Close Your Eyes
Close your eyes, for your eyes will only tell the truth.- From "The Music of the Night" by Andrew Lloyd Webber
Chapter 1: All That I Asked For
Erik thumbed one of the many broken keys of his wrecked organ. No sound made it's way out of the bent pipes. The key stuck and would not rise back up to it's normal position. The once infamous Opera Ghost, frowned at this. His green eyes flittered across the devastation that surrounded him. The opera he had spent so many lonely nights writing lay strewn everywhere, ripped, soaked, and trampled. The mirrors that lined the walls, he had all shattered. The rich fabric that had once draped over his bed, and all his candles, and things had been stolen by his pursuers. His eyes finally fell on the replica of Christine he had made, her wax head, now bashed into an unrecognizable state. Still, one half of her lovely face and her mane of dark curls still remained. Her lifeless brown eyes gazed up at him. Erik absently touched the disfigured half of his face as he stared into those dead eyes. With a curse, he jumped from his seat and kicked the dummy's head into the water. He couldn't stand to see her face anymore than he could bare to live with his.
"Why didn't I just hang myself, like I had planned? It seems I can kill anyone I please, without remorse, yet not myself." He laughed bitterly. "What a coward I am."
"Erik?" Came an older woman's voice.
He looked up into the familiar face of his caretaker, Madame Giry. The old woman smiled kindly at him, but he simply frowned at her.
"Haven't you cleaned this place up yet?" She asked, looking around at the mess. "It's been six months now."
"Why bother?" He shrugged, his voice full of hopelessness.
Madame Giry sat a basket, full of bread, cheese, and a bottle of wine, on the organ. "You shouldn't be living this way. It's not healthy."
"Your point being?" He grumbled. He popped the cork of the wine bottle and promptly downed a whole mouth full, straight from the bottle.
"You simply must get over this." The old woman sighed. "You've done nothing but sulk since she left."
"Don't you dare even mention her name, Giry!" Erik spat, throwing a hunk of cheese at her. "That….that…viper, betrayed me! I gave her everything! I taught her everything I knew! She'd still be a chorus girl, if it were not for me! And how did she repay me? She turned her back on me, on her music, on everything! And for what? An ignorant, fool!"
Madame Giry watched on sadly as Erik groped at Christine's engagement ring, which he wore on a string about his neck. "If she hurt you so badly, if you hate her so, then why do you still wear that ring?"
Erik's eyes widened and he stared down, in a surprised way, at the hand that gripped the diamond ring; as if he hadn't realized what he was doing. "I…I." He stuttered, stumbling backwards and falling heavily onto the bench in front of the organ. He still held on to the ring as his eyes fogged over in thought, staring blankly at a pile of ruined sheet music. "All that I asked of her was that she love me. That is all that I ever asked for. Love. Was the price too great? In all my life, no one has ever been willing to pay it, not even my own mother." His foggy green eyes lifted to meet Giry's icy blues. "It seems so easy in the books I've read, in the operas I have watched, yet I've found it to be quite the opposite. It's difficult…the most difficult thing in the world." He said, in a dull whisper, his face crumpling like that of a child who'd just been struck.
"My poor boy." Giry sighed. She went over and pat his shoulder, kindly. She'd taken care of him since he was a young boy and she thought of him as a son. It had been she who had helped him escape from the mob the night he brought the chandelier crashing down. "You forget." Cupping his chin, she angled his face up to look at her. "All those books and operas are make believe. In real life, love is rarely easy. We all find it more difficult than we imagined as children."
Eric buried the disfigured side of his face in his hand. "Most of you do not look like me." He grumbled.
Giry gently pulled away his hand, and looked, unflinchingly, at his disfigurement. "Why are you so unkind to yourself?" She asked.
Erik thought quietly for a moment. "Do I not deserve it? Look at me."
"I am." Giry whispered, touching his face. "And no. You do not deserve it. Your face is much like your soul, Erik." She said, placing a hand on either side of his face. "There is a dark and terrible side of you, but there is also a good and beautiful one as well. It is that side that people can come to love, if you let them."
Erik stared blankly at her, not believing a word that spewed from her mouth. She's just trying to be nice. It's her pity talking. Nothing more. He thought to himself. Nothing more.
Later that afternoon, Erik had wandered up to his favorite box seat, number five. The huge room was empty. Practice had just ended and there was not a show scheduled for that day. He dare not appear when there were people present. The events of that terrible night six months ago had not yet faded from people's minds. They were all still very much on edge. So he waited until the opera house was empty before he went about his business outside of his underground labyrinth. He bent over in his seat and rested his head on the railing. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling drained. He hadn't been sleeping well at all.
As his mind drifted between the worlds of waking and dream, a light voice began to drift up from the seats below. This voice was pure, innocent, delicate, and innately beautiful. The soprano's song began softly, then grew in strength and power, to the point that Erik's heart stilled to listen more closely. Erik's eyes popped open in wonder. "Who's voice is this?" He asked quietly. Timidly, he peered over the railing.
He had expected to find one of the opera stars or perhaps even a chorus girl, come back to retrieve something they'd left at practice, but instead he found a girl in rags, sweeping the floors. Wild waves of blond hair peeped out from beneath her dingy white cap. Her cheeks were smudged and her hands were all wrinkly from washing clothes, or floors perhaps. She was petite, not very tall, and pigeon boned. This was not the robust opera singer he had envisioned at the sound of her voice. It seemed impossible for such a tiny girl to produce such an incredible sound. Her voice shook the very floor beneath him. Or maybe that was just his legs shaking.
The girl was singing "Habanera" from the opera, Carmen, as she worked. It was amazing. Erik had never heard it sung so well. He watched on in contented silence, listening to her sing and watching her work. She moved elegantly through the rows of seats, seeming to dance with the broom stick, twirling and making exaggerated gestures, as if she were on the stage, rather than sweeping in between the seats. When the song came to the grand finale, a powerful eruption of song, he nearly fell out of his seat. Once she was finished, the girl curtsied. It looked absolutely absurd, with her in that god awful sack of a dress. She then bowed and threw kisses at an invisible audience. "Thank you. Thank you. You are too kind." She said, smiling ear to ear. Erik felt his lips curve into a smile, a rarity these days. This girl had true talent. It had been quite a while since he had seen it. Without thinking, he started to clap for her.
The girl jumped at the sound and whipped her head around towards box five. Her dark blue eyes were wide with fright. Her cheeks had gone red in embarrassment. "I-I'm sorry, sir. I-I didn't know you were in here." She stuttered, backing away towards the door.
Realizing what he'd done, Erik quickly sprang from his seat and darted away to find one of his secret doors. Idiot! He scolded himself. She'll tell everyone she knows about seeing a masked man in box five, then they'll come after you again and they won't stop this time! You'll be lynched for sure!
Eve hurried out of the opera's auditorium. Her cheeks burned like fire from shier shame. A man had been there. He'd seen her make a fool of herself, heard her sing. She clasped a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. Oh how he must be laughing at her now! He's probably making fun of me right now. She thought miserably. No doubt he'll tell his friends about the stupid little maid, who thinks she can sing opera. She groaned as her stomach twisted into an even tighter knot. I'm going to be the laughing stock of the opera house.