The Swap
Chapter 2: In which I suck at lying
'Serving him' wasn't as easy as the Phantom had made it sound. For one, he was never pleased. I was quite sure he suffered from hosophobia, because no matter how thoroughly I tried to clean things, he would always complain because of just a little speck of dust.
Why would dust even matter when your whole place was a chaos anyway. Really, he left all his papers laying around. His instruments were just spread among the floor. Not to mention the freaking suet on the floor, which I had to clean, of course. Sometimes I wondered if that Opera Ghost just let all those candles burn to torture me. I had always had this childish fear of matches, lighters, fireworks and anything else on which you could get burned. In the summer I was always scared to get sunburned. So staying in a place with so many candles was not exactly something I enjoyed. Happy times.
Mister Phantom never really spoke to me, but he sure as hell always made his presence known. When I was peacefully asleep in the beautiful swan bed –surprisingly enough he let me use it- enjoying my rest after a day of hard work, I had been unpleasantely awoken by that madman banging away on his organ. I had nearly scolded him for being a brain-dead idiot, but in time realised that would not be such a good idea.
When he wasn't making his presence known –or marking his natural habitat, as I called it in my mind- he was just randomly going somewhere. At least, that was how I saw, because the Opera Ghost wouldn't even think about discussing his plans with me. I guessed he was probably busy searching for Christine and leaving notes, although I had no idea what was going to happen now that Christine as gone. It was strange to think that the whole story might go a lot differently.
Speaking of her, where had she gone anyway? Why wasn't she here? Those questions had haunted my mind for the past couple of days and since I was here and Christine wasn't, I could only think of one possible explanation.
He had traded places. I was here and she was probably in the real world. If it even was the real world.
I had no idea what was real anymore. All I knew is that the Phantom's lair and the Phantom of the Opera himself seemed very real to me.
However, apart from the fact that he was using me to get Christine back, he seemed to ignore my existence completely. As if I wasn't really human enough to really count in his world, made out of music. I didn't actually try hard to speak with the man behind the mask either, because every time I made as much as a sound, he would look at me with those piercing eyes of his, which reminded me of a rope that could embrace my neck if I wasn't careful.
One day, while mister Phantom was going on a secret mission again –"Don't you dare touch my instruments while I am gone!" – I gave in to the temptation which had been plaguing me from day one. The Phantom of the Opera Populaire had a fine collection of books, which also contained several books about philosophers. I had seen Aristotle's name from the corner of my eye, and one day, when I had been dusting off the shelves, I had also seen one of Spinoza's forbidden works. At least, it used to be forbidden. Epicurus had been present to, just like Plato and Immanuel Kant. I decided to read Epicurus, since he was my favourite out of the bunch.
"As long as we exist, death is not here. And once it does come, we no longer exist."
I sighed. Those words were already imprinted in my mind, but I always had the urge to read them, again and again. They were in the foundation of my soul. Who knew these words, knew my heart. At that moment, all alone –with a disturbingly large amount of candles- those words were the only thing familiar.
Not a moment did I consider going out on my own. It wouldn't work anyway. I didn't know the way out and I could easily become a victim of one of those traps. The Opera Ghost apparently didn't believe my story completely, because he left me here alone, without even worrying about me going off on my own. The fact I stayed put only proved I had told a lie. I hadn't come here on my own by using my fingers to open the door to Christine's room and following the path behind the mirror. In fact I had no idea how I had gotten here at all. But I knew one thing, the masked individual couldn't keep me here for ever. Okay, maybe he could, but I was quite sure he wouldn't keep me in his lair forever. He seemed to me like a man too keen on his privacy to have stranger roaming around in his natural habitat all the time. Especially a stranger he didn't trust. He had decided to wait until Christine would speak up, but that would take a century. If it would ever happen at all. Christine Daaé could've just been thrown out by my hysteric mother after she had realized I had disappeared in the middle of nowhere. While reading about Epicurus and hedonism, I grinned at the mental image of Christine roaming the streets of the modern world like a hobo. My thoughts always flew in every possible direction like that.
I had walked form the cupboard back to the swan bed and seated myself there comfortably. Now that the owner of said bed was gone, I could at least move around without feeling watched all the time. I had mysteriously enough even worn Christine's nightgown up until now. Monsieur had not given me any clothes. Well, maybe I should praise myself lucky for that. It would have been quite weird if he owned women's clothes. Another thing I praised myself lucky for was the fact that there was not a sign of the creepy Christine wax doll in the movie. While cleaning up I had secretly been looking for it, if only to break the monotony of every day. Or night for that matter, it was impossible to tell what time it was down in the lair.
"But down in the underground
You'll find someone true
Down in the underground
A land serene"
I liked singing when I was all alone. And the David Bowie song fitted my vocal range, not to mention the place I was currently trapped in. It truly was serene here in Monsieur le Fantôme's absence, if you didn't count the fear the candles gave me. I just hoped he wouldn't hear me sing, because he was quite picky about music and would probably get all upset if he didn't like my song, or the way I was singing it. He already had enough reasons not to treat me like an actual person as it was.
Oh well, I was quite sure people had been treated worse by the Opera Ghost.
When I was done reading I put the book back exactly at the place where it had been standing. It had been four hours since Mister Opera had left and I was starting to get hungry. Most of the time when left, he would come back with food. Maybe today I would ask him if he could bring some clothes for me. I was getting sick of walking around in Christine's nightgown all the time. Especially since the Phantom had been giving it some nasty looks.
Water splashed in the distance. I heard a male's voice groaning. That was Monsieur all right. I got up in the usual tense pose that came naturally to me whenever the Opera Ghost was present. However, this time he came in stumbling over his own legs, his cloak in tatters and his left hand pressing his shoulder. His face was red and sweaty . He was trying desperately not to look at me.
He was obviously in pain. Something had gone terribly wrong.
"What happened?" I asked without thinking. I got ignored completely. The Phantom was now focussing on getting his ass on the swan bed, still struggling on his way. I ran towards him and hesitantly offered him my hand, after I had tor his cloak of and thrown in on the ground. He regarded me suspiciously before sighing and accepting my hand. He was heavier than I had initially thought. He also was feverishly warm. The Opera Ghost's hand left his shoulder, now that it was around my shoulder for support, and I saw the shoulder was covered in blood. His white, old fashioned shirt had been cut open. Had he fought?
By the time the Opera Ghost had collapsed on the bed I was anxiously trying to find out what to do next. That wound should be taken care of, but how? Should the bleeding be stopped first? Should it get disinfected? I wasn't really the most practical person out there. In the end I decided to do that thing they always did in the movies. Rip the nightgown. It was actually my pleasure to do so. As I said, I had gotten sick of the thing. It had become all stinky.
"What do you think you are doing," said the Opera Ghost while watching me, his partially covered face not hiding his annoyance.
"I am trying to help you. And you are being quite ungrateful for it. Do you have something to clean that?" I said, pointing at the wound, trying to sound self-assured.
"That nightgown belonged to someone else, and now you have ruined it. There is water over there." He pointed in the direction of a bucket I had somehow missed in my usual manner of living under a rock. I rushed towards it, dipping the cloth in the water. When I wanted to press the wet cloth against the Phantom's shoulder, he grabbed my wrist, snatched the cloth out of my fingers and did it himself. Was he seriously too proud a man to even let someone take care of him when he was badly hurt? Or was he just not used to it.
Taking his warning glare into consideration, it was either both of the first one.
"Have it your way then. Make it harder for both of us. Like it already wasn't hard enough," I said exasperatedly, the shock of his wound finally getting to me. I had never seen blood like that. It frightened me even more than fire did. I didn't care he had just now glared at me. He was too weak to be a threat to me right now anyway. Stupid guy had kept me here, and now he was badly hurt. I should have rejoiced in it, too.
But he had fed me for the past few days, and for that I was grateful, even if he wasn't the best company.
The Phantom was quiet for a while, before he began speaking with a soft voice.
"How long have you been working for the Changy family?" I am so very sorry I treated you like crap, Rosalie, I promise it won't happen again. That was what I wanted to hear. Not an opportunity to tell more lies.
"Just about as long as I have been kept here, actually," I said carefully, my back facing him now. I walked towards the Phantom's cloak, which was still on the floor, and picked it up, shook it and hung it over one of his extravagantly decorated chairs.
"Is there any chance you could fetch some new clothes for me when your wound is healed? It doesn't have to be a dress, I would be just as happy with trousers, as long as I don't have to wear this nightgown anymore." Maybe this would distract him.
"Have you ever met the Vicomte?" I felt his eyes were studying me. My tense pose returned.
"No, not in person." Where was he going with this?
"Has he… done anything to you?" I turned around, my eyes nearly popping out.
"I just said I never met him, didn't I? And just what do you mean by that?" My astonished stare was met by his interrogating one.
"You know perfectly well what I am inquiring after, mademoiselle." I sighed.
"I am just have quite a lot of trouble realizing you really asked me that, while I had so clearly stated that I never even met Raoul de Changy."
"I wanted to be certain," he said, gritting his teeth. I knew very well why he was interrogating me about Raoul. He wanted to know better what kind of man it was that had set his eyes upon his beloved Christine.
"Just have some rest. You won't gain any new information by asking me about things I can't possibly know." A heavy sigh escaped from the lips of the mask individual.
"You are a completely useless little girl, torturing me with your ridiculous comments." I frowned. I tortured him?
"And yet you keep me here," I argued, my voice expressing slight accusation. The Phantom snorted. His eyes studying the ceiling.
"Maybe I should keep you here no longer. I should have you wandering underground and wait for you to fall in one of my traps. I am actually surprised you survived on the way towards my lair. And that you didn't bring anyone with you."
"Somehow, I have gained an idea," I said. Did I dare smirk? Monsieur regarded me suspiciously.
"You don't-"
"I am merely joking." He was still frowning, unsure what to think of it. Couldn't even take a damn joke.
"Nobody told me how to get here, I was just commanded to try. It wouldn't be a drama if I wouldn't come back, you know. I was just a guinea pig." The real Raoul would never send a servant out, but he didn't have to know that. I just had to come up with some explanation.
"You have been quite successful," he said, musing, watching me from the corner of his eye.
"I have been quite lucky, actually," I answered. Suddenly, I gained yet another idea.
"I nearly got stuck in one of your traps." His head turned towards me with the speed of a piranha swimming towards its prey.
"Which one?" Oh god.
"The, eh, the one with the things." Real smooth, Rosalie, real smooth. The Opera Ghost's mouth opened, ready to say something.
"The one with the Punjab of course!" I said quickly. That was a safe guess, considering his preference for the damn strangling rope.
"Surely it was. Where?" Damn it, he was good at this.
"I can't actually remember. It was quite dark."
"To be sure," he remarked. I had no idea what he meant by that. It was quite evident he didn't believe me.
"You also go and get some rest." He slowly got up from the swan bed. He was still shaky, but he managed to stay on his feet.
"Shouldn't you stay in bed?" Just who are you taking me for? His glare seemed to say. I shrugged.
"All right, thank you." I dived into the bed, suddenly feeling exhausted. When I was already in a state of half-sleep, a cruel voice from the other side of the lair disturbed me.
"I will fetch you some clothes tomorrow." I swear he was grinning for just a split second when he saw my annoyed face.
She was asleep now, luckily. He had not been lying when he had stated that she tortured him, with her constant remarks and questions, her endless presence in his domain. Her hair as red as the fires in hell and her eyes silver as the moonlight, constantly watching him, it seemed. They seemed to hold a reproach in them. A reproach which was, as he knew deep down, just.
It seemed as if it was against all laws and habits that this girl was here, asleep in the swan bed. He had left Christine there a few nights ago, and this girl which appeared to come straight from hell had come out, telling him some fairy tale about being a servant of the Changy family. Of course the Opera Ghost didn't believe a word the redhead had told him, but it had been amusing to see her bluff her way out of his interrogation. But not amusing enough not to want her to leave as soon as possible.
The only one who was allowed to come here, just for the pleasure of her company was Christine Daaé. And at this point, the Phantom of the Opera was sure that would never change.