Disclaimer: Even if I had the entire cast chained up in my basement, I still wouldn't officially own The Phantom of the Opera.
Title: Peccata Mundi
Summary: The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.
Assignment 1: The Nightingale
Summary: With his night terrors growing steadily worse, Erik must find the strength to locate a kidnapped woman. Will he be able to discover and protect her before it's too late, and will he be able to correctly distinguish between the past and the present?
Author's Note: I wanted to create a little tension between Raoul and Erik, so I hope the beginning of this chapter doesn't seem too out of character for Erik. He just has this uncaring, criticizing side to his personality, especially when it comes to assumptions and things that could possibly go against the will/want of someone else. I hope that made sense.
Section 2
- Lilium
Lily. The entire room smelled of lilies. The scent swarmed his nostrils and filled his mind. It was difficult to think with the invading odor, which reminded him of a strange funeral from his past. Erik had to pause within the doorway to recollect himself before continuing on with the investigation. Everything about the room screamed feminine and innocence. The walls, originally a vibrant white, were dirtied with improper upkeep. There was a single bed with a soft pink comforter across from a small vanity. A rather aged wardrobe was against the wall occupying a little window. The white lace curtains were drawn, but did little to block out the bright sunlight.
"This is where it happened?" Erik questioned.
"Yes," Monsieur Daaé confirmed, being wheeled into the room by his younger counterpart, then continued to explain, "Christine always prepares breakfast in the morning and brings it into my room along with my medicine. When she didn't wake me, I went to her room to check on her, thinking she was sick. But her room was empty, and the window was wide open."
Erik stepped carefully toward the window, pushing the drapes aside, and peered out. The pavement outside was about ten feet down. There were also a few crates to the side. Not far at all if someone was to jump. Right above the window was a drain attached to the roof. He could visualize someone crawling out onto the ledge, using the drain to balance, and carefully lowering herself into a hanging position from the ledge. It would then be simple enough to drop onto the crates and step down onto the pavement.
Erik turned back into the room and glanced around at the minute decorations and shabby furnishings. Everything was neat and orderly and fit together too well. It was obvious that the crime hadn't been committed, or even attempted, within these four walls. In fact, just in perusing from a single location, it occurred to him that maybe the case had started out in consent from both parties. It was possible that there had been some understanding between the victim and the kidnapper, but then came betrayal and all hell broke loose.
One specific article caught his eye. It was the only thing that seemed out of the ordinary in the small bedroom—a red scarf hanging from the mirror on the vanity stand. He went to it and gently tugged at it. The wool would have felt soft and warm, he was sure, if he hadn't been wearing black leather gloves. He wasn't accustomed to going around outside without them, though. The crimson color distracted him for the longest time. His vision became awash in the captivating shade, loosing him to another era.
Believing that he was looking for an explanation, the younger gentleman interrupted with the history of the item. "Christine has had that scarf since she was young. We actually met over it, too." Being drawn into the past, he began to go into further detail. "I was staying with an aunt by the sea. Walking along the shore, I spotted Christine crying. Being a curious boy, I asked her why she was upset. She replied that her favorite scarf had been swept up in a gust of wind and taken out to sea. So I took it upon myself to retrieve it." His hand went randomly to his cheek. "I got a kiss in return." His hand dropped to his side and he returned to the present, a gleam still in his eye. "I guess you could say it was fate and that scarf is a sort of engagement present."
Erik had been watching him incredulity. He couldn't believe what misconceptions this man had of other people. He automatically assumed his feelings were returned with just as much passion and enthusiasm. Ignorance toward other people's feelings and plans was one of Erik's biggest bothers. He had to look away, losing his vision in the red hue of the scarf again. His lips pursed in contempt and disappointment.
"That's an enchanting story and all," Erik replied in disinterest, "but was she informed of the engagement?"
The look in the other man's eyes darkened, and his muscles tensed. "Excuse me?" he growled, stepping threateningly forward, his hands balled into fists at his side.
The old man held out a hand to stop him from taking action, "Raoul, that is unnecessary," and he listened obediently. Monsieur Daaé got comfortable, gazing at Erik. "I know that Raoul's story seems somewhat farfetched, but the truth is that it's always been assumed the two would marry. Raoul has been a friend of the family for a long time. He and Christine were completely inseparable. Although no formal plans were laid out, there was a common knowledge that their futures may intertwine."
Erik's stomach churned, and his feelings grew worse. It was still inconceivable that people would think and act in such a way. He shook his head slightly and dropped his fingers from the scarf. He cleared his throat, trying to clear the awkwardness in the room at the same time. He turned toward his two employers, and changed the subject.
"Well, Monsieur Daaé, I've already been able to deduce part of this mystery," he informed. An eager look told him to continue. "It seems that this is not the scene of the kidnapping. As you can tell by looking around, there is nothing askew in this room. You found the window open, I believe, because that is the means in which your daughter exited the flat."
"Are you insinuating that she ran away?" Monsieur Daaé shot rather heatedly.
"No, not at all. I'm just saying that she was definitely not abducted here. She could have crept out to meet the perpetrator somewhere else." He looked to Raoul. "Perhaps it was someone close to the family." He noticed a look of surprise leap on both of the gentlemen's expressions. Slowly he pivoted on one foot so that his back was toward them. "Or perhaps it wasn't." He began to steadily pace. "I also noticed upon entering your house that there was no female outerwear hanging on the coat rack next to the door." He heard a slight gasp. "This and the slight crack in the crate beneath the window only exist to prove my theory." He halted facing them. "Now all we have to find is the where, why, and who."
An incredulous silence overcame the room, but was soon interrupted by a gentle rapping at the door. Monsieur Daaé was the first to awaken from the trance. He turned as far around as he could in order to spy the front door out of the corner of his eye.
"Raoul," he gasped.
Without having any more direction, Raoul knew exactly what he wanted him to do. The young man took his place behind the wheel chair and grasped the handles.
"If you'll excuse us," Monsieur Daaé apologized, "I really must attend to this."
Erik gave a slight bow to show his understanding of the situation, and watched them move toward the front of the flat. He turned his gaze to the surface of the vanity table, beginning to check out the odds and ends that littered it. A piece of sheet music caught his interest. He picked up the thin piece of paper and studied it over.
"She must be a singer," he muttered to himself, longing, somewhat, to hear a sample of her voice. He replaced it and pivoted away.
The voices in the hall had grown loud enough to echo to his location. Being rather intrigued on who could possibly be visiting such a place, Erik moved to the bedroom door and halted right behind it to hear, but not to be seen. The new voice he didn't recognize. It was masculine, deep, scratchy. There was a slight nervous stutter lying beneath it. It was shaky, odd.
"…b-but she never came to pick it up. I t-thought it only proper to deliver your violin myself."
"Thank you, Monsieur Richeleau. My daughter is a bit…indisposed at the moment," the old man replied carefully.
"I-I understand."
Monsieur Daaé took a sudden and deep intake of breath. "This isn't my violin!"
"Chri…Y-You're daughter wanted to surprise you with some touch ups, Monsieur."
There was a long pause, in which Erik decided the master of the house must have been looking over the wooden instrument and the professional detail put into it. Glancing back over at the sheet music, he concluded that they must be a father-daughter team. Christine sang, while he played.
"Thank you," Monsieur Daaé breathed.
There was a mumble then the door squeaked open and clicked shut. Erik was positive he could hear soft whimpering from the front of the house. It was like a new wave of emotions had overcome the old man. He had just been reminded of how much his daughter cared for him and thought of him. It made the loss all the more painful.
For the first time since hearing about the case, Erik felt a strong urge to find the missing girl as soon as possible. He felt a true connection to the job, and wouldn't be satisfied until he retrieved her…alive. He took a deep breath.
Lilies. The unusual aroma of lilies. The scent seemed foreboding. It was, after all, the flower of the dead. It adorned the bed of the deceased. Erik hoped that the fate of the girl wouldn't be like that of the flower. He'd protect her. He'd protect her for the sake of the old man. He'd protect her with all he had in him.
-----
It was at least ten minutes before Monsieur Daaé could return to his guest. He had broken out into tears the moment the front door had shut. He couldn't believe what his daughter had done for him. She believed so much that his skill would remain intact even while the rest of him slowly perished that she had ordered a re-mastering of his old instrument. He couldn't even grasp the amount of hope she still possessed. It had been overwhelming.
However, he had wiped his eyes dry to finish the meeting with the mysterious detective. If Christine still had hope, he had to mirror that. He couldn't give up on her and start mourning. He had to be strong and he had to get her back.
Raoul wheeled him slowly to Christine's bedroom. He pushed on the ajar door, which swung carefully open.
"Sorry to keep you wai…" Monsieur Daaé began, but trailed off.
Glancing around the room, the two occupants were speechless with wonder. It was empty. The room was empty. But they hadn't seen Erik pass by them on his way out. How then could he have exited? The single window still stood ajar. The delicate curtains billowed inward by a calm breeze. Was this his method of escape, just like Christine? Wherever the stranger had gone to, Monsieur Daaé prayed that he would be successful in his task. He prayed that his daughter would be returned safe and sound.
Raoul didn't possess as much contemplation as his elder. Looking around, he furrowed his brow in confusion. Even with the questioning expression and surprise in his voice, he couldn't deny the part of him that felt relief and joy at the sudden departure.
"He's gone."
