Author's Note: Thanks again for all the lovely reviews! Oh, and I'm glad so
many of you liked the 'I'm on a diet' part. I was going to leave that part
out!
Disclaimer: 'The Phantom of the Opera' belongs to Gaston Leroux, 'Dracula' to Bram Stoker and 'Frankenstein' to Mary Shelley.
Enjoy!
'The Price of Fame'
Chapter Seven: Angel in the House
After five minutes in the company of Angel, Erik was starting to realise just how much he had changed since 1881. Years of patient yet intense therapy at the hands of Nadir had rendered him capable of a) keeping still for more than three seconds; b) communicating without repeatedly referring to himself in the third person and c) resisting his instinctive urge to laugh maniacally at inappropriate moments.
His past-self, however, was not capable of any of this. Erik watched from the safety of his armchair as the excited little Phantom bounced around the living room, examining each wonder of the modern world with childlike curiosity. His momentary distress at causing Nadir to faint had vanished, and he was now exhibiting the boundless enthusiasm of the Phantom of the Opera on a Good Day.
'You've redecorated!' he said, breathless with excitement. 'That black theme I had in here was so dull! I love the new colour scheme! Cream and red...gorgeous! And the room doesn't smell of mildew! But there should be some fresh flowers...Erik likes flowers! Arrrggghhh...a mirror! Get rid of it at once! Fantastic TV set...we can watch classic horror movies and eat doughnuts! It'll be great fun and....Ohhhh! What's that?!'
Angel had spotted the karaoke machine.
Erik's eyes widened. Something told him that Angel and the karaoke machine would not get on very well together.
'It's nothing,' he said hurriedly. 'It's just a machine that mortals use for making really bad music, usually at parties when everyone's very drunk.'
'It sounds fun!' said Angel, making a dive for the microphone. 'Oh, I know how it works! You put one of these nice shiny discs in that hole, and sing along into this thing, right?
'Yes, but...'
'Can I have a go?'
'I really don't think it's a very good idea...'
But it was too late. Angel had inserted a CD, and was staring at the little television screen with a maniacal grin on his face.
The music began. Unfortunately, the song was a little too appropriate for the enthusiastic vocalist.
'Beneath the Opera House, I know he's there. He's with me on the stage, he's everywhere...'
Erik covered his face in agonised embarrassment. Of course, it would have to be the Steve Harley version...
He risked glancing up at Angel, and shuddered. Angel was an amazing singer, it was just the sound of Sarah Brightman's voice emerging from the Phantom's mouth that was disturbing.
Angel, on the other hand, was enjoying himself immensely.
'And when my song begins, I always find...The Phaaaaaantom of the Opera is there...inside my mind. Come on Erik, sing along!'
Erik couldn't stand it anymore. With an aggression which he usually reserved for encounters with particularly troublesome viscounts, he flung himself at Angel and snatched the microphone from his skeletal hands. Then he unplugged the machine.
Angel gave a cry of anguish.
'Awww! You horrible boring old Phantom! I was enjoying that!'
Erik put his hands on his hips and glared at Angel.
'I don't care!' he growled. 'I'm tired of you running around my lair as though you own the place!'
'But I do own the place!'
Erik ignored him.
'You've only been here ten minutes, and the place is in an uproar! First you cause poor Nadir to faint, then you add to the chaos by singing that embarrassing version of my theme song! Why do you have to be so annoying? Why can't you just sit on the sofa and drink tea and converse like a normal person?'
Angel shrank away from Erik's rage in alarm.
'I'm sorry. I'm the Phantom of the Opera. I can't help how I behave...'
Erik turned his back on Angel, shaking his head in despair.
'No wonder Christine couldn't stand me,' he said aloud. 'I spend ten minutes in the company of my past-self, and I feel like strangling him! How on earth did she put up with me for so long?'
He was answered by a little sniffing, whimpering noise from the direction of Angel. Erik turned to see the other Phantom crouching on the floor, crying softly. Erik's shoulders sagged, and he felt a twinge of guilt.
'Ahhh,' he thought. 'This is how she put up with me. Tears.'
Erik realised he had been cruel for no reason. He could remember a time when people had treated him in the same way, simply because he was ugly and a handful. It had hurt, especially when all he had ever wanted was to be loved.
He knelt down beside Angel and patted his hand.
'It's all right. I'm sorry. Please don't cry.'
Angel gave a choked sob.
'I only wanted to be friendly. I thought I was being, you know, amusing and sociable.'
'I know. I'm sorry. Look...you can play on the karaoke machine as much as you like later.'
Angel's eyes lit up. Erik, looking straight at him, was almost dazzled by the golden light.
'Really? Can I do my Celine Dion impersonation?'
Erik shuddered.
'I'll think about it. But first I'd like you to tell me why you're here.'
Angel's eyes seemed to shoot flames.
'Oh, yes! I'm sorry...I got distracted. I'm here because I want to show you something.'
Erik watched nervously as Angel reached inside his cloak and produced a large, rectangular object. Erik took it with shaking hands, and stared down at it.
It was a book. There was a beautiful black and white picture of Christine on the cover. Her face was sad and she held a rose in her hand. Above the picture, rendered in fancy gold lettering, was the title of this fascinating and not at all trashy volume.
Christine: The True Story of an Abused Soprano.
Erik's heart skipped a beat. He turned the book over cautiously, as though it might explode, and read the blurb on the back.
So, you think you know the truth about the Phantom of the Opera?
In this stunning autobiography, Christine Daae reveals the true story of her affair with the mysterious Phantom. Venture into the dark and erotic depths of the Opera! Gasp as Christine reveals the Phantom's secrets, including his passionate affair with Madame Giry! Marvel at the contents of Erik's underwear drawer!
One by one your illusions will be shattered...
Erik swallowed hard. He opened the book and gazed down at the first page. It gave an alarming taste of what was to come.
I am Christine Daae, and I would like to take this opportunity to inform the reader about how my life was blighted by my cruel exploitation at the hands of the Phantom of the Opera.
As Phantom 'Phans' will be aware, many adaptations of the Phantom's story portray him as a tragic figure, corrupted by society's prejudice, who just wants to be loved for himself. These adaptations are wrong.
Erik is a selfish, spiteful, arrogant individual with a terrible taste in clothes (particularly waistcoats), an unhealthy fascination with rats, and a boring stamp collection. If I displeased him, he would torture me by showing me his stamp collection. This was just one of many traumatic experiences which I suffered while under his power.
Erik had read enough. He snapped the book shut and threw it on the floor.
'How could she do this to me? I never had a stamp collection! How could she spread such malicious rumours? What have I ever done to her?'
Angel seemed to consider this.
'Well, apart from kidnapping her on two occasions and threatening to kill her fiancé and many other members of the human race if she refused to marry you, absolutely nothing.'
Erik was trembling with rage.
'I don't deserve this! I'm not evil and I don't collect stamps! How dare she say I collect stamps! And what's wrong with my waistcoats?'
Angel looked down at Erik's waistcoat and smiled.
'Well, that one's got little red roses and masks on it. I'm sure the others are also very interesting.'
Erik blushed. He did in fact have a variety of interesting waistcoats. Nadir had given him the most embarrassing ones for Christmas. They were currently hidden away in a large box at the bottom of his wardrobe. The stamp collection was in there too, along with several other treasures which he hoped Christine had not discovered. He shuddered, and took a deep breath.
'When does this book go on sale?' he enquired.
'Next week,' said Angel. 'Apparently the publishers are expecting it to do very well, what with the new Phantom movie being announced.' 'Not to mention today's newspaper articles,' said Erik, shivering. He knew that he could wave goodbye to both his privacy and his dignity as soon as this delightful new book was released. But now something else was troubling him...
'Where did you get this book?' he asked, suspiciously. 'Surely you didn't go to the publishers...'
Angel blushed. He knew Erik would not like his explanation. Nor would he like the other fascinating object which was hidden in the depths of his cloak. Angel had, in fact, been a very naughty little Phantom indeed. He shuffled his feet nervously.
'Well...the thing is...I went to the hospital where they took Dracula last night. Christine was sitting in the waiting room. She was reading a magazine and I was invisible, so of course she didn't know I was there. Her handbag was on the seat next to her and...well, I sort of...stole it.'
Erik leapt to his feet. His cheeks were burning.
'You WHAT?!'
'I...I just thought it might be helpful. You know, give us some clues as to what her plan is...'
'You want me to look inside it?' Erik gasped. 'Are you insane? That's a violation of her privacy!'
'Good,' said Angel. 'Then she'll know how you feel.'
Erik was silent for a moment. He knew Angel was right. Surely looking through someone's handbag was no worse than spreading rumours about a person's private life? And, to his great shame, he was also starting to feel slightly curious. What did Christine keep in her handbag?
'Well, maybe just a quick look wouldn't do any harm...' he said. 'But then you have to hand it in at the hospital's reception. Understand?'
Angel nodded glumly. He had been getting rather attached to the handbag.
'Well, can I see it?' asked Erik.
Angel reached inside his cloak again and produced a stylish black handbag.
'I only took the book out of it,' he said, handing it to Erik. 'I didn't look at anything else.'
Erik opened the bag and reached inside. There was a little velvet purse containing money, a comb, some makeup, a pair of sunglasses, and a white handkerchief. There was also a copy of Bram Stoker's 'Dracula': evidently Christine was reading up on the new love of her life. At the bottom of the handbag there were several folded pieces of expensive note paper. Erik unfolded them to find they were sickeningly romantic love letters from Dracula, which he scanned through and then tossed to one side in embarrassment. There was also an envelope, with a handwritten address on the front:
Mlle. Christine Daae Castle Dracula The Carpathian Mountains Transylvania
The envelope had already been opened. Erik reached inside and unfolded the letter. To his astonishment, the de Chagny coat of arms was printed at the top. The letter was from Raoul. Erik stared at the coat of arms with feelings of both irritation and shock. Why on Earth was Raoul writing to Christine now that she was with Dracula?
Well, there was only one way to find out. Erik took a deep breath and began to read the letter.
My dear Christine,
It is lovely to hear from you after all these years! I cannot begin to tell you how much I have missed you. When we parted all those years ago in Birmingham, I thought I would never hear from you again. And now here I am writing this letter!
I understand why you had to leave, Christine, and I'm not angry with you. How could we go on as normal while the whole world was obsessed with the Phantom of the Opera? We both needed to escape from the past, and to do that we had to go our separate ways. But sometimes I wonder: will the Phantom always haunt us?
I do hope you and Dracula are happy, and that the new castle is to your liking. I heard somewhere that the old one got turned into a theme park. Is that true? If so, what is the world coming to?
Anyway, to get to the point, I would be delighted to star in Dracula's new movie. I have been trying to launch my film career for sometime now, but with limited success. But you are being very secretive about the project, Christine! You say it's a Gothic romance with lots of action and vampires...it sounds most intriguing. And I'm so pleased I'll be playing the bad guy! I've always wanted to play the bad guy. I'm sick of being cast as the pretty boy with no brains!
I've already started practising my maniacal laugh and it's coming along nicely.
I will arrive in Transylvania two weeks on Friday, as instructed, to start shooting. I look forward to seeing you again.
Best wishes,
Raoul
'What does it say?' said Angel, as Erik finished reading the letter.
'It's from Raoul,' Erik replied. 'Apparently Christine and Dracula are making a new vampire movie and they want him to star in it. But it doesn't say what the movie is.'
Angel took the letter and read it carefully.
'Where's Birmingham?' he asked.
'Oh, it's just a city in England,' said Erik.
'What were they doing there?'
'How should I know?' Erik replied, a little more harshly than he had intended. More important questions were occupying his mind. What was this new movie? And why on Earth did Dracula want Raoul to play the bad guy? It was like asking a little fluffy kitten to play a ferocious tiger! Still, Dracula was a pretty good filmmaker, so he must have some reason to justify such a strange choice...
Erik's troubled thoughts were interrupted by a loud groan from the direction of the sofa.
'No,' said a sleepy voice. 'Put it down. Erik, put the lasso down. You promised me no more murders!'
Angel glanced over at Nadir who was sprawled inelegantly on the sofa.
'Awww!' he said. 'How sweet! Your daroga's having a dream!'
Erik stood up and went to lean over Nadir.
'Nadir? Are you all right? Wake up!'
Nadir groaned again.
'No! Not the scorpion. Don't touch the scorpion!'
'I'll handle this,' said Angel, putting his mouth to Nadir's ear.
Erik moved to stop him.
'I really don't think...'
'DAROGA! WAKE UP, YOU IMMENSE SIMPLETON!!!'
Nadir's eyes flew open. He looked up into Angel's grinning face and screamed.
'No! Erik, save me! Keep away from me, you monster!'
Angel put his hands on his hips.
'Well, that's just charming! First he faints when I offer him a doughnut, then he insults me! What a welcome!'
Nadir was trembling violently. Erik put his hands on his shoulders and forced him back onto the sofa.
'Nadir! It's all right! He means you no harm!'
Nadir stared at Angel.
'But he's got your face!'
'I know! I know! But if you'll just calm down, I'll explain everything.'
Nadir gazed at Erik incredulously.
'You know him?'
'Yes! Angel, go and make Nadir a cup of tea, please.'
Angel glared at Nadir: a very unpleasant expression, which left his teeth and gums completely exposed and caused his eyes to shoot red flames. It was little wonder that Nadir trembled.
'I don't know,' grumbled Angel. 'I'm meant to be a guest! What a way to treat the Phantom of the Opera! The King of Stranglers! The Prince of Conjurors! The...'
'Angel, just go, will you?'
'Fine, fine, I'm going, I'm going...'
And Angel grudgingly left the room.
Nadir stared at Erik in disbelief.
'Angel?' he said.
Erik sighed.
'It's a long story...'
Half an hour later, when Nadir had calmed down, the three of them sat drinking tea in the drawing room. The atmosphere in the room was fraught with tension. Erik drank his tea in silence as Nadir and Angel stared at each other, the latter wearing a fixed smile that managed to be both sweet and malevolent at the same time.
It was Nadir who finally broke the uneasy silence.
'So,' he said, addressing Angel. 'You're Erik's past-self. Quite fascinating. Does this mean I have a past-self, too?'
Nadir's voice dripped with sarcasm, and Erik found himself reflecting on his friend's stubborn-mindedness. Despite Erik's detailed account of his first meeting with Angel, the policeman in Nadir still suspected that the other Phantom was some sort of impostor.
Angel's eyes glinted in annoyance, but his voice was as sweet as his strawberry doughnuts.
'Oh, yes. But he is rather a bore. All he does is run around shouting 'Your hand at the level of your eyes! At the level of your eyes!' I'm sure you would get along swimmingly with him.'
Silence fell once more as Nadir and Angel went back to their staring contest.
Several minutes past, then the doorbell rang. Nadir and Angel both leapt to their feet with simultaneous cries of 'I'll go!'
'No,' said Erik. 'I'll answer it. You two stay here.'
The doorbell rang again, and again. Whoever was outside was very impatient and, Erik suspected, very angry. He swallowed hard and opened the door.
A hand thrust a newspaper into his face.
'What do you call THIS?' said a gruff voice.
'A newspaper,' said Erik. He pushed it away to reveal the angry faces of Messieurs Richard and Moncharmin.
Not the real Richard and Moncharmin, of course. There had been so many managers of the Opera since 1881 that Erik had long since lost track, and consequently he found it much easier to address them all as 'Richard and Moncharmin.' The original Richard and Moncharmin had in fact left the Opera over a century ago and had gone on to enjoy very successful acting careers. For the last sixteen years they had been playing the managers in Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical, performing under various clever pseudonyms.
Unfortunately, the present managers were not nearly as gullible as their famous predecessors, and Erik often had the horrible feeling they were clever.
The manager that Erik had named Richard glared at him.
'I know it's a newspaper! I was referring to the headline!'
Erik stared at it. It read: The Phantom Unmasked: Erik Reveals His True Colours.
'It's disgraceful!' Richard continued. 'The newspapers are full of pictures of you hitting Count Dracula with bin lids and consorting with Frankenstein's Monster! What were you thinking?'
Erik could not help cowering under Richard's stony gaze.
'I...I just got a bit carried away,' he said lamely.
The manager rolled his eyes and turned to his partner.
'Awww....the poor little Phantom got a bit carried away. Well, I'm afraid that's just not good enough, is it, Claude?'
'Not good enough at all,' agreed the other manager.
Richard turned back to Erik and smiled in a nasty predatory way. He was rather enjoying this. He had been rehearsing his Managerial Opera Ghost Eviction Speech all morning.
'Monsieur le Fantome, in the light of your recent behaviour, it grieves me to inform you that you are no longer welcome in our great institution. I am aware that you have kept a low profile for some time now, so I shall be lenient. You have forty-eight hours in which to vacate your house.'
Erik stared at him.
'But...'
'No 'buts,' M. le Fantome. Consider yourself well and truly evicted.'
Erik searched desperately for something to say.
'And what if I fight you?' he said finally, with more confidence than he felt.
Richard laughed.
'With what? I don't see any bin lids lying around, do you? Happy packing!'
And the two managers turned their backs on Erik and got into their boat, laughing hysterically.
Erik stared after them. For the second time in twenty-four hours he felt like crying. It took all his strength to prevent him from sobbing aloud.
'What's happened?' said Nadir, as his friend limped back into the living room.
'I've just lost my home,' Erik whimpered.
Then he began to cry as only a homeless Phantom could.
Disclaimer: 'The Phantom of the Opera' belongs to Gaston Leroux, 'Dracula' to Bram Stoker and 'Frankenstein' to Mary Shelley.
Enjoy!
'The Price of Fame'
Chapter Seven: Angel in the House
After five minutes in the company of Angel, Erik was starting to realise just how much he had changed since 1881. Years of patient yet intense therapy at the hands of Nadir had rendered him capable of a) keeping still for more than three seconds; b) communicating without repeatedly referring to himself in the third person and c) resisting his instinctive urge to laugh maniacally at inappropriate moments.
His past-self, however, was not capable of any of this. Erik watched from the safety of his armchair as the excited little Phantom bounced around the living room, examining each wonder of the modern world with childlike curiosity. His momentary distress at causing Nadir to faint had vanished, and he was now exhibiting the boundless enthusiasm of the Phantom of the Opera on a Good Day.
'You've redecorated!' he said, breathless with excitement. 'That black theme I had in here was so dull! I love the new colour scheme! Cream and red...gorgeous! And the room doesn't smell of mildew! But there should be some fresh flowers...Erik likes flowers! Arrrggghhh...a mirror! Get rid of it at once! Fantastic TV set...we can watch classic horror movies and eat doughnuts! It'll be great fun and....Ohhhh! What's that?!'
Angel had spotted the karaoke machine.
Erik's eyes widened. Something told him that Angel and the karaoke machine would not get on very well together.
'It's nothing,' he said hurriedly. 'It's just a machine that mortals use for making really bad music, usually at parties when everyone's very drunk.'
'It sounds fun!' said Angel, making a dive for the microphone. 'Oh, I know how it works! You put one of these nice shiny discs in that hole, and sing along into this thing, right?
'Yes, but...'
'Can I have a go?'
'I really don't think it's a very good idea...'
But it was too late. Angel had inserted a CD, and was staring at the little television screen with a maniacal grin on his face.
The music began. Unfortunately, the song was a little too appropriate for the enthusiastic vocalist.
'Beneath the Opera House, I know he's there. He's with me on the stage, he's everywhere...'
Erik covered his face in agonised embarrassment. Of course, it would have to be the Steve Harley version...
He risked glancing up at Angel, and shuddered. Angel was an amazing singer, it was just the sound of Sarah Brightman's voice emerging from the Phantom's mouth that was disturbing.
Angel, on the other hand, was enjoying himself immensely.
'And when my song begins, I always find...The Phaaaaaantom of the Opera is there...inside my mind. Come on Erik, sing along!'
Erik couldn't stand it anymore. With an aggression which he usually reserved for encounters with particularly troublesome viscounts, he flung himself at Angel and snatched the microphone from his skeletal hands. Then he unplugged the machine.
Angel gave a cry of anguish.
'Awww! You horrible boring old Phantom! I was enjoying that!'
Erik put his hands on his hips and glared at Angel.
'I don't care!' he growled. 'I'm tired of you running around my lair as though you own the place!'
'But I do own the place!'
Erik ignored him.
'You've only been here ten minutes, and the place is in an uproar! First you cause poor Nadir to faint, then you add to the chaos by singing that embarrassing version of my theme song! Why do you have to be so annoying? Why can't you just sit on the sofa and drink tea and converse like a normal person?'
Angel shrank away from Erik's rage in alarm.
'I'm sorry. I'm the Phantom of the Opera. I can't help how I behave...'
Erik turned his back on Angel, shaking his head in despair.
'No wonder Christine couldn't stand me,' he said aloud. 'I spend ten minutes in the company of my past-self, and I feel like strangling him! How on earth did she put up with me for so long?'
He was answered by a little sniffing, whimpering noise from the direction of Angel. Erik turned to see the other Phantom crouching on the floor, crying softly. Erik's shoulders sagged, and he felt a twinge of guilt.
'Ahhh,' he thought. 'This is how she put up with me. Tears.'
Erik realised he had been cruel for no reason. He could remember a time when people had treated him in the same way, simply because he was ugly and a handful. It had hurt, especially when all he had ever wanted was to be loved.
He knelt down beside Angel and patted his hand.
'It's all right. I'm sorry. Please don't cry.'
Angel gave a choked sob.
'I only wanted to be friendly. I thought I was being, you know, amusing and sociable.'
'I know. I'm sorry. Look...you can play on the karaoke machine as much as you like later.'
Angel's eyes lit up. Erik, looking straight at him, was almost dazzled by the golden light.
'Really? Can I do my Celine Dion impersonation?'
Erik shuddered.
'I'll think about it. But first I'd like you to tell me why you're here.'
Angel's eyes seemed to shoot flames.
'Oh, yes! I'm sorry...I got distracted. I'm here because I want to show you something.'
Erik watched nervously as Angel reached inside his cloak and produced a large, rectangular object. Erik took it with shaking hands, and stared down at it.
It was a book. There was a beautiful black and white picture of Christine on the cover. Her face was sad and she held a rose in her hand. Above the picture, rendered in fancy gold lettering, was the title of this fascinating and not at all trashy volume.
Christine: The True Story of an Abused Soprano.
Erik's heart skipped a beat. He turned the book over cautiously, as though it might explode, and read the blurb on the back.
So, you think you know the truth about the Phantom of the Opera?
In this stunning autobiography, Christine Daae reveals the true story of her affair with the mysterious Phantom. Venture into the dark and erotic depths of the Opera! Gasp as Christine reveals the Phantom's secrets, including his passionate affair with Madame Giry! Marvel at the contents of Erik's underwear drawer!
One by one your illusions will be shattered...
Erik swallowed hard. He opened the book and gazed down at the first page. It gave an alarming taste of what was to come.
I am Christine Daae, and I would like to take this opportunity to inform the reader about how my life was blighted by my cruel exploitation at the hands of the Phantom of the Opera.
As Phantom 'Phans' will be aware, many adaptations of the Phantom's story portray him as a tragic figure, corrupted by society's prejudice, who just wants to be loved for himself. These adaptations are wrong.
Erik is a selfish, spiteful, arrogant individual with a terrible taste in clothes (particularly waistcoats), an unhealthy fascination with rats, and a boring stamp collection. If I displeased him, he would torture me by showing me his stamp collection. This was just one of many traumatic experiences which I suffered while under his power.
Erik had read enough. He snapped the book shut and threw it on the floor.
'How could she do this to me? I never had a stamp collection! How could she spread such malicious rumours? What have I ever done to her?'
Angel seemed to consider this.
'Well, apart from kidnapping her on two occasions and threatening to kill her fiancé and many other members of the human race if she refused to marry you, absolutely nothing.'
Erik was trembling with rage.
'I don't deserve this! I'm not evil and I don't collect stamps! How dare she say I collect stamps! And what's wrong with my waistcoats?'
Angel looked down at Erik's waistcoat and smiled.
'Well, that one's got little red roses and masks on it. I'm sure the others are also very interesting.'
Erik blushed. He did in fact have a variety of interesting waistcoats. Nadir had given him the most embarrassing ones for Christmas. They were currently hidden away in a large box at the bottom of his wardrobe. The stamp collection was in there too, along with several other treasures which he hoped Christine had not discovered. He shuddered, and took a deep breath.
'When does this book go on sale?' he enquired.
'Next week,' said Angel. 'Apparently the publishers are expecting it to do very well, what with the new Phantom movie being announced.' 'Not to mention today's newspaper articles,' said Erik, shivering. He knew that he could wave goodbye to both his privacy and his dignity as soon as this delightful new book was released. But now something else was troubling him...
'Where did you get this book?' he asked, suspiciously. 'Surely you didn't go to the publishers...'
Angel blushed. He knew Erik would not like his explanation. Nor would he like the other fascinating object which was hidden in the depths of his cloak. Angel had, in fact, been a very naughty little Phantom indeed. He shuffled his feet nervously.
'Well...the thing is...I went to the hospital where they took Dracula last night. Christine was sitting in the waiting room. She was reading a magazine and I was invisible, so of course she didn't know I was there. Her handbag was on the seat next to her and...well, I sort of...stole it.'
Erik leapt to his feet. His cheeks were burning.
'You WHAT?!'
'I...I just thought it might be helpful. You know, give us some clues as to what her plan is...'
'You want me to look inside it?' Erik gasped. 'Are you insane? That's a violation of her privacy!'
'Good,' said Angel. 'Then she'll know how you feel.'
Erik was silent for a moment. He knew Angel was right. Surely looking through someone's handbag was no worse than spreading rumours about a person's private life? And, to his great shame, he was also starting to feel slightly curious. What did Christine keep in her handbag?
'Well, maybe just a quick look wouldn't do any harm...' he said. 'But then you have to hand it in at the hospital's reception. Understand?'
Angel nodded glumly. He had been getting rather attached to the handbag.
'Well, can I see it?' asked Erik.
Angel reached inside his cloak again and produced a stylish black handbag.
'I only took the book out of it,' he said, handing it to Erik. 'I didn't look at anything else.'
Erik opened the bag and reached inside. There was a little velvet purse containing money, a comb, some makeup, a pair of sunglasses, and a white handkerchief. There was also a copy of Bram Stoker's 'Dracula': evidently Christine was reading up on the new love of her life. At the bottom of the handbag there were several folded pieces of expensive note paper. Erik unfolded them to find they were sickeningly romantic love letters from Dracula, which he scanned through and then tossed to one side in embarrassment. There was also an envelope, with a handwritten address on the front:
Mlle. Christine Daae Castle Dracula The Carpathian Mountains Transylvania
The envelope had already been opened. Erik reached inside and unfolded the letter. To his astonishment, the de Chagny coat of arms was printed at the top. The letter was from Raoul. Erik stared at the coat of arms with feelings of both irritation and shock. Why on Earth was Raoul writing to Christine now that she was with Dracula?
Well, there was only one way to find out. Erik took a deep breath and began to read the letter.
My dear Christine,
It is lovely to hear from you after all these years! I cannot begin to tell you how much I have missed you. When we parted all those years ago in Birmingham, I thought I would never hear from you again. And now here I am writing this letter!
I understand why you had to leave, Christine, and I'm not angry with you. How could we go on as normal while the whole world was obsessed with the Phantom of the Opera? We both needed to escape from the past, and to do that we had to go our separate ways. But sometimes I wonder: will the Phantom always haunt us?
I do hope you and Dracula are happy, and that the new castle is to your liking. I heard somewhere that the old one got turned into a theme park. Is that true? If so, what is the world coming to?
Anyway, to get to the point, I would be delighted to star in Dracula's new movie. I have been trying to launch my film career for sometime now, but with limited success. But you are being very secretive about the project, Christine! You say it's a Gothic romance with lots of action and vampires...it sounds most intriguing. And I'm so pleased I'll be playing the bad guy! I've always wanted to play the bad guy. I'm sick of being cast as the pretty boy with no brains!
I've already started practising my maniacal laugh and it's coming along nicely.
I will arrive in Transylvania two weeks on Friday, as instructed, to start shooting. I look forward to seeing you again.
Best wishes,
Raoul
'What does it say?' said Angel, as Erik finished reading the letter.
'It's from Raoul,' Erik replied. 'Apparently Christine and Dracula are making a new vampire movie and they want him to star in it. But it doesn't say what the movie is.'
Angel took the letter and read it carefully.
'Where's Birmingham?' he asked.
'Oh, it's just a city in England,' said Erik.
'What were they doing there?'
'How should I know?' Erik replied, a little more harshly than he had intended. More important questions were occupying his mind. What was this new movie? And why on Earth did Dracula want Raoul to play the bad guy? It was like asking a little fluffy kitten to play a ferocious tiger! Still, Dracula was a pretty good filmmaker, so he must have some reason to justify such a strange choice...
Erik's troubled thoughts were interrupted by a loud groan from the direction of the sofa.
'No,' said a sleepy voice. 'Put it down. Erik, put the lasso down. You promised me no more murders!'
Angel glanced over at Nadir who was sprawled inelegantly on the sofa.
'Awww!' he said. 'How sweet! Your daroga's having a dream!'
Erik stood up and went to lean over Nadir.
'Nadir? Are you all right? Wake up!'
Nadir groaned again.
'No! Not the scorpion. Don't touch the scorpion!'
'I'll handle this,' said Angel, putting his mouth to Nadir's ear.
Erik moved to stop him.
'I really don't think...'
'DAROGA! WAKE UP, YOU IMMENSE SIMPLETON!!!'
Nadir's eyes flew open. He looked up into Angel's grinning face and screamed.
'No! Erik, save me! Keep away from me, you monster!'
Angel put his hands on his hips.
'Well, that's just charming! First he faints when I offer him a doughnut, then he insults me! What a welcome!'
Nadir was trembling violently. Erik put his hands on his shoulders and forced him back onto the sofa.
'Nadir! It's all right! He means you no harm!'
Nadir stared at Angel.
'But he's got your face!'
'I know! I know! But if you'll just calm down, I'll explain everything.'
Nadir gazed at Erik incredulously.
'You know him?'
'Yes! Angel, go and make Nadir a cup of tea, please.'
Angel glared at Nadir: a very unpleasant expression, which left his teeth and gums completely exposed and caused his eyes to shoot red flames. It was little wonder that Nadir trembled.
'I don't know,' grumbled Angel. 'I'm meant to be a guest! What a way to treat the Phantom of the Opera! The King of Stranglers! The Prince of Conjurors! The...'
'Angel, just go, will you?'
'Fine, fine, I'm going, I'm going...'
And Angel grudgingly left the room.
Nadir stared at Erik in disbelief.
'Angel?' he said.
Erik sighed.
'It's a long story...'
Half an hour later, when Nadir had calmed down, the three of them sat drinking tea in the drawing room. The atmosphere in the room was fraught with tension. Erik drank his tea in silence as Nadir and Angel stared at each other, the latter wearing a fixed smile that managed to be both sweet and malevolent at the same time.
It was Nadir who finally broke the uneasy silence.
'So,' he said, addressing Angel. 'You're Erik's past-self. Quite fascinating. Does this mean I have a past-self, too?'
Nadir's voice dripped with sarcasm, and Erik found himself reflecting on his friend's stubborn-mindedness. Despite Erik's detailed account of his first meeting with Angel, the policeman in Nadir still suspected that the other Phantom was some sort of impostor.
Angel's eyes glinted in annoyance, but his voice was as sweet as his strawberry doughnuts.
'Oh, yes. But he is rather a bore. All he does is run around shouting 'Your hand at the level of your eyes! At the level of your eyes!' I'm sure you would get along swimmingly with him.'
Silence fell once more as Nadir and Angel went back to their staring contest.
Several minutes past, then the doorbell rang. Nadir and Angel both leapt to their feet with simultaneous cries of 'I'll go!'
'No,' said Erik. 'I'll answer it. You two stay here.'
The doorbell rang again, and again. Whoever was outside was very impatient and, Erik suspected, very angry. He swallowed hard and opened the door.
A hand thrust a newspaper into his face.
'What do you call THIS?' said a gruff voice.
'A newspaper,' said Erik. He pushed it away to reveal the angry faces of Messieurs Richard and Moncharmin.
Not the real Richard and Moncharmin, of course. There had been so many managers of the Opera since 1881 that Erik had long since lost track, and consequently he found it much easier to address them all as 'Richard and Moncharmin.' The original Richard and Moncharmin had in fact left the Opera over a century ago and had gone on to enjoy very successful acting careers. For the last sixteen years they had been playing the managers in Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical, performing under various clever pseudonyms.
Unfortunately, the present managers were not nearly as gullible as their famous predecessors, and Erik often had the horrible feeling they were clever.
The manager that Erik had named Richard glared at him.
'I know it's a newspaper! I was referring to the headline!'
Erik stared at it. It read: The Phantom Unmasked: Erik Reveals His True Colours.
'It's disgraceful!' Richard continued. 'The newspapers are full of pictures of you hitting Count Dracula with bin lids and consorting with Frankenstein's Monster! What were you thinking?'
Erik could not help cowering under Richard's stony gaze.
'I...I just got a bit carried away,' he said lamely.
The manager rolled his eyes and turned to his partner.
'Awww....the poor little Phantom got a bit carried away. Well, I'm afraid that's just not good enough, is it, Claude?'
'Not good enough at all,' agreed the other manager.
Richard turned back to Erik and smiled in a nasty predatory way. He was rather enjoying this. He had been rehearsing his Managerial Opera Ghost Eviction Speech all morning.
'Monsieur le Fantome, in the light of your recent behaviour, it grieves me to inform you that you are no longer welcome in our great institution. I am aware that you have kept a low profile for some time now, so I shall be lenient. You have forty-eight hours in which to vacate your house.'
Erik stared at him.
'But...'
'No 'buts,' M. le Fantome. Consider yourself well and truly evicted.'
Erik searched desperately for something to say.
'And what if I fight you?' he said finally, with more confidence than he felt.
Richard laughed.
'With what? I don't see any bin lids lying around, do you? Happy packing!'
And the two managers turned their backs on Erik and got into their boat, laughing hysterically.
Erik stared after them. For the second time in twenty-four hours he felt like crying. It took all his strength to prevent him from sobbing aloud.
'What's happened?' said Nadir, as his friend limped back into the living room.
'I've just lost my home,' Erik whimpered.
Then he began to cry as only a homeless Phantom could.