Disclaimer - You know how this goes...
Chapter 10 "You Can't Love Me…!"
How very strange, thought Eric, within one day he had felt three extreme emotions. When the 1st Lady of Argentina had honoured him, he had felt overwhelming pride and happiness. Then he had felt heart-breaking love for Christine so strong it made his heart throb only to think about it. And then he had felt utter and crippling sadness for his lost friend, the Glamour cat. Now he felt nothing. An indifferent numbness as if all his feeling had been spent and now he was little more than an emotionless shell.
They had burned Grizabella's body. Munkustrap had disappeared long ago, probably to find some hole somewhere to grieve alone. As the flames licked and consumed her body and soon the clumsily made raft she had been laid on, it began to sink, vanishing under the dark and murky waters. The Phantom didn't know what to think. He could feel his heart beating and his hands by his side and his breath rasping in and out his lungs and the tears on his face, but he seemed oddly detached. Like he didn't exist, and was only a ghost, hovering there watching these events with only a mild interest.
He was restless, he had to move, couldn't sit still and discontent to pace the lair, he escaped and wandered around the cellars of the Opera House, going nowhere, just moving, like a lost spectre.
Are you the Phantom of the Opera?
He started at the sound of the cocky male voice and wheeled around. It was a cat. He had a lion's main, brown and tawny with blonde streaks, and a handsome coat. It was a very good-looking cat and he knew it, swaggering forward and swishing his tail like it was his Opera House.
"I am he," replied Eric.
Yes, well I have a message from a girl called Little Lotte. Do you know her?
Eric beamed. "As well as I know myself!"
Whatever, the cat droned. Listen, the message is this…
"Yes!?" prompted Eric impatiently.
Your angel sits in the seat of sweet music's throne. In the kingdom where all must pay homage to music.
"What?"
You heard me!
"Yes, um," he stuttered. Of coarse. Thank you cat, I…"
That's the Rum Tum Tugger!
"Listen, I must go." The cat said nothing but swished his tail again in derision and snorted in contempt. "Thank you, Mr. Tugger, but I must rush!"
And he sprinted away from the irritable tomcat. Damn you, Christine! Why do you speak you me in riddles? Where was sweet music's throne? Suddenly, a sharp flash back.
He leaps up onto the bank, leaving Christine in the boat. He turns swiftly, removing his cloak with a flourish. He gestured grandly to the organ and to the lair around him. In a booming voice he sings to her.
"I have brought you
To the seat of sweet music's throne
To this kingdom where all must pay homage to music
Music…"
She just stares at him, in awe and wonder…
He came back to reality with a jolt. Of course! His lair! She was in his lair! Oh, clever Christine! Did she really listen to him so damn closely? He laughed out loud. He could have sang! But he didn't. He saved his voice for his angel, his Christine…
He rushed back to the boat but changed his mind. No that would take too long. Instead he went to the cellar, made sure no one could see him and dropped into the trapdoor, falling a while through the air and landing cat like in his torture chamber.
This was the room he had forbidden Grizabella into. Even to stand in the darkness and seeing his face reflected a thousand times in the mirrors made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge. It was a small room, dark but at the flick of a switch it would flood with light. It was not filled with racks or thumbscrews or iron maidens, Eric couldn't waste his time with such brutal ways of keeping someone alive but in the worst pain imaginable.
No, it contains but one iron tree. It was crafted so it looked like a real tree, but it would never grow. A single Punjab lasso hung from its branches. The way it worked was so damn simple it made even the Phantom shiver. The temperature would slowly rise and as the victim began to hallucinate, the tree would be mirrored a thousand times, creating the illusion that they were in a forest. And as they began to beg for water and die of thirst, their only escape would be to confess their secrets. Or to hang yourself on the Punjab, only to see in ones final hour a thousand others writhing and jerking beside you
A terrible way to die, surely. He exited quickly wanting to spend as little time in the hell he had created as possible. And there was Christine. He stopped and gasped. She was so beautiful. Her porcelain features, her white and delicate hands, her shiny, silky hair, her bright jewel eyes, and her rose red lips. He thanked God for her beauty. The God who had betrayed him for He had sent his most beautiful angel to a man whom deserved nothing more than the foul pits of hell.
She was talking animatedly to Blake.
"Yes, I did enjoy singing in Don Juan secretly, though it was the most frightening part of my life. I was so terrified but something in his voice made me want him to sweep me up in his arms and…"
"But surely, you feared Raoul might kill him?" Blake asked, incredulous.
"Well, yes! But I had faith that…" then she noticed Eric. "Phantom!" she cried and ran, flinging herself into his outstretched arms and hugging him so tightly to her, she knocked his mask off. He stooped swiftly to retrieve it and replace it, gleaming, on his face.
She giggled. "Get rid of that silly thing," she said, trying to take the mask from his face but he cleared his throat and she remembered Blake.
He shrugged. "I can tell when I'm not wanted. But Christine, you must promise to tell me the rest of that phantastic story, okay?" he winked knowingly and she giggled again. "Eric…" he tipped his hat. "Can I use the boat?"
"Be my guest."
"Excellent!" and he was off and gone within minutes.
Finally, now he and Christine were together again, he relaxed. His heart pounded painfully in his chest and he was surprised she could not hear it.
"Now," she said, looking him in the eye. "Are you going to take that mask off or are we going to have to pretend I am the silly young chorus girl I once was and that you are still some Opera Ghost?"
"Er…" he didn't want to. He really didn't want to. She was in his grasp once more and he would do anything rather than lose her again. And to frighten her away with his face, now that would not do at all! "We will have to pretend…" he decided.
"No!" she insisted. "I will not remember you all those months with Raoul and then be denied to see you again when I think I have you to love again!"
"But, Christine…"
"No, Eric! When I look back on that mask I shudder with remembered fear but when I look back on your face I shudder with longing."
A lie! It had to be! No one could look on his face and still love him! No one!
"Why do you love me, Angel…?" he asked. "I must know!"
She pondered. "Lots of reasons. I love you because you have a magical voice. Because you play just like my father used to. Because you thrill me with your darkness and I love that. Because you have had no love before and you are so new to it, like a little child. And because if they way you stare at me nervously and then look away quickly when you think I've noticed. Because your love is pure and you have so much to share. I could go on, but I'd be boring you…"
He smiled. More a smirk than anything else. "Yet you fear me. You tremble at my touch like a new born lamb."
"No!" she cried. "I fear that mask, because it's not you but a fake the real you hides behind. When I see your face, I feel like we are equals. When you wear that mask, you are the Phantom of the Opera. Musician, artist, magician, composer and architect! When I see your face, you are Eric Destler, the man I love!"
"But Eric is an ugly freak!" he wailed. "A monster! The devils child!"
"And the Phantom is a cruel tyrant!" she shouted back. She had let go of him now and was backing away. "A murderer! A fanatic!"
He quietened. He understood now. No human could ever love a mask, but a face? That was different. He reached up and slowly took it away, revealing his red raw flesh and bulging eye and distorted lips. He beckoned her. "Will you ever forgive me, Christine?"
She moved back to him slowly and hesitant. "Remember that time I exposed you at Romeo and Juliet? Yes? Well, now we are even!" and she reached to touch his face, cupping it in her hands, she pulled it forward until their lips met. It was the second time she had kissed him but it wasn't any less electric, any less wonderful. His heart stopped, then started again, faster and harder. Fireworks exploded in his brain and he reached up, running his hands through her hair and down her back as he deepened the kiss.
When they separated, he shook his head, holding back such powerful emotion he felt he would explode. "How can you love me!?" he gasped. "You can't love me…!"
"It's enough that I do," she whispered.
He grinned.
"You alone can make my song take flightHelp me make the music of the night…"
His voice softened and he kissed her, long and sweet.
this might be the last chapter in this short story. But don't panic, i'm still thinking about writing more, you will know if i have changed my mind. Honestly i think if this is the end, then i have ended it quite abruptly, so never fear i probably will update it if i get a lot of reviews (hint... hint)...
Yours
The Phantom of Quill and Ink