Chapter Four
Pranks!
Disclaimer: I don't own phantom, and I'm just saying this now: there WILL be bits of Sweeney Todd, mostly because I lurve that movie so good.
The fact that Olive didn't believe in him was what really pissed Erik off. Who was this woman to challenge his existence? She was nothing special, no beauty; no grace, and no beliefs. How could she call herself a woman if she professed her disbelief in something that could easily kill her? Women were weak, why was this one so different?
In her arms she held a stuffed Raccoon. That was something else, he had enough courtesy the last time he broke into her room to put her doll in an upright position with his note. He could have left it stuck in the crevice between the bed and end table. Why it was a grown woman held a child's toy so near he'd never know.
Snarling his nose at her sleeping form, Erik vowed to make her believe. He would not have someone working and living in his opera house and not believe in him. That was unheard of and her disbelief would not be tolerated. He would do what he had to and make her believe.
He turned his heel to her and left, there was no use in trying to get her to believe while she slept like the dead. That next day he would strike fear into her heart, he would make her quiver at the knees and know that he, the Phantom, existed.
But of course, Olive wasn't totally wrong. He wasn't a ghost; he was a man of flesh and blood. He wasn't dead like the whole world had thought him to be, his body survived the faithful night Christine left with Raoul, but his soul died.
To give himself something to do other than contemplating his own suicide, he began haunting the opera house again. At first, the managers sent police down to his lair to search for the man, but found nothing. It looked as if no one had been in it, but in truth; he had. To them he was a real ghost, and they were terrified to the core of him.
Their fear gave him a momentary feeling of pride, but it dissipated when he remembered he didn't have Christine to look after anymore. His pretty little chocolate haired brunette left with De Changy, and left Erik by himself to rot in the catacombs.
Haunting Olive would give him something to do, considering he needn't threaten people as much as he once had to. They all believed in him to death, but Olive was new and didn't believe. Somehow she'd escaped the news that the opera house was burned down by a masked pyromaniac.
He returned to his underground lair, it seemed so empty. The pictures and figurines of Christine still lay about, reminding him of the love he'd lost. She was always in his head, always on his mind. He loved Christine so desperately that he'd have done anything to hold onto her, to hold her small, fragile body next to him and tell her that he would always love her. But she was gone; he had to get past it.
It was easier said than done to get over Christine, his love and his life. She was what kept him out of suicide's hands, what kept his stability tethered to reality. Losing her caused him to break the thread that held him together, it was a miracle that he hadn't gone over the edge and disposed of everyone's problem. Himself.
But for some reason he stayed alive, although the term "Alive" was used very loosely, and haunted the opera house. He was actually only live in the sense of the word meaning that he was breathing. He rarely ate unless it was of the utmost importance, and he spent most of his time either haunting the opera house or sleeping.
Erik brushed his fingers over the ivory keys on his organ. It was his only friend, the only thing that knew how to comfort him. But alas, with Christine's departure went his muse, he no longer had the ability to write a decent opera. Every time he would try, there wouldn't be any heart behind it. He didn't believe in the story in it, so it wasn't believable at all.
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Olive dreamt there was a man in a mask standing over her bed. But when she woke she was alone in the darkness. Johanna's raccoon sat neatly on the bed, having been in her arms the entire night.
She still felt as if there had been someone in her room, but obviously enough there wasn't. She yawned softly, stretching her arms in the air and breathing in the new day. But that was all before she remembered that Benjamin and Johanna were gone.
Suddenly, the weight of the world smashed down on her shoulders, causing her to feel forlorn and morose. Sighing sadly, she pushed herself up off the bed and walked to her closet to pick out a dress for the day.
It took her a while of looking through her closet before she could pick out a dress. She didn't want to base her choice off her sudden mood decay, but instead of how she would feel later. She didn't know though, and right then her black gown with the white little ribbon around the cleavage looked to be appropriate.
The black sleeves on the dress were puffed out and went to her elbows; the skirt was long enough to hide her legs but short enough to show her pretty black boots. The skirt was also a dark shade of brown with black floral lace over it, giving it a faux elegance.
After a short while of smoothing out her skirt with her fishnet gloved hands, she starred at herself in the mirror. She tried on a few smiles to try and find one that looked natural. That hid her sadness behind it and made people think she was a happy-go-lucky woman. She found one, a neat corner smile that peaked at both corners. It was good enough for that day anyway. She put her long, curly, deranged hair in two pigtails before lightly brushing on some dark eye shadow.
Olive knew she was no sleeping beauty. She was no Cinderella or a Christine Daae. She was the ugly duckling, except this duckling had been demoted from a swan. She wouldn't be able to recapture her youthful elegance and beauty; it was lost in the fifteen year old photograph.
Taking one, last, preparation breath, she strode out of the apartment wing and to the kitchen where she worked. On her way though, a bucket fell from above, making her jump back just in time. Whipping around, she tried to find the culprit, but alas—all the stage hands were on stage getting ready for the blocking rehearsal that was to be held that morning through the afternoon.
Swearing to herself, she moved around the bucket and went into the kitchen to start working. Little did she know that above her Erik stood in the shadows, angry that she didn't take the bucket seriously. Although he would admit to himself that it was a lame prank, he could do better than that. He hadn't needed to prank anyone in so long that it was difficult to remember a good prank. Something to spook her.
Olive had to deliver some food to the cast later that afternoon, and right as she began to speak, the in-production set design fell on top of the stage hand painting it, causing the red paint to smear all over the nearly finished backdrop. Everyone gave Olive a nasty look.
"What?" She asked agitatedly. "Not my fault." And after putting the food down she went to the kitchen again.
It took Erik three days to get a reaction out of Olive. When he did, she was angry as hell. What he'd done was, after she made some apple pie for the hungry ballerinas, he snuck some red food dye into it and when she tried it to see if it was good, it made her mouth look bloody. It frightened her when Meg pointed it out, but angered her when Erik gave her a note when she got back to her apartment that said,
Got you!
.O.G.
"You...are...so…JUVENILE!" She screeched into the air. Erik, in the shadows, was swallowing all the laughs he had building up in his throat. It was then that Olive declared war on ".O.G."; she would not be made an ass of by a ghost that didn't exist. This was the work of some addle minded ballerina, and she would prove it.
My god, I'm SO sorry this took me SO long. I got REALLY bad writer's block, really suckish writer's block. But I'll try to get this story back up regularly.
Tell your friends!
:D