Chapter Two
Sins of the Angel
Erik
God is punishing me. I am sure of it and it is no less than I deserve. He teases me with the voice of an angel. I recognize something about it but cannot recall what it is. All I know for sure is that when I hear it the demons inside my head stop slugging away at my brain with their pickaxes. Those brief moments of relief when a cool softness brushes against the raging fire inside my skin is as close to heaven as I am likely to ever come.
My eyes are sore from the thousands of salty tears I have shed over losing my beloved Christine. Everything else is riddled with pain due I suspect to my lack of care for my body since that last horrendous night. I lost count of the days, weeks, months and years as well as the number of bottles of cheap wine I consumed along with the various other bottles of mind numbing alcohol I forced down my throat. Normally I only have an occasional glass of wine but with all that happened, my broken soul needed more than one medicinal glass. Perhaps I took things too far and now will pay the price.
As the pounding in my head begins again, louder than before, I find my mind seeking that comforting touch once more. I have hardly had the thought when I feel a soft hand brushing gently across my face, my whole face. If this wretched illness had not left me weak as a mewling kitten I could muster the energy to care. As it is the relief of the cooling touch has me ready to beg for the caress to never stop even if my curse is laid bare.
There are times when I lose myself in my nightmarish world of laughing crowds of people pointing their fingers at me, not the man I am now but the poor bewildered child I had been. I lash out trying to kill them as I never did when I actually lived the life of that boy. I want to be alone in my misery once more. I want to die in peace if one such as I can find peace.
No matter how many times I lash out at this person they keep coming back for more. Can't they understand I want to be alone with my pain? At least in spirit I do but my body denies such abandonment. When does the blasted woman sleep or do anything other than care for me? I know this unseen person is a woman for what man could touch another so tenderly or smell so nice while doing so? I never thought I cared for the scent of lilacs but now I find them quite pleasant. Roses are an anathema to me since they remind me of all I loved and lost.
I rail against this infirmity that has some slight woman heaving me up onto my feet so I can hobble to the chair in the corner with a chamber pot beneath it as I nearly pass out from the agony riffling through every nerve in my body. How humiliating it is to perform such personal functions while another person hovers in the background. If I did not fear being blinded permanently I'd rid myself of this bone of contention between body and soul. Infection has set in and in a damp environment such as I live in infection once it takes hold is hard to get rid of. Being left blind with all my other faults is not something I am willing to suffer. I'd rather die.
Cursing the stubborn wench does no good either. She only agrees with me that she is a terrible person and chastises me to find other words to describe her that are not profanity. Her chuckle maddened me when I told her profanity said much the same thing as other words only less politely. Cannot the feeble minded woman ever be insulted? It galls me that I am even too weak to strike out at her. If I had my strength she would quake in her shoes before me.
Trying to strain through the irritation in my eyes to see her only gives me a headache. I'd rather be stretched on a rack than admit that her voice is quite agreeable, more than agreeable. I am sure I have heard it before but cannot remember when or where. If she has been in the opera house for a long time, here is where our paths must have crossed. I am sure I would remember her though if we had met. Perhaps once I can see, her place in my opera house will click inside my mind.
Medicine of necessity has been one of my interests. I admire her creative salves to clean out the irritating ooze from my swollen eyes. I may snag a sample of it so I can duplicate the formula. As if she read my mind she begins to recite the ingredients and offers to write them down for me. Irritating interfering woman, oh what I'd do to her if I had my Punjab.
"Erik stop that this instant. You know very well you wish me no real harm. If I thought for one moment you were that man you like to show the world I'd leave you here to tend to yourself and take your chances," she speaks softly without pausing in tending to me. For all her bravado I sense a little doubt behind her brave words.
I hadn't thought I spoke aloud but I must have. I'll not apologize. I meant every word. When she sighs in irritation once again I feel I must have spoken aloud. I shall have to be more careful with my thoughts. I wouldn't want something important to slip such as where I keep the bulk of my wealth. Once I am well again I shall recover all I have saved and disappear like the ghost I claimed to be.
"Erik, Erik, Erik. You…Oh never mind. In time you will learn. For now just know I do everything for you with no expectations of anything in return," she declares seriously.
Despite her claim I feel she is holding something back, perhaps not a lie but a half-truth. Over time I have become an accomplished liar and manipulator so that I am able to recognize one when I see one. I am wise in the ways of such people and she will not charm me into lowering my guard. I will discover what her game is and expose her for the liar she is.
Every time I close my eyes in sleep I awake to a fresh set of clothing and a freshly washed body. I dare not let my mind imagine how this is accomplished. It is bad enough that my face is exposed without exposing the retched distorted flesh my jailors from the fair caused with the lash across my skin. I made that man pay for every scar I carry. I choked the life right out of him and would do it again with eagerness. That is one death I do not regret the other is Joseph Buquet. That man was pure evil. As a child I feared him and as a man I hated the very air he breathed.
Daily my strength returns so that after only a few days I am ready to scream if that woman touches me again. I am becoming too enamored of the gentle glide of her hand over me. I cannot let myself fall into the trap I did with Christine. My stupid weak willed heart is ready to grovel at the feet of the first person to show me kindness.
Madame Giry is the perfect example. I trusted her in ways I would not trust anyone else. She kept my secrets well for so long and then in one night betrayed me in such a hurtful manner that I may never trust again. Better to trust the ne'er–do–wells I pay for their loyalty than to rely on my judgment of human nature again. They used to call me Devil's Child and several less savory names and declared that I was not born of a human but from the loins of a minion of the devil himself. Sometimes I wonder if I should be flattered to be thought of as the Prince of Darkness.
"Erik, shame on you. Such thoughts should not even be allowed to formulate in your mind let alone have your admiration," she chastises me like a nun would a misbehaving child. Have I again lost control and spoken my innermost thoughts aloud? I am sure I have not.
"Keep out of my mind damn you. There are enough voices in there without adding your opinions on the matter. When are you ever going to leave me in peace?" I grumble halfheartedly. A part of me wants her company the other half wants to consign her to a fast train to hell.
"Erik, can you imagine me in hell? They'd boot me out after only a minute. You are a wicked man, that you are but I know the real you so don't try to push me away with your bad temper," she chuckles, actually chuckles. She isn't a bit afraid of me. That pleases me even while it annoys me. She is crazier than I am.
"If you must foist your company on me at least tell me your name and what your connection is to my opera house," I demand using my most hardened Phantom tone.
"Gabriella Star. Father admired the angel Gabriel and wanted a boy. Imagine his disappointment when I was the only child God saw fit to send to him and my mother. Poor man tried so hard not to let it matter but I knew it did. My connection to the opera house is much more complicated," she pauses to frown contemplating what to say next.
"Your opera house Erik? I do think the managers, Andre and Firmen, have something to say about that. After all it is their money being spent to refurbish the establishment. Wasn't it a miracle that Raoul de Chagny offered them financing at a reduced interest rate after such a great loss?" Her admiration for my enemy angers me. I do believe if I could see I'd smother her with a pillow or strangle her with my bare hands.
"Such violent tendencies will get you nothing Erik. Haven't you ever heard it is easier to tempt with sugar rather than vinegar?"
"Woman, I warn you as soon as I can see clearly you had best take to your heels. Haven't you heard about me? I am the murderous Phantom of the Opera, the wicked prankster the Opera Ghost. Trust me at your peril. Ask anyone who attended the last night's performance at L'Opéra Populaire," my breath is coming in harsh drags as my anger rises.
"I murdered. I destroyed beauty without any remorse. The blood of many is painted permanently on my hands. Place your trust in me and you dance with the devil," I issue the warning in all honesty as a reminder to the both of us just how blackened my soul truly is. I don't want another innocent girl's life placed in my wicked hands.
The imbecile places little value on her life as she wipes at my eyes with a warm cloth and comments objectively, "I do believe your eyes are returning to normal. This is merely my own opinion mind you but I do think your facial deformity has improved with daily cleansing using my ointments and letting the air help dry the sores. How uncomfortable the mask must be. I can understand somewhat why you wear it when in the company of others but why wear it when you are alone?"
My mask and my face are two subjects sure to raise my ire. Without thinking it through I strike out with my arm. I know I hit out where my tormentor sat beside me so how could I have missed hitting her? I am glad I did once my anger begins to subside but am puzzled as to how I could have missed hitting her. Am I more ill than even I knew?
"Well now, I hope you got that out of your system. You gave me such a fright Erik. Lucky for you I know you didn't mean it and I am the forgiving sort. Now that we have gotten the issue of your mask out of the way can we discuss this calmly?" she says from a distance of no more than a foot. Just where she had been when I struck out at her. Facts tell me one thing but results reveal another.
"I speak to no one about my face or my mask. If you knew me as well as you pretend you would know I speak to very few people and I am sure you are not among my closest friends," my sarcasm filters through my words.
"Just because I did not make myself known to you doesn't mean I haven't been around. I do regret not coming forward sooner but the past is the past. We can only go on from here. I am here now and intend to remain a part of your life. I can help you Erik. I can help in ways no one else can. It may take some time for you to trust me but I have plenty of time," she states with surety as if I have no say in the matter. At the moment she may have the upper hand as I cannot fend for myself but time will change that.
"I don't need you. I don't need anyone," I declare just so she knows I am not so easily won over by her care of me.
"Erik everyone needs someone or something we can share our hopes and dreams with. Most people find that in a lifetime companion others find it in a loyal pet. You Erik need someone whether or not you are willing to admit it. Isn't that why you pursued Christine?" The folly of mentioning Christine is quickly made known to her by my roar of anger and the lashing out of my hands in her direction. This time I do manage to grab her arm. Using her arm I pull her toward me. She falls down across my chest.
This expenditure of energy leaves me weak and unable to do anything else. It is maddening to let another see me so vulnerable. I have always been strong and commanding. One command from me and everyone scurried to do my bidding. Now I am held captive by my illness and a woman.
"Well now do you feel better? How many times must I repeat that violent actions get us nowhere?" again she uses that scolding tone I abhor.
Stubbornly I refuse to answer. I may be at her mercy but I don't have to like it or agree to it. From this moment on I will suffer in silence.
Day after day I find I am breaking my vow of silence. The blasted woman irritates me without even trying. My right eye is still giving me trouble. It has always been troubling to me. My sight in that eye is not as clear as it is in my left eye and never has been. At first I only see my captor through a blurry haze which clears as my sight improves. The image revealed to me is disturbingly familiar even though I cannot place her.
Her face is framed by outlandishly luscious red hair. No matter how tightly she pulls it back some strands loosen to sway enticingly with every movement she makes. In my wild fancy free moments they seem to beckon me to touch them. I find myself daydreaming about doing just that. I can almost feel the silkiness of each strand curling around my fingers. I still love Christine but I am a man not a block of wood. Put an attractive woman in front of me and I do respond even if I don't like it.
In my younger days I concluded having manly emotions and desires were useless to someone like me. Only when I fell in love with Christine did I believe I had a chance to gain a woman's admiration. I try not to think how young Christine is but my conscience plagues me wondering if I did any permanent damage to her. The grieving child she had been grew into a gullible young woman willing to believe in the nonsense I spouted about being the Angel of Music her father sent to help her along life's path. Having lost both mother and father the child had been ripe to listen to a voice speaking to her from the very air around her.
It may have been wrong of me to pin all my hopes and dreams on such an innocent girl but it felt like this would be my only chance to have everything I had been denied all my life. Was it so very wrong of me to want normalcy? Other men are not consigned to live in the bowels of the earth hidden from all humanity. Year by year I watched as other men less worthy of the gifts they received carelessly misuse them and this drove me to the very edge of sanity. It only took the arrival of Raoul de Chagny to push me over the edge. Not only a man of considerable presence he also bore a title while I only know I am Erik, just plain Erik. No titles, no family history.
There were times I really believed I had become a ghost. Madame Giry would ignore my notes after I committed some action she disagreed with. One display of my temper and she did not ignore me again. If I could do harm to the woman I think of as my savior is it any wonder I dealt so harshly with everyone else who I perceived as a threat or someone going against my dictates?
I haven't seen my caretaker all morning. I suppose since I am able to hobble to the facilities by myself I am well enough to leave alone. Tomorrow or the next day I must seek a more agreeable place to live. I know of several spots that would suit my purposes. As long as I am going to continue to live in this dark hole I may as well give myself a few luxuries such as a water closet with hot and cold running water. Gas from the opera house gas lines will provide all the fuel I need for lighting and heating my water.
I am ashamed when I think of what Christine must have thought of my humble home. What woman in their right mind would want to live down here and with someone looking as I do?
The name Gabriella dances around inside my head annoying me to distraction. Even when she is not present I feel her all around me and inside my mind. Where is the music that once filled my every waking moment that was not occupied by Christine? Not so much as a note has sounded which worries me. Music is all that I have to sustain me. It never left me before and always comforted me.
I did not know that the sounds inside my head were musical notes until I heard my first opera. It was on that evening of great revelation I knew I was not crazy but merely heard musical notes instead of voices telling me to do this or that like so many of the discarded people living in the outer edges of the tunnels. No one comes in as far as my domain. They are all too afraid of what I might do if they did. If they had but known it the worst I would have done was send them on their way with a full belly and some clean warm clothing, they may have joined me in making a better life than just existing. It is not them who bore the brunt of my wrath. My hatred is reserved for those who feel entitled to degrade those from less illustrious backgrounds and those who seek entertainment by degrading those less fortunate of circumstance or pleasing looks.
If I am honest my dislike of Raoul de Chagny had a firm footing already established on my list of hated enemies even before he came and stole Christine from me. I had heard of him through the managers and disliked him on principle. That he and I were rivals for Christine's affections only made my dislike all the more just as far as I was concerned.
Gabriella told me that those fools are daring to reopen my opera house without so much as a by-your-leave from me. If they imagine they can run things without the resident phantom and ghost I must disabuse them of that as soon as possible. I have enough funds to last a lifetime but see no reason I should not be compensated for my services.
I can hardly wait for Miss I Know Everything About You to return to find I am either already gone or about to leave. I'll bet she imagined me being at her mercy for some time to come. Well I will disabuse her of that fact at the first opportunity.
Packing my meager belongings takes me longer than it should. I refuse to let the idea form that I am lingering so I can confront her and have her ask where I shall be staying. I will no doubt tell her it is none of her business. Just because she leant me a helping hand it does not mean I am obliged to regal her with every aspect of my life. She is in for one big surprise when she returns. At the last minute I sit on my makeshift bed to await her return. I am only doing this so she will have no illusions about me. Like as not, this will be the last time I set eyes on Mademoiselle Gabriella Star.
A/N: The countdown continues.