Erik sighed, returning back to his lair. That one had always been a curiosity to him. The others he could frighten into doing the opera ghost's bidding...but her...they had worked at first, only somehow the threats had lessened with her. She would laugh them off, playing into it as if things were all a joke to her.
Then he had dug into her past. He only had her name and what she looked like to go on, but it had been enough. That was when he had learned of the Thenardiers-of their reputation amongst the gossip of Paris.
He had learned where they were hiding, had walked past to get a sense of what kind of people they were. What he had found were two scheming rats, cheating people, scamming for as much money as they could get their hands on, pickpocketing everyone who walked by-they had even tried such a thing on him once! Not to mention the robbery he had seen one night. All the money they could get their hands on and never had it been enough.
And to think the hard-working stagehand named Eponine had once been their daughter. She had taken part in their schemes at one point or another, had been a means of income more than a daughter. He could see it on her face, on the way she carefully counted her pay, carefully spent her money, saving it for only the necessities of life.
She had been the one to find something the opera ghost had misplaced, had been the one to stand up for a poor soul who had been tormented by another. She had even played her hand at slipping a pair of earrings away from Carlotta one night, stashing them someplace else and then playfully blaming it on the opera ghost in revenge. He had done his own part in helping her-the slip of a backdrop had them all believing.
Erik had helped her then simply because he had found amusement in such a thing. But today…. Today he had seen her parents there, had seen the look of panic on her face at the possibility of being caught. He doubted they would recognize her now-three months of decent meals, a roof, a bed, and better clothing had done her good. Her frame had grown a bit more, muscles having replaced the bones that had once been visible. She seemed to be happier, taking pride in her appearance, buying clothing to match the other stagehands, replacing the rags she had first come in. He could see it in the way she would joke with Buquet, with those schoolboys she loved to socialize with. He could see it in the way she so easily gave the name Jondrette instead of Thenardier, giving herself a new life outside her parents' shadows.
He reached the lair and set his hat and cloak aside. He sat at the organ, fingers ready to compose the night's music. His mind wandered as he did, the notes coming as easily as breathing to him, allowing him the chance to drift elsewhere as he so often did.
Only that night brought him memories he had long forgotten. Memories of a boy locked in a cage, tormented by gypsies, yelled at if he didn't bring in enough money. He had learned to pickpocket then-to get enough so he wouldn't be punished. He had learned to pick locks, to survive on what he could get for himself and little more.
Erik stopped then. He held a hand up to his face, fingers tracing the hard outline of the mask he wore. A boy forced to do what he could to survive….
"Threats don't scare me," her voice echoed in his mind.
Because you have felt the threats before, he silently replied. Because you know what it's like to hear the hatred, to feel the hands, to live in fear of never having enough to satisfy them.
He stood and found an unused music sheet. He set to work, sketching out the image of her portrait. He held it out, examining his work. He could see it now. Here was the girl who knew some of what he had suffered. It wasn't much, but it was more than anyone else had ever known.
Now he knew why he had rescued her. The fear in her eyes-that same fear he had so often carried. He had wanted to help her-to help her when no one else had helped him. Erik sighed. The Thenardiers were horrible rats who deserved to be cast out of the streets for good. Eponine though seemed to be the one exception-she had somehow escaped their cruelty-had found an escape into the opera house.
This had become her sanctuary as much as it had become his. A place for them both to hide away from the world and all the harshness it had to offer them. Ah, but those rats would come again. He smiled, lightly drawing a finger along the face of her portrait.
He stood and walked over to the torture chamber, opening the door. There was one other thing to take care of before morning. He had come poking around Erik's lair…. Erik would protect the sanctuary. The opera house was a palace, and he was its guard. Rats would never dare to enter-not unless they wished to face the wrath of the opera ghost himself.
