Disclaimer: I do not own Erik or anything/anyone related to or mentioned in The Phantom of the Opera, whether the musical, book, or play…obviously.
Review Replies:
ForbiddenSpiritthLyte: A.J., what?
Madame Opera Ghost: Yeah, I know his name is Erik, LOL. It's just part of the story that his name isn't used until Amelie finds out what it is. However, rest assured that it will be used eventually in my story.
Sarah B.: I'm glad you like the way I portray Erik! I'm trying to keep him acting like himself while making him the way I want him to act, and it's getting more difficult! Anyway, don't forget to tell Martine or Anna that I've updated if you talk to them, so they can read this chapter too! Hope you like it!!
Anna B.: Here is the "more" you asked for! I'm sorry it took so long, writer's block set in and I kind of abandoned it for a while. But here is the new chapter!
Chapter the Third
IN WHICH We Pay A Visit to Christine AND the Phantom and Amelie Spend Time Together
Christine woke with the sun shining through the large windows, streaks of light which covered the bedspread in dappled patterns. She kissed Raoul, who turned over and murmured something in his sleep. Christine smiled and left the room, pulling on a thin dressing-robe to guard against the early morning chill
Tiptoeing into the room across the hall, Christine smiled. Michel slept peacefully in his small bed, his light sandy hair with its dark streaks curling around his face angelically. She had been overcome with joy three years previous when told that she was going to become a mother. Michel had helped her put the past behind her and settle into her new life in the country.
Touching the boy's face softly, she left the room, pulling the door shut behind her. Christine softly walked into the enormous main room of the house. The room clearly showed Raoul's heritage and an excess of wealth. The couches and chairs were covered in expensive cloth and the wood was the finest money could buy. Christine sighed and sat across a couch, pulling her knees to her chest. As the sun rose further, its light was thrown onto the bookcase, the table…and onto the piano, which had been abandoned in the darkest corner of the room. The giver had only the best intentions for the married couple, but Christine had only been reminded of her last days in Paris…
She remembered the utter look of despair on Raoul's face when he had believed that Christine would decide to stay with the Phantom - and the same look on the face of the Phantom…her Erik…when she had placed the ring in his trembling hand, telling him once and for all that she could not - would not - stay with him in the depths below the opera house. Tears began to course down Christine's cheeks as she thought of the kiss. How could she have been so utterly cruel as to show Erik what he would never have? What she now had? Shame and guilt swallowed her.
After a few minutes, Christine sighed and walked over to the window, watching the mist covering the grounds fade as the sun's rays became stronger. Raoul and Michel were worth leaving Erik a thousand times over, yet Christine vowed to make a visit to Paris soon. In all honesty, she did not believe that Erik was still alive but there was a small possibility that he was still living and remained in his quarters below the opera house.
Christine left the room and went to wake Raoul. The visit would take place - and neither Raoul nor Erik would know about it. Picking up the paper to bring to her husband, she glanced at the cover where there was a headline that caught her eye:
YOUNG AMELIE DUBAY KIDNAPPED; FUNERARY SERVICES
HELD IN PARIS; VICTIM OF PHANTOM KIDNAPPER?
- - -
When Amelie woke in what she assumed was the morning, the Phantom was nowhere to be seen. Waiting for the mysterious man to return from whatever destination he had vanished to, she folded her blanket and placed it on the mattress. Wondering whether she would collapse or not, Amelie stood slowly and breathed a sigh of relief. The pain was still almost overwhelming but shakily she shuffled one food forward, then the other. Thank God - and the Phantom - that she wasn't paralyzed. Amelie moved her hands to her ribs which had started to heal. It had been a week, perhaps more, since she had woken to find herself in the Phantom's lair, yet she had scarcely seen him since the day she had met him.
Concentrating again on walking, Amelie made her way over to the piano and sat on the dusty bench sitting beside the large instrument. Touching the keys softly, she picked up a handful of the scraps covering almost the entire top of the piano. On the sections not burned, words and music in a childish, hurried script were written, as if the passion the writer held within could not be passed through the pen fast enough to satisfy. Many of the scraps were speckled with long-dried drops of water, blurring the manuscript. Peering closely at these marks and the peculiar pattern they fell in, Amelie realized that the drops were tear stains. Curiosity welled up inside her. Were the tears from the Phantom?
She was pondering this, trying to remember the gossip she had heard about the Phantom and a soprano named Christine Daae, when a noise made her turn, wincing at her body's complaints. The Phantom had returned.
The look on the man's face was one of unpleasant surprise, whether at her new mobility or finding her at his piano, she could not tell. She guessed the latter. Amelie stood quickly, feeling the need to explain herself to him.
"Monsieur, I am sorry that I touched your papers, but I wanted to walk a bit to see if I still could, and I needed to sit down and-"
"It-it's quite all right. You just startled me, mademoiselle. I am not used to having another person living with me and I had just not expected you to be feeling so well improved."
She curtsied slightly, as much as her injuries would allow and gave him a small smile.
"Thanks to your excellent care, monsieur, I am sure."
He had nothing to say in reply that would not make him seem overly modest, a fault which the Phantom had yet to be guilty of. He removed his cloak and then moved a table over next to the piano bench. The bundle which he had been carrying was revealed to be more medical supplies, including a bottle that looked as if it contained a vile-tasting syrup; and food consisting of two thick, crusty slices of baguette and vegetable soup. After setting the table, the Phantom went to get a chair for himself. Amelie waited until he came back to begin eating; it was the polite thing to do, after all.
The two ate in silence for a few minutes. Amelie noticed that he looked slightly uncomfortable, probably due to the fact that he didn't eat with others much.
After finishing a bite of bread, Amelie decided to break the quiet.
"So how exactly were you able to transport this lovely soup here, monsieur? I know that few street vendors and dining establishments allow customers to keep fine china such as this."
The Phantom seemed dazed for a moment as if she had startled him out of a deep reverie. She was trying so hard to be polite that it was almost amusing. Without thought, he said the first things that came into his mind.
"And if I told you that I made it myself, would you believe me?"
Amelie laughed aloud, pleasantly surprised.
"Not at all, monsieur!"
He spoke with a strange mischievous sparkle in his eye, though his face had not changed its expression significantly. Amelie wondered if he knew how his eyes had lit up; it made him seem younger somehow.
"Then you will not be surprised when I tell you that I stole our supper."
Amelie opened her mouth to admonish him about the crime of stealing, but quickly stopped herself. It appeared as if the Phantom's belongings had all been salvaged from the operahouse's play sets, revealing that the man probably had almost no money whatsoever. To bring up the issue of theft would force him to admit his destitute state.
He saw that she had been about to speak and gave her a questioning look.
"Never mind, my thought was not important."
She stood and hobbled over to the ledge of stone over the lake and sat, dangling her feet above the water.
Did I do something? The Phantom thought. Who knows with these silly women! He was reminded of a time when he had made a comment to Christine as an offhand remark which had resulted in the young woman ignoring him for a week.
He decided to attempt to salvage the conversation and sat beside her.
"Since your accident I have been busy in the city with gathering supplies, among other things. We have not been able to speak to one another much, so is there any matter you would care to ask or talk to me about?"
He could see the curiosity burning in her eyes when she turned to him, as well as open surprise.
"I had thought I should not bring up your past, monsieur, as I had believed that it would be a painful subject for you to discuss. Was I wrong in thinking so?"
"No, you were and still are correct, I do not like to talk or even think about my past but as I know you have heard of certain events from gossip and the papers…"
A look of dislike came over his face, as if he was referring to an unpleasant insect that deserved to be crushed.
"Well, the proper place to begin my questions, I suppose, would be at the beginning. How did you come to live here under the operahouse?"
He paused for a moment as if unsure whether or not he was truly ready to share his story.
"A woman named Madame Giry, you may or may not have heard of her, was the one who hid me here. When I was very young….my mother sold me to gypsies."
She gasped at the cruelty but he continued.
"They kept me…in a cage and- and they…"
Amelie almost moved to place a hand on the Phantom's shoulder in a gesture of comfort but stopped herself just in time. No matter how much sympathy and pity she felt, she barely knew the man. It would be highly improper.
Before she could think and further on the matter, he had cleared his throat, composing himself.
"Madame Giry's dancing troup visited the gypsies and after- and she stole me, taking me back to the operahouse. I have lived here ever since. Until she left, I had never ventured into the city. Now I must do so to survive."
Amelie wondered what he had been about to say. Had something so horrible occurred that he could not bear to even think on it? Pity welled up inside her again.
"I am sorry that you were treated in such a way. People can be unbelievably cruel."
He looked at her with disbelief.
"How would you know? You have parents, I assume, that love their daughter and try to give her the best of everything. You also most likely have many friends who love spending time amusing you. What would you know about cruelty?"
She was taken aback slightly at the Phantom's sudden vindictiveness. Anger bubbled within her for a moment but was gone as suddenly as it had come.
"I am not so innocent and naïve as you believe, monsieur. I have witnessed human suffering before, on the streets of this city. And how can you forget that if not for my friend Jenny, I would most likely be with my friends and parents right now?"
He stared at her in silence, an unreadable expression on his face, then when he spoke it was in an apologetic tone.
"I did forget and I'm sorry. I should not judge you so quickly when I myself have many faults."
She was not sure how to reply to what made the man sound as if he had very rarely had cause to apologize to anyone, so she changed the subject.
"Do you still compose music and write plays? My parents came to the operahouse once to see one of your musicals and told me it was quite excellent."
The expression in his eyes silently thanked her for not dwelling on what he had said.
"I have not written anything since Don Juan and the burning of the operahouse, which you probably heard about from the papers."
Amelie glanced back to the piano and remembered the tear-stained scraps of paper.
"Did you cut down the chandelier?"
"Yes. I have not decided whether or not I regret doing so."
"It is too bad that you stopped composing, though…why did you stop composing and writing?"
He looked away but her curiosity would not allow her to let the question alone.
"I read in one paper that there was a woman involved whom you have forgotten to mention, or maybe you have purposefully not mentioned, named-"
Do not speak her name, the Phantom begged silently. Speak on something, anything else. The sound of the name will tear apart this thin façade that I hide behind…such things are best left in the past…
"-Christine Daae?"
The sudden change the Phantom went through shocked Amelie. A pained expression came to his face that quickly changed to one of dark fury.
"You couldn't just let well enough alone, could you! You had to bring her up when you damn well knew what happened from your precious papers! You women, always prying into things…"
He was shouting by now, his deep voice echoing throughout the room. With a sound of exasperation he stood, mumbling something that sounded vaguely like, "Women!" Amelie also stood, ignoring her screaming body.
"I don't believe you! You told me I could ask you questions so I did! It's not my fault I asked the wrong question! I mean, really, you could have just told me not to talk about your…"
She couldn't think of what to call Christine, so her sentence trailed. Two bright spots appeared on her cheeks due to her anger. The Phantom almost took a step back at her tone – he did not deal with angry women well.
"Why the hell do you care so much? It's my business, what happened between myself and Chri-…her."
"You know what? I don't care! Maybe the papers and gossip were right about you, after all. I thought you were a better man than they say you are, after saving my life. Now I see that you are just as I had heard: cruel and bad-tempered! I cannot believe that you are entirely selfish and self-centered because you did save me, but- damn you, I would hit you if my hands were not injured!"
At first he looked as angry as she felt. Then a slow change came over his face and his mouth twitched. He burst out laughing, something that he could not ever remember doing. The girl looked comical, really. Her hair was frizzy and curled wildly around her face, and her eyes were so wide…it was quite amusing.
Amelie's eyes widened as she wondered what she had said that had amused him so. He finally stopped laughing but a wry smile still remained on his lips.
"You women are all the same: petite little china dolls that need your handsome fops to support and care for your delicate selves with expensive taste. Never lifting a hand to do anything. Even if your hands were not injured you still would not-"
The smug, understanding, patronizing look on his face was too much for the rage and embarassment that was building up inside her – it had reached the zenith. Acting without any thought except to wipe the smug grin off his face, she pulled her hand back quickly and brought it down across his face with as much force as her sore limbs could muster.
- - -
For a moment neither of the two moved, paralyzed with the shock of what she had boldly done. Then the Phantom turned his face back to Amelie. When he spoke, it was in a tone that scared her more than his yelling had so far.
"You do realize that making me angry with you is not the best course of action, do you not? I feel that every day I spend down here in this hell makes me more the monster than the man, something that probably is not very beneficial to your health, mademoiselle."
He moved his had slightly so that his fingers brushed against her neck. Amelie shivered at the feeling of his touch and stepped back, but did not say anything about the improperness – she was the one who had hit him, after all.
"If I wanted to, I could wring your neck and no one would ever know – or kill you in whatever wasy pleases me most. I am a dangerous man, girl – I cannot control my temper any more than it appears you can."
There was a slightly maniac look in his eyes now that sent a shiver up Amelie's spine. She turned away from him, knowing that what he said was true and that he was quite capable of malicious deeds. She wondered why, even realizing this, she was still not scared for her life – even though every scrap of feeling in her body said that she should run away from him as fast as her crippled form could take her. She tried to compose herself, but did not even bother to try to organize the mess of her emotions.
"I know that you are right but there is nothing I can do about it. I know what you have done in the past..."
She turned to face him.
"I apologize for hitting you but not for what I have said – most of my words were at least marginally correct, as you yourself just agreed."
With a cry of frusteration, the Phantom stalked away from Amelie and sat at the piano, willing himself to control his anger and not to hit the girl in return – which in all likelihood would be fatal for her. The girl was annoying, why could he not just take her out of the operahouse and leave her to find her way home, to be alone again?
Amelie sighed when he did not turn around and went over to where some bits of the ripped paper and a quill were lying on the floor. Taking them to her mattress, she started to draw, sketching what was on her mind. Drawing had always helped her to relieve tension and occupy her thoughts.
The Phantom continued to argue mentally with himself. I cannot let her leae because she will reveal that I am still alive, and still here in my operahouse. I will have only myself and my memories for companions – that is why I keep her here.
With not a little shock, he truly realized for the first time that he was lonely. He had never really thought about it before, but there it was. He had no one to talk to or argue with besides himself, no one to discuss his ideas and thoughts with. And what will I do once she no longer needs me to help her become well – once she is healed?
This thought made him turn and look at Amelie. More time must have passed during his musings than he had realized because she appeared to have fallen asleep. Her head was pillowed on the less-injured arm, knees drawn up to her stomach slightly.
He stepped over to her quietly and noticed several scraps of paper clutched in her now-inkstained fingers. The Phantom pulled them gently out of Amelie's hand, causing a frown to appear across her face, but she remained aslumber.
The first scrap held two sketches of the chandelier, at first hanging and then on the floor of the theater, lyring amidst dusty seats. He grudgingly admitted to himself that she was quite a talented artist, then looked at the next drawing.
It was the operahouse on the night he had unveiled Don Juan. Flames lept into the Parisian sky. From the doomed building. The detailed sketch reminded the Phantom yet again of all that had occurred that fateful night…The tears I might have shed for your dark fate, grow cold and turn to tears of hate!…Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known?
He ignored the flares of sadness and bitter anger that torched his insides and looked at the other piece of paper in his hand. The last scrap was by far the one which captured his attention most. Every single drawing on the paper had been scribbled out. Peering through the ink, he realized with some shock that Amelie had been sketching, or at least attempting to sketch…him. The drawings were too obscured to see very well, but then he noticed one of the notes the artist had written to herself in the corner of the paper:
Refer to sketchbook; more detailed & accurate; needs more expression/characteristic.
So these quick etchings were not the first she had made of him! Thinking back, he remembered the navy blue books that Amelie and Jenny had brought with them to the operahouse. Burning with curiosity and many questions, he turned to beging searching for the hidden sketchbook.
He turned to look at Amelie, stopping in mid-movement. Asleep, she looked so similar to Christine despite the difference in hair color. So peaceful and yet full of temper…he turned away to continue looking for the book.
- - -
Please review with comments, questions, etc. I'd like to know what to do to make this better – and what my readers think. I'd also like suggestions and ideas for the next chapter!