Up in Box 5, Erik let out a soft sigh as the sweet, sweet music washed over him. Her voice.
He dreamed of it while he slept –well, seeing as he usually napped during the daytime, he actually did hear her in rehearsals. The excessive elaborations, the trills, the octave changes, the accent… Oh, nothing enchanted him like her voice! Her deviations from the original songs only drew him in more, making him savor each note as she made them hers. Hm. Maybe he should start asking her for help on Don Juan. Surely anything she changed would only make the music greater.
Another screech ripped through the air; patrons in nearby boxes began to wince. Erik felt his blood begin to boil at their audacity –could they not hear the absolute perfection this woman brought to the opera? There was nothing like her! There never was or could ever be a Prima Donna quite like this woman. She was God's gift to mankind…
And therein lied the problem, Erik mused. With such incredible talent, why would she ever notice him? He was just a lowly Phantom, running about the Palais Garnier, terrorizing the managers, slaughtering stagehands, breaking props, replacing "popular" –a.k.a. disgusting- music with his own creations. To get her attention, he would have to do something really special.
But what was that? What could get her attention, when she had so much of it already? Something big, scandalous, and public, for starters… something to draw the spotlight off of her. Then, he would be waiting with open arms, ready to dote and give her the attention she deserved.
The aria ended and she waltzed offstage, blowing a kiss to the audience as she went. His hand involuntarily shot out to catch it before he realized what had happened. The curtain swished closed behind her and she vanished from his view, leaving him feeling broken and ugly, much like the other side of his face. Leaping into action, the dancers twirled their way onstage. Erik snorted. There were many that considered dancing and singing to be equally important in an opera, but he knew differently. Imagine! A simple dancer having as much sway over the audience as the Prima Donna!
His brain whizzed. A nearby light bulb exploded from the sudden increase in electricity.
Erik's eyes narrowed in on a petite dancer, with brunette curls and bright blue eyes, a plan forming in his mind.
Three Months Later
"No, no, NO!" Discordant chords echoed throughout the small music room as a fist was brought down on the organ's keys. He turned to face the trembling girl with murderous rage in his eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you that the song is NOT sung like that?!" He paused and looked at his fist. "Wait, that chord actually sounded pretty angsty and chaotic… it should go in Don Juan! I'll just have to remember to keep punching my organ." He scribbled a few notes down before returning his attentions to Christine. "Anyways, it is still NOT sung like that."
Christine's knees clacked against each other as she cowered in his presence. "But… I th-thought that's what the m-music read…" she stammered out.
Erik snorted. "Yeah, well, it's not. Add a trill." His fingers lined up to begin playing again, but he halted suddenly and glared at Christine again. "Another thing: your voice is just too… French. It's not exotic enough. Use, I dunno, an accent or something." He tilted his head to the side as though contemplating something. "Italian." He tacked on as an afterthought.
Despite knowing that an Italian accent would not improve the song, Christine complied anyways. His wrath was quite a scary thing. He started frothing at the mouth, flailing his arms, and mumbling something over and over again. As she usually saw a similar reaction from Madame Giry when a single girl was dancing even the slightest bit imperfectly, she knew it meant trouble that wasn't worth whatever had caused it. If she had to put on an Italian accent for a few minutes to avoid that, it would be worthwhile.
Unfortunately, she had been the victim of his wrath a few times since he had started teaching her. One day, three months ago, he had revealed himself to her as she was walking back to the girls' dormitory. Naturally, she had done the first thing that came to mind: slap him and run away. He had caught her before she had gone far. After that, he explained to her that he had heard her voice and wanted to train her to be the next Prima Donna. She had been quiet and still throughout the entire time period, but that might have had something to do with the fact that she had been tied up and gagged. Regardless, she accepted –under threat of Punjabbing- and now here she was, preparing to sing again.
She began again, her voice cracking with the effort it took to maintain the accent. As per his command, she added in the trill. She was stopped in a matter of seconds.
"Ugh. Still not enough." Erik glared at her. "Add even more trills. Change octaves. Sing louder at times, and softer at others. Right now, your singing sucks. So fix it."
Christine returned his glare, but resigned herself to her fate. He was the Phantom, who was she to question him? Even if his reputation as a music expert was clearly bogus, she had no doubt that the very intimidating lasso right next to his hand was quite dangerous. Exchanging her life for another notch on his lasso would probably sound like a pretty good idea to him. His every wish would have to be her command if she wanted to avoid being choked to death in the music room.
That would be unpleasant.
Suddenly, an idea hit her. If he wants excessive pomp, then excessive pomp he shall get. She shut her eyes, and prepared to start. As soon as she began to sing, she swapped octaves, reaching as high as her voice could go, straining it slightly on the way. She rolled different letters, and began a sharp twist from forte to piano every other word. By the next verse, her voice had dropped several octaves, giving the vague impression that a very testosterone filled female had stolen the lead. She shouted –rather than sang- certain words, and fancy flutters filled the rhythm.
When she finally stopped, she allowed herself to open her eyes, expecting to triumph in her endeavor to irritate Erik with her overly enthusiastic use of his suggestions.
She was quite disappointed to find that that was not the case.
Erik seemed to be swooning, so lost in his appreciation of the music that even he made mistakes whilst he played.
Erik…wrong…note? Christine's brain struggled to comprehend the fact that Erik had been missing the past several chords. There was something very, very wrong.
At last, he returned to reality, and as he looked at Christine there was pure adoration in his eyes. His rather glazed over eyes. Christine was no longer quite sure that his mind wasn't in a fantasy realm.
He slid off his piano bench, gripping Christine's hands firmly in his. Slowly he descended to one knee, pulling a small box from his waistcoat. "My dear," he began, "I have awaited this day since the first moment I laid eyes on you. My sweet, sweet Prima Donna. My love for you knows no bounds, and anything you desire, I will do for you. Please do me the honor of becoming my-"
"Uh, Erik?"
"Yes, my sweet?"
"I'm not the Prima Donna yet. I'm still just the simple dancer Christine."
Erik blinked. Then again. His eyes demisted. "Oh. Yes. Christine. Sorry, I thought you were someone else for a second there. Your voice just…" His eyes misted over again. "Your voice was that of an angel."
Christine was pretty sure that her attempt to disguise her gagging as a cough was unsuccessful.
"Um… okay." Well, now she was really sure there was something broken in Erik's ear. She hesitantly poked his skull. Maybe if she gave him a few good whacks it would fix itself…
He stood up just as she was preparing to slap him. "Christine, it's time for you to go back up to the stage. Tomorrow night is the first performance of Il Muto, and I shall make sure that you'll be the lead." Christine nodded mutely. Erik frowned. "Your mute nods make it look like you're preparing to be the mute servant boy." He sighed. "Now go get some sleep. We can't have our soon-to-be Prima Donna falling asleep on stage."
Christine turned and crossed the room to reach the boat. Immediately before she set her foot in, she voiced a question that had been bothering her for a while now; "Erik... Why do you want me to be Prima Donna so badly? You're training me to sing exactly like La Carlotta, so what difference will it make if it's she or I starring?"
The answer must have been written across Erik's shoes, because his gaze would not lift from his feet. "Um, well..." He shuffled his feet. "Uhhh... an angle told me! Yes, an angle!"
"You mean an angel? Not an angle?"
"Oh, uh, yes. I meant angel." Christianity did usually provide Erik with answers to shut Christine up.
Christine's eyes lit up. "Which angel? Michael? Gabriel? Oh! Or did you mean a saint? St. Francis of Assisi? I really love animals…"
"No, the angel…" Erik struggled to answer for a few moments. "Of music!" He proclaimed triumphantly after a few seconds.
"Oh. Well, that's cool, I guess. I'll just go back to my dressing room." Christine looked vaguely disappointed as she stepped into the boat and pushed it offshore.
After she was out of view, Erik removed his mask and rubbed his temples. It was nonsense like this that really kept him from liking the girl. Along with being too skinny and not singing exactly right. Her normal singing gave him headaches that lasted for hours. Not even Advil could cure them!
However… she had shown signs of progress today. Of course, she could never compare to the original source, but so far, his plan was working perfectly. Tomorrow would prove whether or not all of his planning was worth it.
Bringing a candle, Erik swept a curtain away from the wall to reveal a hidden door. Pushing it open, he stepped inside and set the candle down reverently, before setting about lighting the other candles in the room.
Once they were all lit, he took a second to sit back and admire his handiwork.
The walls were plastered with cuttings from both local and foreign newspapers detailing operas. Pictures littered the stand before him. Past props were tucked into corners. There were hand drawn portraits in all manner of poses.
There was one common factor linking all of these items together.
They all concerned La Carlotta.
At the very center of his shrine was a photograph in a heart shaped frame. The two subjects were Carlotta and Piangi… or rather, Carlotta and Piangi with a white half mask painted on him.
He sighed as he wistfully touched her face. If his plan for tomorrow failed… he didn't know what he would do with himself. Well, probably go back to killing stagehands and haunting prop rooms. Or, he thought, I could add another layer to this plan to make it unfoilable. But what second layer? Well HE certainly didn't know. Might just have to come up with it on the fly.
His mind set, he extinguished all candles before returning to his own room for some peace and sleep.
Erik watched in stunned horror as the opera began the next day. The managers had NOT put Christine in as Prima Donna as per his orders. How was he supposed to give La Carlotta the attention she was missing if she STILL HAD IT?
Maybe if she doubted her abilities as Prima Donna, she would need comfort. If she had no applause and lots of booing instead… but that would never happen if the show finished. There would always be people clapping for La Carlotta. Hell, Erik didn't know if he could refrain from clapping for her at the end of her song.
Right. That meant the only alternative was a good dose of self-confidence –Erik style.
Oh, and a few threats for the managers. That would teach little cockroaches like them not to fail to listen to him… for the fifth or sixth time.
He climbed into the rafters, stealthy as an opera ghost. He walked nervously across one plank (he would never tell anyone else, but he had a great fear of heights, and people, and light, and animals, and… well, you get the picture) and came to rest just near the chandelier.
That gave him a few ideas.
If La Carlotta's pride was wounded, and she was scared to top it off, she would be in double need of comforting! Maybe she would even be so terrified by her "near death experience" so as to seek out a therapist! And Erik would be waiting right there, ready with a therapist's card who worked from the fifth cellar under the Opera Populaire.
What a charming fellow that therapist was too.
So it was settled.
Erik stood up, calling upon his black magic powers to hide the location of his voice. A few startled gasps told him the general public had seen him, and Christine had announced it for the whole world on the stage. Erik groaned. How was he supposed to comfort La Carlotta if she knew he was the one who had degraded her? Well, he'd come this far already.
"Your part is silent, little toad!" Carlotta's irate screech echoed from the stage.
Well, carpe diem. "A toad, Madame? Perhaps it is you who are the toad…"
His heart broke as he told his love those words, leading him to croak in agony while clutching his chest, trying to give air back to his tightening lungs.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Didn't mean to actually make her a toad. Shit. Shit.
Well, time for phase two then –traumatic stress.
He shoved the chandelier to get it swinging, and then waited for the moment when it was just far enough away from her… "Behold, she is singing to bring down the chandelier!" His sword cut through the thin rope, and he peered over the side to watch as it came crashing down to earth.
As his expert physics knowledge had told him, the chandelier landed on the completely opposite side of the stage. She screamed and fainted into Piangi's outstretched arms.
Bingo. Now just give her a few days, and she'll be ready for some Phantom lovin'.
Erik strolled back to his lair, not seeing the look of gratitude on Carlotta's face as she stared at Piangi.
Months Later
There was only a day left before Don Juan began, and Carlotta still wasn't in his arms. He had been so sure that if she wasn't Prima Donna she would need pampering and loving, and that HE could provide that. However, it seemed that she was doing just fine in her chorus role. Oh, of course she whined about it constantly, but that was all she needed to remain satisfied –though probably unhappy.
Erik swung his legs, looking down between the rafters he was seated on. Really, where had her need for attention gone? There was no way that she could deal with the sudden influx of indifference without someone- Erik's eyes widened as he saw Piangi walk La Carlotta offstage, giggling all the way.
No. NO. He would NOT let some Oompa Loompa steal his woman! Not after all of his careful planning! It was Punjabbin' time.
Erik stalked behind the props, using the shadows to his advantage. Not that he needed it. If he stood still long enough, the stagehands usually assumed he was some kind of statue.
They weren't the smartest.
As he got closer and closer to the curtain, he could hear Piangi's terrible trills, elaborations, and Italian accent butchering his song. Really, could he not read music? It was pretty clear what was written! Sing it like it was meant to be sung! Fortunately, Erik had brought cotton balls to stick in his ears.
After the terrible song ended, Piangi's life did too.
There's not much to say about it, except that afterwards Erik felt a slight pang in his heart that confused him greatly.
What could this be? Remorse? Erik paused for a second, and then burst into raucous laughter. "The Phantom of the Opera feel remorse! HAHAHA! Oh, sometimes you really crack yourself up, Erik…"
He pushed the body under a table then prepared to search for Carlotta. She found him first.
She stormed into Piangi's dressing room –uh, I mean grave- spewing fire from her mouth. "Ugh, Piangi! That little brat struts about the stage like she owns it! She's just a tutored Swedish freak who's a less talented version of me!" Carlotta threw her hands in the air in rage. Then she stopped and turned around. "Piangi? Where are you…?"
Erik stepped towards her. "My sweet, sweet Carlotta… you'll never have to worry about that oaf anymore. It'll just be the two of us, riding off into the sunset on a horse like a cheesy romantic movie. I have loved you since the first moment I heard your voice." He dropped to one knee. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my bride?"
Carlotta screamed and slapped him. As he reached out to grab her hand, she snatched it away. "Don't touch me, freak!" Then she ran out of the room flapping her arms and screaming.
Erik sobbed the entire way as he ran back to his lair. When he finally reached it, he ripped the refrigerator door off of its hinges and grabbed a bucket of ice cream. He collapsed onto the floor, shoveling it into his mouth.
He choked back another sob –or maybe he was choking on the ice cream.
She would be forever out of his reach. She would always be untouchable.
A/N: Erik being in love with Carlotta would have been an even bigger reveal than Darth Vader is Luke's father. And it would be the most ridiculous thing ever, agreed?
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