I sincerely hope you are enjoying it...thank you to the reviewers and story alerts. So...it's starting a bit slow, but it will pick up. I promise. All of this build is necessary to show you exactly who Erik has become.
The opera was unlike anything Evie had ever seen, beautiful and heart wrenching. A lump formed in her throat as the lovers sang their final duet as they were buried within the tomb to die in each others' arms. In all her life, she couldn't have dreamed a love so pure as that of Radames and Aida. The opera received a standing ovation, which it well deserved and the two leads were superb. She was escorted into the main lobby in which the gala was taking place by Monsieur Andre as Monsieur Firmin's wife had attended with him tonight. She was a robust, pleasant woman, if not a bit vague. Still, Evie's mind had been scattered throughout the night as a most peculiar thing had occurred before she'd left for the opera.
Three beautiful dresses had been delivered anonymously to the Lacoeur's house for her with undergarments and new shoes. She had to assume it had been one of the managers as Madame Giry certainly did not have the means to spend money on her with the carelessness of a wealthy person. The dresses were made of the finest silks and velvets, each immaculately one of a kind. A small note had been sent with them.
Enjoy these. They are a gift as is the green dress you wear. I shall like to speak with you at the gala tonight.
That was the extent of it. Now, as Evie stood beside the managers, she decided to express her gratitude.
"Monsieur Andre. The dresses were a very kind gesture from the two of you…" She began but he looked blankly at her.
"Dresses? What do you mean?" He leaned over to his partner. "Richard, do you know anything about dresses?" Firmin looked at her quizzically and shook his head.
"If you didn't send them…who did?" She asked.
A pair of green eyes watched her from the corner of the lobby, where he stood in conversation with two of his investors.
"The factory has to accommodate at least two hundred people…wouldn't you say Lawson?" One man was saying.
"Yes." Lawson agreed. "What do you think Destler? Can you build it?"
"Gentlemen, speak with Holden to arrange a meeting. I'm afraid I have other business to attend to tonight." He replied irritably. Antoinette had confirmed the girl in green was indeed the spinster authoress. In looks, she was the complete opposite of Cressida, who was tall, slender and golden as the sun, whereas this girl was small in stature and had a full bosom and hips, which were accented brilliantly by a miniscule waist. Her hair was the a rusty brown tint, not classically chocolate brown like Christine's had been. Christine…the one he'd fought to forget by rising to unfathomable heights in fortune and success. The one he'd taken from his mind by beginning torrid affairs with married women. The sex was a welcome distraction as he found release by screwing the most desirable women in Paris, Cressida being his latest interest.
Cressida Remy was married to a seventy year old duke and, being thirty herself, had found her pleasures with numerous men as her husband was an invalid in a wheelchair. She was every bit as cold as Erik was, self servicing and emotionally detached. Their arrangement was perfect, in fact, and there was nothing she wasn't willing to do. He could scarcely believe he'd ever believed in a fable such as true love when lust was so much more convenient.
Yet, as he stared at the young novelist across the room, a strange feeling of familiarity tingled in the pit of his stomach and from a distance; she looked quite similar to Christine…No! Christine could be lying dead somewhere and I don't give a damn…I don't give a God damn about anyone…never again.
Evangeline saw him coming toward her through the crowd and a feeling of anxiety rippled through her as she fought the desire to back away. He was ominous and beautiful, all at once, his face finely chiseled and his ebony hair neatly slicked back. He was tall and thick with muscle, but the strange thing was the mask. Half of his face was covered by a white leather mask.
"Mademoiselle Lambourne?" He inquired, the charming tone in his voice completely contradicting the lack of emotion in his eyes.
"Y-yes…?" She asked with trepidation. He smiled, revealing straight, perfectly white teeth.
"I'm Monsieur Destler, I was informed you were doing research for a novel and being something of an artist in my own right, I thought you may have need of some gowns."
"How did you know?" She asked in a frightened whisper, searching for the managers frantically.
"Word gets around, my dear. My friend Antoinette Giry told me of your problem, and I know how it can be…"
"What do you want in return?" Her voice quivered, satisfying him greatly.
"Oh but you are an innocent." He chuckled. "I'd like to invite you to my estate…I am quite knowledgeable of the opera too."
"Can you tell me anything about the opera ghost?" She asked suspiciously. Another laugh left him.
"I think I could manage a fact or two." He said, leaning to kiss her hand. "I shall send a carriage for you in the morning." Her eyes widened as she realized he wasn't giving her a choice in the matter.
"I…I would like that." She stammered in agreement.
"Good." He said quietly, his eyes glinting with victory. "We'll say around ten." He added, kissing her hand once more. "Enjoy your evening, Mademoiselle." His voice purred with seduction as she watched him leave, shaking still.
"Are you alright dear girl? You look positively peaked." Monsieur Andre said, returning to her side.
Erik sensed her in the room before he entered it, as he loosened his cravat and removed his tailored coat.
"I thought I told you not to come tonight." He replied, annoyed that someone would disregard his orders.
"Where's the fun inthat?" She purred, rising from his bed already naked.
"Perhaps I brought another girl home tonight." He said impatiently. A tinkling giggle filled the room.
"Oh Erik…don't play games…I know you too well, and you haven't tired of me yet." She replied, her hands sliding up his arms.
"Cressida..." He said warningly.
"You won't send me home." She said confidently. "You want this too much." Placing his hand on her breast, he let out a snarl between lust and frustration. Her eyes fell to his roaring arousal. "It took you long enough…why did you even stay?" She asked, leaning up to kiss his throat. Unbuttoning his shirt, he discarded it.
"I had to take care of some business. I had to secure a meeting for tomorrow morning." He didn't bother to tell her it was with a woman since Cressida was known for her possessive nature.
"And here I've been waiting all night for you and that cock of yours…Christ Erik, all I have to do is think of you and I'm wet."
"Control yourself, you wonton little slut…" He purred at her, his eyes dark with lust. She smirked.
"Call me what you like if it gets you off, Erik." She grinned, pulling him by the waist of his pants to the lush, high bed. As Cressida laid on her back, open for him, he could not help wondering what the tiny voluptuous body of Mademoiselle Lambourne would look like spread over his silk comforter this way. The way her mouth would part in pleasure as he took her…
"Turn over." He ordered, moving Cressida so that she was face down and pulling her to the edge of the bed so that she was bent. With the swiftness of a panther, he brought her hips high and plunged into her with unbridled lust. A shriek of pleasure left her as she arched her spine, allowing him deeper access. Closing his eyes, he leaned over her, bracing himself on his hands. "Christine…" He moaned into her hair, as she panted heavily before he felt her tightening around him in climax. With a rough intensity, he pulled out of her and spilled his contents onto her smooth buttocks. Abruptly, he pulled away from her, standing naked beside the bed as he picked up her discarded clothes.
"Cressida, you've had your fuck…now get out of my house and go home to your decrepit husband."
Her eyes were wide with surprise.
"What's gotten into you?" She asked, pulling her chemise on.
"I've had my fill of you for the night…not to mention, I told you I didn't want you to come tonight…" He hissed at her, moving to pour himself a glass of brandy.
"What if I don't want to leave?" She challenged. He turned his biting gaze on her.
"Then I will throw you out, you insufferable little bitch!" He spat, finally inducing a spark of fear in her blue eyes. Without another sound, she finished dressing and left him to his devices. Pulling on his black silk robe, he sat on his bed with his drink and stared into the amber liquid.
"Sir?" Erik looked up to see Holden standing there.
"What is it?" He asked impatiently.
"Lady Remy left so suddenly, I was just…" The man began. Erik sighed.
"Everything is fine." He assured. "Leave me." Holden did not hesitate to oblige. A single tear threatened to fall from his eye as he whispered. "Christine."
"Right this way Mademoiselle." Evie followed the young manservant into an elaborate parlor. "The master will be with you shortly. He's attending to an issue in the kitchen." She nodded and sat uncomfortably in her least ragged day dress, her feet aching in the old leather boots. She'd pinned the lace cap back onto her head and her spectacles sat perched on her slender nose. Curiously, she studying the room which was decorated with numerous paintings, one of a sunset over the water, another showed a blurry image of a woman. It was clear that Monsieur Destler was appreciative of fine artwork.
"I bought that when I traveled to Italy this summer." A strong masculine voice came from the door. Embarrassed, she spun around in fear.
"M-Monsieur Destler…forgive me, I wasn't…"
"Relax. I won't bite…yet." He said with a glint in his eyes. She shrunk back instinctively hugging her arms around herself. "So…you want to know about the Phantom of the Opera?" He asked, giving her the vague feeling he was mocking her.
"Yes…the matter interests me greatly and…and I think it would make a great story…" She said, eyeing him cautiously. His head was tilted speculatively as if he were trying to devour her with his eyes.
"What a delectable little innocent you are." He said acidly. "What do you want to know?"
"Well, for starters…what do you know about Christine Daae?" She asked and his face tightened visibly.
"I don't know her at all." He said quickly, his voice sharp as a razor. "Ask about anything else."
The warning tone in his voice unnerved her.
"I...alright. What do you know about the Phantom then?" She asked, holding her notepad weakly under his stony glare.
"He was nothing but a man…a very foolish man who thought he loved a silly little chorus girl." He said decisively. Biting her lip, she wrote quickly. "They say he lived below the opera…"
"Below? How is that possible…?" She asked. He grinned ferociously.
"Why, the legend is that there is an underground lake below the opera house. You must know there are secret tunnels and passageways all throughout." He added. Her eyes widened.
"Really?" She asked with the curiosity of a child on Christmas. He nodded, smiling at her.
"He kept his home there…the tunnel were his means of stealth, you see."
"But, why?" She asked. Leaning forward, he forced her to stare into his green eyes.
"Because dear girl, he was so deformed that society had damned him to a life of solitude." Something in his eyes provoked fear in her and she blinked rapidly to keep her calm.
"Deformed…how?" She continued, balancing her pen gracefully between her slender fingers.
"Half of his face you see…it didn't form properly. He wore a mask…" He seemed to get some perverse pleasure as she stared at him with her eyes wide, yet she was determined.
"Monsieur Destler…" She began, removing her spectacles to reveal eyes the color of a summer sky. "Are you the Phantom of the Opera?" He stared at her, his face unreadable.
"No." He said finally. "That man is dead."
"But, the mask…" Her voice was weak.
"I have my reasons for wearing it." With his eyes blazing at her, he added, "No more questions." Pursing her lips, she closed her notepad and set it aside, cleaning her glasses.
"How did you do it?" She asked with renewed courage. Turning back to face her, he had raised an eyebrow.
"Do what?" He asked moodily.
"How did you get away with it? How is it that you are able to mingle with fine society?" A smirk passed over his chiseled features.
"Clever little minx…" He cooed at her, and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "Sorry to disappoint love, but that man was not me…" Coming closer to her, he cornered her against a wall, bracing an arm beside her head and leaning over her, causing a shadow over her pale face. "If itwas however…let me only say that there is nothing that money can't buy, and I have enough of it to last a lifetime. Even the managers are too money hungry to care anymore."
"You're wrong." She said finally, her voice but a murmur.
"I'm never wrong darling." He said, using his other hand to smooth his perfectly slicked hair back.
"Money doesn't buy everything…" Her voice was full of pity. "It doesn't buy happiness." Ducking under his arm, she picked up her reticule and cloak.
"You're wrong…" He said menacingly as she was preparing to leave. "It can and will buy happiness…just look around, you foolish girl! There's nothing I can't offer. Nothing out of my reach…"
"You can't buy love." She said, again with the disgusting pity. He scowled at her, his beautiful face becoming ugly with hatred.
"Love is a myth, Minx. Learn it now before you retain any illusions. Lust is much more convenient." A new resolution seemed to come to him as his voice changed back into the coaxing purr. "I would be more than willing to show you…" Her eyes flashed with offense.
"I am not some fool girl who will settle for being a rich man's mistress…I won't help you run from your feelings Monsieur. I still have some semblance of pride." With a look of satisfaction, she added, "Money cannot buy everything…I cannot be bought." She left then, the click of her heels echoing through the empty foyer before the door opened and closed again.
"My lady, I have word…" The manservant said, beseeching his employer. The woman smiled serenely, the emerald jewels gleaming around her throat.
"And?" She asked in a cultivated, silken voice.
"A young lady was seen leaving his estate not thirty minutes ago…Mr. Holden, his factotum told me her name was Lambourne and she was from Le Havre. She's a novelist. Other than that, he would tell me nothing about her."
"Find out more Jennings. I want answers and I fucking pay you well enough." She ordered haughtily, furious with Erik. "How dare him go behind my back with some…country bumpkin!" Jennings bowed slightly before fleeing the room as she poured a glass of scotch for herself out of her husband's collection.
"Cressida, my sweet…" The sound of wheels creaked into the room and Cressida turned reluctantly to her ancient husband.
"My lord." She said with false respect.
"We must converse my wife…" He said, beckoning for her to sit. She did so obediently, holding her scotch in her hand. "This excessive spending…the jewels, the furs, the luxuries…it must stop." Cressida stared at the old man in contempt.
"What are you talking about, we have enough money to…"
"No dearest, we don't. Our fortune is quickly dwindling…" He answered gravelly. Her eyes widened. "We must stop spending now to preserve what is left so that my son can rebuild it when he inherits my title."
"Damn you and damn your idiot son!" She screamed, storming from the room away from the sagging old codger she had married.
"Would it be alright if I just watched the rehearsal for a bit…I'd like to see how things work behind the scenes?" Evie explained to Madame Giry, who nodded before returning to teaching the girls their next formation. Evangeline's mind raced as she took notes on how the girls moved, ballet terms and the attire. Her heart rate had finally returned to normal after meeting with Monsieur Destler in his home, and she vowed to avoid him at all costs. Everything in Paris was so mysterious…a sudden wash of homesickness flooded her and she thought of Giselle, who was probably planning how to slowly kill Evie at this moment.
Staring down at her notepad, she realized she had only filled half a page. With a resigned sigh, she rose to explore the opera house itself for descriptive purposes. Behind the stage was a long corridor with various dressing rooms and storage closets. Directly to the right once leaving the stage was a vast costume room with a winding metal staircase that obviously led to the roof. Above, numerous catwalks went in different directions along with ropes and chains. Beyond the dressing room corridor, was another corridor which led to the dormitories. Remembering Monsieur Destler's words, she felt along the wall for secret openings but it seemed that there was nothing but stone.
Returning back to the beginning of the dressing room corridor, she noticed the name on the first door said, "Arabella." Without thinking, she tried the doorknob and the door swung open, revealing a room decorated in various pinks and mauves. A fainting couch sat in the corner of the room near a wardrobe. Built into the wall beside the vanity was a full length mirror with a gold frame. For the first time that day, Evie saw her own reflection and cringed at the threadbare look of her clothes. Her hair was straying from the pins and flying out from under her lace cap. Her glasses made her look a school matron of thirty.
Reaching out her hand, the worn glove barely even providing cover for the smooth skin beneath she touched her reflection, not recognizing the woman she saw. Once, Evangeline had been a girl who always let her long chestnut hair fly wildly behind her while she ran with her sisters through the house and yard. At night, they would listen for the sound of ships in the distance coming into the port while Papa had told stories about mermaids. The girls would sit for hours, staring at the sea and waiting for some sign that the mermaids were real. Once, they had seen a distant fin in the distance and that had been proof enough in their eyes.
Now, Papa was long dead and the girls had gone in their separate directions. Cadence had married at twenty to a local boy and had two children. Bethany had married four years earlier and was pregnant. Evie had chosen to write, much to her mother's dismay. Bianca was only eighteen and barely of a marriageable age, while Fern was at the age where she was no longer a child, but not a woman. Most men lost any interest in Evie when they learned that she was career oriented, but it did not bother her. Writing was the dearest thing in the world to her and if no one could accept it, then she would simply have to resign herself to a lifetime alone. It wouldn't be horrible, she thought, I would have my freedom.
In her memories, Evie hadn't heard the small clicks nor had she felt the glass give way beneath her fingers, but as she focused again, she realized that the glass had pulled back from the gold frame. Curiosity got the better as her as she urged her fingers into the slight opening. To her surprise, the glass slide easily to the right and into the wall, revealing a dark, long unused corridor. A small thrill raced through her veins as she realized this must be one of the secret passageways Monsieur Destler had spoken of, confirming further her suspicions that he had been the evasive Phantom. Driven by some unknown force, she felt herself walk forward into the dank passageway, but she was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. Whirling about, she found herself looking into the blue eyes of the ballet mistress.
"Evangeline?" She inquired. Evie flushed in embarrassment.
"Oh dear! I'm sorry! I was just exploring and then…this opened and I couldn't help myself…" She sighed. "I'm sorry."
"No need to apologize dear." Madame Giry said, closing the mirror and guiding her from the room. "I just would hate for you to get hurt. This building holds many secrets and traps."
"Traps?" Evie heard herself ask.
"Yes. To protect his secret, the Phantom set up booby traps everywhere. A few people were never seen again because of them." She explained warningly. "Choose wisely where you venture alone in this building Evangeline." Evie nodded, feeling sick.
"I…I think I should return to the Lacoeur's and lie down." Madame Giry nodded sympathetically.
"It's a lot to take in." She agreed, escorting her toward the lobby. A hansom stopped right away, helping the distressed young woman in. Madame Lacoeur smiled at her expectantly when she walked into the house.
"Ah, Evangeline. This just arrived for you with the post." A slim white envelope was gripped in the woman's hand. Gingerly, Evie took it, recognizing Giselle's handwriting and sighing inwardly. She had known Giselle would write to her after finding the address, but she hadn't thought it would be so soon. Swiftly, she took the letter to her room and sat on the bed, reading.
Evangeline,
I can't say that I am happy with your decision to leave without notice. You scared me and your younger sisters to death. I thought you had been kidnapped, or worse! I sincerely hope this novel notion of yours is worth it and I pray that you will grow out of this need to reject all of the things you were taught.
That said, I miss you dearly, my Evie and will wait for your safe return. The house is so empty without your laughter, my girl.
All my love,
Mother
There were three spots at the bottom of the letter, though Evie couldn't say whose tears they were. Folding the note, she let herself cry into the pillow on her bed.
Erik was drunk. There was no other way to describe his state as he barked orders at his servants. He'd been agitated all day and had an itch like he'd never known. His mind burned with the need to consume the nosy little chit that had been trying to interfere in his past. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to slap her or bend her over the sofa and fuck her pretty little brains out. The latter was what had been plaguing him all day. After her insolent little presumption, he wanted nothing more than to drag her upstairs to his bed and prove to her just how easy it was to buy happiness.
"You look like hell." The smooth female voice said. Erik turned to see Cressida standing in the doorway of his bedroom wearing a low cut scarlet gown, a ruby necklace sitting prettily on her small, but perky breasts. Her hair looked like spun gold, pinned elegantly with a fashionable hat perched on her head. "Are you done brooding and ready to take me back into your bed, Erik?" She cooed. He did not respond, only stared at her. "Let me take care of you darling…" She said, moving toward him. He leaned to kiss her, but she pulled back. "But first, I want you to tell me who the little bitch that visited you earlier was."
"No one." He said quietly, reaching for her again.
"I don't share, Erik." She said staunchly.
"Apparently, your husband does." He replied acidly. She smiled, revealing perfect teeth.
"My husband barely had an erection for our wedding night. He hardly has a choice in the matter." A new look of anger came to her eyes. "And now, he's squandered our fortune and left his son to the task of rebuilding it. I'm not to spend anything anymore…"
"That's not my problem, Cressida…you aren't my mistress." He said dismissively, losing interest.
"Is that who the girl is? Have you taken a mistress?" Her voice was full of venomous jealousy. "I'll slit her pretty throat." She growled.
"Cressida…shut the fuck up." He barked. "That girl has nothing to do with me or my cock, and if you ever go near her, I'll kill you myself. Is that clear?" He asked. Demurely, she nodded in satisfation.
"Of course, darling…angel…" He spun on her.
"Don't ever call me that, damn you!" He bellowed. "Now take off your fucking clothes before I cut them off you and you have to return home naked." Eyes wide, she did exactly as he told. This, he thought, was how things were supposed to be. People bending to his every whim without question…Never again would he be a slave to his own affections.
