Meg was cold. She pulled her arms into her chest and struggled to fall back asleep. Beside her, Erik twitched and jerked in his spot. He still faced away from her, and he was clearly having a fitful dream.
Her discomfort would not allow her to find repose. She hesitated, needing to feel the warmth that she had quickly grown accustomed to. Cautiously, she turned her body over to face his; she scooted herself closer to him, without actually touching, and sighed in relief as she finally relaxed.
Erik's body seemed to respond to Meg's proximity. His spastic movements subsided.
Fury rolled through him in waves, as he watched the diva "la Carlotta" parade around in the ridiculous pink dress. Messieurs Andre and Firmin had directly disobeyed his casting orders.
Christine played the part of the mute pageboy well. Her expressions were perfectly exaggerated, her mannerisms masculine in the most comical way. But it was not the role she was meant to fill.
Everything would be made right in due time. He had made sure of that.
He entered Box Five, his usual viewing spot, only to find it already occupied. And not just anyone sat in his booth…it was the damned Vicomte. He exited as quickly and quietly as he had entered, not wishing to face Raoul at that time. Once he was at the top of the auditorium, on the balcony of the dome, he called out.
"DID I NOT INSTRUCT THAT BOX FIVE WAS TO BE LEFT EMPTY?"
"He's here, the Phantom of the Opera!"
His eyes darted down to the stage, where Meg stood stiffly and stared back up at him. How could she see him? He was supposed to be mostly hidden by the large crystal chandelier…
"It's him!" His songbird confirmed her friend's statement. It was not said in fear, but amazement. He longed to be nearer to her.
"YOUR part is SILENT…little toad!" Carlotta appeared to be mostly unruffled by the Phantom's voice. That was most unwise.
"A toad, madam?" The Phantom answered her softly, to himself. "Perhaps it is you who are the toad."
He watched with satisfaction as she took the spritzer from her assistant and coated her throat with the substance he had switched it with. She handed it back and did a couple of vocal exercises; when she was ready, she made her way back to the center of the stage and nodded at the conductor. The cheerful music started over.
"Poor fool he makes me laugh, ha ha ha ha ha! Ha-HUAAH! HUAAHH!"
The Phantom couldn't help but wince at the awful sound that echoed in the theatre. The concoction had worked better than he had anticipated.
The audience became agitated at the confusion onstage. Ladies fanned themselves profusely and twittered to their companions. The men shook their heads and joined in on the conversations around them. As the Phantom left the balcony, he heard the voices of the owners assuring the crowd that there would be a quick change in the casting: Miss Daae would return as the Countess.
As it should have been to begin with, he angrily thought.
Andre then promised the spectators that the ballet from the third act would provide entertainment, until the show was ready to resume. The Phantom had not prepared for that. But he was always amenable to change.
He heard footsteps fall behind him, and he allowed himself to be followed to the backstage rafters. Once there, though, the footsteps disappeared. He looked behind him, expecting to see the stagehand…but Joseph Buquet was nowhere to be seen.
On the stage below, the ballerinas and stage crew were haphazardly running around, trying to reset their previous positions, props, and backdrops. As he scanned the floor, he looked for the fair-haired ballet dancer that had announced his presence earlier. From his vantage point, he barely saw her blonde crown behind one of the large set pieces.
He swung through the ropes, from platform to platform, suddenly needing to see more of her.
When he was right over her, he saw that she wasn't alone.
That scoundrel, Buquet, held her hostage between the set and the wall. She was crying, but he was ignoring her pleas. He groped her and kissed her neckline aggressively.
Erik's fists clenched at his sides. On an adjacent platform, a harmless rope was coiled and waiting for use. He grabbed it and fashioned it into his favorite knot. With his familiar weapon in hand, he quietly made his way down one of the many rope and pulley lines. His mostly-black attire camouflaged his descent onto the backstage wing.
If the company was missing Meg onstage, they certainly weren't showing it. Even her own mother stared fretfully at the dancers engaging in the pastoral scene. Her daughter's absence was either unimportant or unnoticed. Either way, the Phantom of the Opera was not going to allow Buquet to hurt an innocent girl.
The meddling stagehand had crossed the line too many times, as far as Erik was concerned. If he was so keen on discovering the Opera Ghost, then Erik was more than willing to oblige…for a fee. Buquet's life was forfeit before he accosted Meg, but now the Phantom would find even more satisfaction in killing the wretch.
Meg's eyes were closed, while Joseph fondled her against the wall. When she opened them, Erik stared directly at her. First, she looked surprised, then fearful, and lastly, beseeching of the masked man that stealthily walked toward her. Erik grabbed the vile man's shoulder and pulled him off of the trembling girl. Buquet attempted to put his hand between the rope and his neck, remembering Madam Giry's last bit of advice…but his disorientated state could not match the Phantom's quick reflexes.
Erik squeezed the life out of him, not bothering to offer the man any explanation. The deed done, he let the body drop to the floor. Meg had turned away from the violence, so he pulled her from the wall and made her look at him.
She glanced down at the body and shuddered, but the look she gave the Phantom was one of relief.
"It's finally over," she whispered.
She embraced him, then, much to his surprise. He held her tenderly, worried for her mental state. When she pulled away, he readied himself to warn or threaten her, but her grateful smile halted his thoughts. With one of her dainty hands, she cupped his unblemished cheek and stood en pointe to kiss his lips with her own.
He relished the intimacy, kissing her back forcefully, as his arms wrapped around her in a protective embrace. Coming up for air, the unlikely couple stepped away from each other, realizing the moment had ended. Meg placed a hand over her heart and nodded to him. She ran off, presumably to rejoin her corps.
The body of Joseph Buquet was nowhere to be seen, but, when he looked up, he saw that the lifeless form was suspended from the rafters…as he had originally envisioned it. He climbed the rope he had previously climbed down and jumped from platform to platform. Using the knife at his belt, he cut the top of the noose, so that everyone would see the Punjab lasso around his worthless neck.
The corpse fell straight down, narrowly missing a couple of the dancers onstage. It landed with a sickening thud and screams soon followed. Andre, Firmin, and the Vicomte ran down to the stage from their boxes to investigate. Erik remained in the rafters, looking for Christine.
She fled from the stage, pulling behind her a very confused Raoul. They were heading for the spiral staircase, which would lead them to the rooftop of the Opera Populaire. He used an alternate route and hid his presence from them.
"Christine!" The Vicomte called out in the bitterly cold air. "There is no Phantom of the Opera…"
Christine spun around to face him, desperate to make him understand.
"Raoul, I've been there, to his world of unending night!" She continued on to vaguely describe his domain…his hideous face.
Erik despaired. How could she be so cruel? His hopes resurged, when she spoke of his voice and the effect that it had had on her. Raoul maintained that her memories of the Phantom were merely dreams. Christine spoke of his eyes, mostly to herself, remembering how he looked at her in a way that was both pleading and threatening at the same time. She wasn't wrong.
"Christine, Christine," the Vicomte pleaded.
"Christine…" the Opera Ghost chimed in, his own plea mostly muffled by the snow. But she had heard it. She searched her surroundings for him, for her Angel of Music, before being stilled by Raoul.
The Phantom listened as they sang of their love for one another. It was… disgusting… enviable… magnificent. On that snowy rooftop, the Vicomte proposed to Christine and she graciously accepted. She dropped the Phantom's gift to her, a single red rose, onto the white ground and left with her fiancé.
After they had gone, he retrieved the rose. It was his own sign of devotion and love to his angel. How dare she just cast it aside! In his mind, the echoes of their declarations haunted him. She had denied him in every way possible: his love, his power over her, and his very existence. He crumpled the rose's petals in his gloved hand. Bits of red rained down through his fingers. The petals were the pieces of his broken heart.
He ran up to the closest statue and called out a warning to the whole of Paris.
"You will curse the day you did not do all that the Phantom asked of you!"
When he turned back to the rooftop, Meg Giry was standing before him. He was in no mood to see her; his energies were better used for revenge at the moment…and he didn't want her to find out what would happen if she got in the way.
She nodded in understanding and stepped to the side. She was still in her pastoral costume. The stupid girl hadn't thought to grab a cloak, before heading out into freezing temperatures. Erik sighed and pulled off his cape. He wrapped it around her petite frame. As he did so, he noticed that she carried a red rose in her hands.
He looked to where the rose he had destroyed was resting, but it was not there. Not one fractured petal. The flower Meg held had the same black ribbon he placed on every rose to Christine.
Shaking his head, he passed her. Before he exited the roof, he called out to her.
"I'll be taking that back, eventually, so don't get too attached." He meant the cape, of course, but he had forgotten to clarify that fact.
He didn't turn to look back at her, but he somehow knew that she was smiling.
Erik woke in a daze, peacefully coming back from the dream world. He struggled to remember as many details as he could. It had been another dream of…
He froze, then, feeling the arm wrapped around his mid-section. Behind him, the girl's breathing was still even and deep. He placed his arm over hers, holding her hand to him. He was well-rested, now, and did not need more sleep. But he couldn't bring himself to move her. The affection, although most likely an accident and innocent in intention, was comforting.
He amused himself by imagining her reaction upon waking. There were a great many responses she could give, as the result of being in such a compromising position.
When that amusement subsided, Erik began to compose simple melodies in his head. Something easy…something that anyone could sing…even a prima ballerina whose voice could never match her dance ability.
"We bring glamour from afar, plus a touch of the bizarre, and it's only for you!"
Meg would open his show. Not as the hostess, but as an exciting act that would draw a large crowd. She was young, beautiful, and talented. Men would line up to be able to watch her perform. Assuming, of course, that she was cooperative. There would have to be other girls, as well. A whole troupe of dancers. He would need to hire a choreographer…unless Meg felt herself to be qualified…
His musings were halted when he felt the girl's small arm pulling away from his mid-section. He held it in place.
"Please, Erik, let me go."
The Phantom's hold did not budge.
"I awoke to your arm wrapped around my waist, Miss Giry," he elucidated. "Don't blame your actions on me. I granted you space. Apparently, either consciously or subconsciously, you did not want it."
She pulled harder, in response, and he let her go.
Erik sat up and put his mask on. As he lit the lantern, the first noises could be heard of the daytime crew taking up their duties. He moved from the bed and pulled out blank papers and a pen. When he looked up at Meg, she was looking at the table.
He looked back down at the paper and let the melody he had loosely composed take form. First, the lyrics, written as prose; on a second page, the beginnings of sheet music accompanied the words he had written.
"I know you don't want to hear it, but I would like to know something about Christine."
The Phantom looked up at her, surprised at both the subject and the direct tone of her statement. He nodded for her to continue.
"Christine, when you returned her, after Hannibal…" she bit her lip, hesitant about how to phrase her question. "Um, she told me what it was like…with you. She said there was beauty everywhere, and that everything around her was…magical…elegant…mysterious."
Erik's jaw tensed. He knew where this conversation was leading.
"She also said that, when you touched her, her whole body was incredibly…sensitive to your caress. It was the same when she touched you…"
His heartbeat quickened, beginning to be aroused by the memory of holding Christine in his arms.
"But, when I went through the mirror to try to find her, I saw nothing of what she described. It was dark, not light. There were cobwebs everywhere, rats scurried about…"
She worried her lip, again. She had started the conversation, she couldn't abandon her inquiry. But the implication, the accusation…if she was wrong, he would be furious. And if she was right, he would most likely still be furious at her pointing it out.
"How could she and I have two such different points of view? Did you take her on an alternate route? Or…"
The Phantom smirked, pleased that she had finally reached the end of her train of thought.
"Did you…did you do…something…to make her see and feel differently?"
"Yes," he replied.
She hadn't anticipated that he would answer so nonchalantly.
"And…what did you do, then?"
"After she saw me for the first time, I pushed the mirror aside. When it did, a small amount of smoke wafted through the air. It was laced with a hallucinogen."
"A what?"
"A drug, Miss Giry."
Meg's eyes went wide and she gasped.
"You drugged her? How could you? Why-"
"Before you become indignant at something that has nothing to do with you, allow me to explain further. When the Vicomte came to my Opera House, I was forced to improvise. I needed Christine to be…manageable. I measured out the dose very carefully, wishing her to still be as lucid as possible. She was never in any danger."
"She also told me that you must have lain her down on the large swan bed. When she awoke, she felt back to her senses. I guess the drug wore off? Did you do anything to her, while it was still in her system?"
Erik's lip curled in disgust.
"I would never-"
"Just with me, then? Thank goodness I wasn't drugged when I awoke to you molesting me!"
The Phantom's expression cooled. His eyes fixated on the blonde vixen before him.
"I did apologize, if you will recall. And I would not have taken advantage of you further, without your consent."
"You shall never have it," Meg glared back.
Erik took the papers he had been working on and crumpled them into trash. The wads of parchment were thrown into a pile with the other rejected ideas.
"We will not be on this boat for more than a week. Remember what I said: your livelihood will be determined by your decisions. If you can endure the rest of this trip with me, proving yourself to be obedient, then I will make sure you have your own room in New York."
He stood over her to intimidate her, and she looked up at him with wide eyes.
"If you are subordinate in any way, I will not hesitate to make our room your prison cell. Choose your words and actions wisely, Miss Giry, or you may never make it off of this ship!"