Chapter 4

- The person who tries to live alone will not succeed as a human being. His heart withers if it does not answer another heart. His mind shrinks away if he hears only the echoes of his own thoughts and finds no other inspiration. ~ Pearl S. Buck -

Paris, France - December 1874

Erik's heavy footsteps reverberated off the grim passageway walls as he stomped back down towards his place of dwelling. He had spent most of his miserable day insuring that nothing went right for anyone in the Opera House. Just little things that could be blamed on the carelessness of an assistant or two. He had been misplacing costumes pieces, a few small hand props, anything one could think of or at least he could get his hands on without being noticed. His thoughts of hatred swarmed in his deranged mind, angry furious bees stinging at his brain. He was so irritable now that he felt like hanging anyone who came close to his subterranean domain. The tension was rippling across his shoulders and down in his back. He could leave here; go somewhere else where the past did not exist. Yet, he would end up back at the opera house anyways. Its siren call was stronger than his will.

He must have been distracted thinking of ways to escape the ghosts that inhabited this ancient place because his return to his home went much faster than usual. He tossed off his dramatic cape and formal-dress jacket, letting them fall on the dirt covered floor. It wasn't like he had anyone to impress by dressing finely for. Most of his things were becoming threadbare, caked with spilt drink and ink. He unbuttoned his white undershirt to get comfortable finally. Some of the tension relieved with each piece that was loosen. The cave was too quiet as it had been for so many years. Things down here had not changed much since that day he returned to that accursed gypsy caravan that he had spent his childhood suffering in. His only reward for exacting his revenge was going to haunt him till the end of time or find the way to end it…

Turning to his plain vanity desk, Erik realized something was wrong with what he saw. Things such as pictures of Christine were rearranged on the desk as though a strong wind had blown through. One of the drawers had been pulled open and the box housing his spare mask had been taken out. The mask was gone from the silk-lined box. He growled stalking over to the organ in search of his favorite weapon, but he stopped short. His manikin had been revealed and the cape was missing from it. Someone found the lair and had been down here stealing his stuff. Blind rage filled his entire body as he grabbed his Punjab lasso from its hook on the wall. Whoever did this was going to dearly pay with their lives. A loud snoring noise came from his bed, causing him to turn around sharply. It was his unwelcome and very dead guest in his bed defenselessly asleep. Pathetic. Perhaps he would leave their mutilated body as a present for the managers on the stage; his calling card would surely be more than welcome after all this time.

Erik stopped at the end of the bed to be faced with a girl who was probably a year younger than his sweet Angel of Music. The blankets had been tossed aside, perhaps in her sleep, revealing her sprawled out sleeping position. She was dressed in something similar to what he was wearing at this very moment, without the pants. The girl in his bed looked more beautiful than Christine did during her debut, if that was possible. Her silky brown hair dipped and swirled in soft waves, spread out across his white pillows. There was something so alluring about those locks that made him want to run his hands through it, feel the strands pass through his fingers. Hold an entire fist full in his hands. Her eyes were shut tight, so he was unable to tell the color of her eyes. Erik placed a bet against himself that she had doe-brown eyes; at least it seemed the most likely option. She had his spare mask on and the missing cape, which made her look funny lying in his king-sized bed. She stirred slightly as he sat down on the edge near her. He could not bring himself to put the noose around her neck. At least not right now, maybe when she woke up. It was wrong to kill a defenseless person, especially a young woman like her. She was much different from the stick figures that inhabited the ballet corps or from his dear Christine. Her frame was much more Nordic and sturdy looking. Her chest and hips certainly were not lacking at all. The undergarment she was wearing did not help her hide the fact she was gifted in the upper region of her anatomy. It pushed the two wondrous globes up just slightly, increasing their already large size. Several of the top buttons of the shirt were undone, revealing the two slopes of pale skin. Erik's gaze rested there for a while as he felt something tighten in his body. His hands itched to reach out an caress the skin so much so that one reached out on its though, rebelling against his better judgment. It came so close to brush it. He wet his lower lip, wanting to taste it… Heat rushed to his face as he realized he was seconds away from molesting the poor girl with his lustful nature. He walked quickly away from the young woman in complete shame at his own reaction to her. He guessed that living without the loving touch of his own bride had made he a lonely man.

"I am like those disgusting old men at the opera…" Erik muttered to himself. Some married old men came just to get a glimpse up an unfortunate ballerina's tutu. There had to be something to distract him from these lecherous thoughts. He sat down on the organ bench to play the music for 'Past the Point of No Return' from Don Juan Triumphant. Well, that wasn't much better. A song about the completion of a seduction… Not the best topic for the moment, but this infernal piece was the only he had left play. His obsession with that opera was getting worse because of the fact that the performance was never completely finished. It was creating a creative block that was very distressing, indeed. He struck the first few keys carelessly, tired of hearing the same thing every night. There was no inspiration to write anything new. The old instrument sound a bit out of tune, but that was not a surprise; it had not been properly fixed for several years. Music filled the silence around him, and playing its way into the bedchamber. He became lost in the notes and the sound as the song continued on, his voice rising with each key he stuck with his long fingers.

You have come here,
In pursuit of your deepest urge,
In pursuit of that wish which till now,
has been silent,
Silent.

I have brought you,
That our passions may fuse and merge,
In your mind you've already succumbed to me, dropped all defenses,
Completely succumbed to me.
Now you are here with me,
No second thoughts, You've decided,
Decided.

Past the point of no return,
No backward glances,
Our games of make believe are at an end.

Past all thought of "if" or "when",
No use resisting,
Abandon thought
and let the dream descend.

What raging FIRE shall flood the soul?
What rich desire unlocks its door?
What sweet seduction lies before us?

Past the point of no return,
The final threshold.
What warm unspoken secrets,
Will we learn,
Beyond the point of no return?

His thoughts were so intensely focused on the creature laying in the bed, thinking about how easy it would be to seduce her. Erik's body was throbbing with lust and anger, energy welling up inside. He stopped playing abruptly as he heard scooting footsteps behind him in an attempt to flee the cavern. He knew it was the girl, but she was not going anywhere. She was not from the opera house or ballet school, so she WOULD stay with him down in the darkest pit of his personal hell. She had nowhere to hide and he was tired of losing out to other men…

Song Credits

Past The Point of No Return – Andrew Lloyd Webber & Charles Hart