoyed had they remained in Paris, but that was never an option for the occupants. Long ago they had to find a sanctuary where no one would know of or care about the events that took place years before at the Palais Garnier in Paris involving the alleged specter, or madman, that had haunted that vaunted theatre. This event remained a mystery for many but not for the couple residing there. They were very much at the heart of what was known as l'affaire estrange. Even the citizens of this remote part of Canada had heard of the happenings, and as they had hoped when they had fled to this place, no one here gave it much thought. It took place across the sea and involved the sort of people never seen so far from the big city, perhaps such people lived in Montreal or Quebec but not in this remote area.
Although the couple was once Parisienne, with little experience in living away from a large city, they were now part of the community. On the rare times that they left their farm ten miles or so outside of the town, no one gave them a second glance anymore. They were far from being strangers. They had to learn how to fend for themselves and how to live in such a rustic area. They had been able to adjust rather well, at least when it was not snowing so fiercely outside. Their two children spoke with the Quebecois accent, and slang and not the vastly different French of the former mother country that their parents spoke. Their mother spoke with a different accent yet, owing to her roots from Sweden. It had been a long time since she had lived in Sweden or even France, and the couple had no intention of ever returning to Europe. The past there was still too dangerous, and painful for both of them. They had fled to Canada both for the safety of anonymity and the desire to forget who and what they once were. They rarely spoke of the past to either of their children. If they missed having a large extended family, like their school friends were able to enjoy, they did not say so very often. On this night, the Arctic wind howled ceaselessly, drowning out any chance for the occupants getting any sleep. Despite their maturity, they knew that their children would end up in their room, just as they always had. They were all close to one another as only such a small family could be.
Raoul de Chagny looked at his wife and observed lightly, "I do not know how you can stand the cold here in the north. It must be embedded in your Swedish blood. My French blood is freezing inside my veins. Perhaps we should have chosen somewhere else to settle rather than Canada, despite having little choice but to go to this place because it is a large country and French speaking and we could easily get lost, which we did. Yet at the moment I would risk being found, either the Congo or Martinique are sounding very nice. We could have lived in a grass hut, in either place, and I would have still been happy as long as we were together."
Christine de Chagny laughed, "Trust you to complain about the cold, as you have done every winter since we came here. It is not as if Normandy, where you were raised is any warmer, and I believe that the Normans were originally Scandinavian."
Raoul teased, "Nah, the Scandinavian Normans must have headed north to England with William the Conqueror. Those of us who remained behind were most definitely French, most likely of Roman descent. I will need you to keep me warm woman. It looks as if this storm will never end. The New Englanders down south call these type of storms 'Nor'easters' I think. Do you hear that wind whipping about? It sounds like a ghost howling about, haunting us with his scream."
Christine smiled, "I am not afraid of ghosts, or even Phantoms, any more my love. For me the snow is beautiful, almost surreal, like one of those paintings that used to be on display in Montmartre."
Raoul's languid expression immediately changed to one of clear displeasure, "Quiet Christine. I do not like being reminded of those days, not even in jest. Don't even say that word, 'Phantom'. Even invoking that word casually might bring about destruction of everything that we hold dear. That word must never be used, not even by you."
Christine placed a hand on his face, as if to wipe away her husband's frown, "No darling, I am not afraid of him finding us. You went to such great lengths to hide our true destination, and fortuitously for us the Tararua foundered right about the same time that we were rumored to have gone to New Zealand. Your bribing a survivor to describe us as among the unidentified dead, was the crowning touch since no one could name the bodies. It is clear that it worked, and that we are safe here in Canada. It has been thirteen years, and we are at the opposite end of the ocean. Don't you think that if there was any danger to us that it would have come to pass by now?"
Raoul placed a warm kiss upon his wife's brow, "Perhaps, but we can never be sure. Ever since that day Christine, when the two of us walked away from the lair, what has come to pass between us has been an unexpected gift. I almost died that day, and perhaps you might have as well. I cannot think of it lightly, not now, not ever. Do you ever regret your decision that night? It is all right if you do. I understand the bond that you and he once shared. I remember how long that it took for you to shake off his influence."
Christine smiled, "I am here with you and I love you more strongly than ever. We have been happy together here despite everything that happened back then, isn't that enough?"
Raoul placed a kiss on his wife's brow "It is more than enough for me. As I said, every kiss, each hug, every new memory that we share, is a gift to me and to you. Our children are even a greater gift yet. I will protect them from whatever might befall us, should we be detected, just as I have protected you."
"You deserve all of it darling. You suffered greatly before we found peace here. We both did, yet we endured everything to get to where we are. Two beautiful children, a nice home, a good life lived without fear." Christine observed, "Back then I never would have imagined that we could find a place for us to feel safe. To be away from all of the dramas that took place back then. To find such a great love between us that still exists between us despite our rocky start."
"But you had to give up your career, you could never work again, not if we wanted to stay safe." Raoul mused. "Do you ever miss the lights, the crowds, the adoration? You deserved all of it after how hard that you trained for it. How much you endured to hone your talents. You could have been a legend, perhaps the greatest diva ever, at least for a short time until our children were born."
"You were all of the adoration that I needed, mon amour, and you have kept us safe." Christine replied. "He has never found us."
"Yet it doesn't mean that he never will." Raoul reminded her. "We can never let our guard down."
"Yet it was you who once assured me that we would be safe here. It was you who brought us both here after that day. Yet now you seem to be saying that it is not safe?" Christine mused, with concern.
"You know why darling. As long as there are still people who might remember that night and tie us to the events that took place there, there might always be someone who might stir up the ghosts of the past. We can never be truly safe no matter what." Raoul remarked. "But enough brooding about what we cannot control, are you ready for bed?"
Christine smiled impishly, "Yes darling I am ready for bed, but with this weather blowing around how long do you think that it will be until the children are in the room?"
A voice volunteered, "I am already here, Maman."
"You were as quiet as a mouse, Gustave, when did you sneak in?" Christine asked.
The boy laughed, "When I heard the ghost whisper, Maman. I came in to tell you and then I overheard you both talking. Why are we not safe here Pere? Why do neither of you tell us about the past? We must have family back in France. I know for a fact that the de Chagnys are one of the oldest families in France. We read about them in our history books in school yet you never tell neither Marguerite nor I anything about our history. I am twelve years old and Meg is ten don't you think that we deserve to know?"
"No you don't." Raoul told the boy sharply. "And don't you ever ask us again if you know what is good for you."
"But why Pere? Why can't I know? What is so terrible? Why is it such a secret?" The boy replied defiantly, aping his father's stance.
Raoul raised a hand in anger, "Do you dare to defy me? You insolent boy, isn't it enough that I tell you not to ask us about this?"
Christine looked at her husband to mollify him, "Darling, please, I have never heard you speak to our children in that manner. It is only natural that the boy should ask about where we come from. We never do tell him anything about France, and it is your country of birth, and where we met. Where we have a shared history. We only tell them about Sweden and nothing more, and even then we have contacted none of my relatives there."
Raoul looked at his wife, and his anger disappeared. He could not stay angry when he saw her angelic face pleading with him, "Even through our children someone could accidentally discover us and somehow it could get back to him that we are still alive. It is bad enough that we had to keep the de Chagny name. It makes us stand out. We agreed long ago that we would never take the chance of contacting anyone that we knew. Someone could connect you with them and then trace you back here. You knew what you got into when we decided to leave France."
"Please Pere, I won't tell anyone." The boy pleaded. If we have a secret I should know it. I am almost a teenager. Don't I have the right to know about my parent's history? Doesn't Meg deserve to know as well? If you are in danger then we all are and I should know what that danger is. I should know everything about your past. I know that Maman used to be a professional singer back in France. Yet she never sings publically now, not even in church."
"It is too dangerous, for her to sing publically, Gustave. We can never take the chance that someone will recognize her." Raoul explained.
"Why? Because he will find you? Who is this man that you are so afraid of? Please Pere tell us. Meg is here too. She heard everything as well."
Raoul growled, "It is better that you do not know."
Christine looked at her husband and soothed him gently, "Raoul, I think that it is time. It is better that they are aware of everything. Why don't we tell them what happened back then and how we came to live here and why. That way they will not make any inadvertent mistakes that could draw attention to who we are. We are trapped here anyhow and none of us will be able to get any sleep, not until the wind stops howling like a ghost. Even I find it scary and I spent a good part of my life dealing with 'ghosts'."
Raoul gave Christine a warning, "Once we tell them, it will change how the children view things forever. They will see everything in a more sinister light. Do we truly want to blight their innocence by telling them what happened?"
Christine smiled at Raoul warmly, "We always knew and feared that this day would come, that we would finally have to explain what happened. We will tell you both once and then hopefully never speak of it again."
Raoul sighed in defeat, "Fine. Do you want to begin or should I Christine? Marguerite you may come out." He told her smoothly.
"May I sit in your lap Pere? I would like for you to tell us. Even now I still love when you tell me stories. You make the characters come alive and I feel as if I am there," Meg observed then she climbed into her father's lap.
Raoul shot Christine a look, "Perhaps then you should tell them Christine. I would rather that some of the ghosts in this story would remain just that-spirits. This story is real and does not need to 'come alive'."
"It is alright, Raoul, you may start, I am confident that the ghosts will stay buried. I will add in any detail that you might inadvertently omit. We both know the details, even those that we were not present to experience. When we first left France we used to discuss it with one another, to make sense of what happened, and to clear up any misunderstandings."
Raoul agreed, "Fine, I will tell it. But you both must stay silent until after the story has been told. It is a long story, and very tragic, it will be easier if we let you ask questions when we are done. That is not a request but an order. If you interrupt us I will not continue. Is that understood?"
Both children replied in unison, "Yes, Pere."
"Our story is one of love between a woman and two different men, one light and carefree, and another full of darkness and despair. Both men loved the woman to distraction, but only one would be able to leave with her and her love." Raoul told them.
"And that man was you, Pere. You were clearly the victor." Gustave asked.
Raoul looked at his son in exasperation, "There were no victors Gustave, for it was not a game. All three of us paid a steep price for what happened between us." He looked at Christine sadly, "A very steep price indeed." He looked back at his son sternly "Yet, did I not instruct you son that you and your sister might ask no questions until I was done telling the story? I do not want distractions. This story is now over before it has even begun thanks to you."
"It was not a question Pere but a statement, so you must continue." Gustave told him.
Raoul looked at his son in amusement and reluctantly agreed, "Alright then, but this time I mean everything, no questions or statements or any other commentary about what happened, just your attention." He turned to Christine; "The boy is too intelligent for his own good."
Christine smiled radiantly "Just like his father."
Raoul beamed, "You are too kind my darling."
