Disclaimer: Of course I own nothing...none of us do...but Erik will eternally claim our hearts and dreams...
Chapter 11: The Phantom's Flight
Christine's heartbeats thundered in her ears as she and Erik made their roundabout way to her dressing room, through dark corridors that only he was familiar with. However, she trusted him completely, and so followed his unerring steps. His nearness always affected her with the headiest excitement, the most exquisitely dangerous thrill...
It was just as they were reaching her door that a soft voice hissed out at them from the darkness. Christine jumped, letting out a screech of fear, as Erik melted into the shadows.
The owner of the voice slowly crept toward Christine, calling her name. Christine began to calm immediately as she recognized Georgianne Bourgeault, one of the chorus members.
"I am here, Georgie!" Breathing out a sigh of relief, Christine turned to face the young singer. "What is it?"
"Oh, Christine!" The girl was breathless. She had obviously run to find Christine as soon as she could. The latter's alarm grew as she glimpsed Georgianne's face by the dim light of a gas lamp in the corridor.
"The Vicomte..." Georgianne was still too out of breath, so this was all she could manage to get out.
"Yes, yes, what is it? You are frightening me!" Christine interrupted, her alarm increasing as her heart again began thundering in her ears.
The girl took a deep breath, then blurted out, rather crossly, "Well, is it true, then?"
Christine's eyebrows drew into a puzzled frown. "Is what true, Georgianne?"
"That you and the Vicomte...well, he said that you were his fianceé ! He said that he wanted to further your career, that you were his protegé..."
A sudden howl, full of pain and fury, rose from the surrounding walls, enveloping them in its fearful intensity, and the echoes fled down the corridor, even as both girls screamed in fright. Then there was the most complete, deadly silence.
"Erik!" Christine cried out in anguish. She slowly began to sink into a swoon, even as Georgianne started to scream anew...
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He fled along the maze-like corridors, in and out of trap doors, in and out of his mind, his mind that knew what he was, what he would ever be...he was followed by the echoes of his past, the taunts and jibes of the gypsies that had long imprisoned him, the cruel laughter of the circus crowds that had stood, pitilessly, before his cage, refusing to see his humanity. He cursed the day of his birth, the mother he had barely known, the very God who had permitted this travesty of justice to occur...Never would he trust again, he vowed as he fled, in mortal agony...She had betrayed him, lied to him, pretended to love him...He was the world's worst fool...
The Vicomte's ridiculously handsome young face came before his mind's eye. He howled again, the scream of despair. Of course she loved the aristocrat! What was there not to love? The young man was not only pleasant to look at -- he had plenty of money as well, although Erik could boast of a plentiful hoard himself, thanks to his monthly "stipend" from the Opera's managers. Still, it could never compare with the Vicomte's wealth, which had been in his family for generations.
His mind roared, and he knew not what to do. That he would never harm the woman he adored, in spite of her lies, was a given. Yet, he had to do away with someone. Should he throttle the bothersome young man? He howled again as he recalled his promise to Christine, as well as Madame Giry. He was supposed to be starting a new life, one lacking any hint of criminality...no, he could not do away with the Vicomte...at least, not through outright murder...He could not think, he could not do anything but flee, as if he could escape from himself, from his own monstrosity...And so he screamed and screamed his anguish, and his screams tore through the entire Opera House, so that the members of the company crossed themselves in superstitious fear, whispering that the Phantom roamed tonight...
Madame Giry and her daughter, on their way to their own dressing rooms, shuddered, holding each other tightly.
'And so the Phantom returns...' thought Antoinette Giry, sadly. Somehow, she knew, Erik had heard the news.
He came at last to his own domain. Here he was safe, deep within the bowels of the Opera House. Here he reigned, in his little kingdom of darkness. Here he must go back to his sacred solitude, immersing himself once more in his music...
Swiftly alighting from his boat, he sprang to the organ. He was panting in fury, in deep, heart-stricken madness. He would play, he would make war with his music, he would destroy an uncaring world with his passion, his unrestrained genius.
His hands savagely came down on the keys, and the organ erupted in a violent stream of strident chords. He swept his hands up and down the keys, tearing at them, raping the vast instrument with his murderous fingers. Pipes screamed in protest as he forced air through them. He would let them all know...he would tell them, yes, he would, before they found his decomposing body in the lake...he would let them know that the monster was truly a human being who suffered, who lived and loved and died with one woman's name upon his grotesquely deformed lips...
"Christine!" He screamed out her name as his hands came down on the keys for the last time. He bowed his head over them, utterly spent, and then the sobs came, climbing up from his gut into his throat, and taking possession of his entire body. He wept as no normal man would, for he was a monster with the soul of an angel, a twisted, bitter angel who would never ascend to the very throne of Heaven's Lord...
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She awoke with a startled gasp upon her lips. Her eyes, opening suddenly, roamed the dimly-lit dressing room, to encounter the sleeping figure of Madame Giry, her head cushioned on her arms, her legs curled under her, as she half-reclined in an armchair.
"Christine..." The young diva looked up to encounter Meg's worried face.
"What...?" Her voice came out raspy and weak. "Erik..."
"I don't know where he is, Christine," Meg answered, her distress evident on her face. "Was he with you? You had left with the Vicomte, but then he came back..."
"Oh, no!" Christine's cry prompted Madame Giry to sit up abruptly, hurriedly stand, and rush to the small sofa where the girl lay.
"What is it, Christine? You have given us quite a fright, my dear! Are you all right?"
"Yes, yes...but Erik...oh, Mother Giry, where is Erik?" Her eyes, brimming with tears, fixed upon her adoptive mother's face.
Madame Giry's own eyes brimmed over. Taking Christine's hand, she sat down at her side.
"We haven't seen him," she answered, sadly. Then she repeated Meg's question: "Was he with you?"
Christine closed her eyes, allowing the tears to flow soflty down her cheeks. "Yes...he saw me with Raoul, who had brought me a bouquet of roses..." Her head, which she had raised slightly, slowly sank back onto the pillow.
Meg and her mother looked at each other, mystified.
"I thought...I thought Erik would do something violent...but he didn't...and the Vicomte left...but then...oh, oh, oh..."
"Christine," Meg asked, as calmly as she possibly could, "is it true that you and Raoul de Chagny are engaged? He announced it before all of us backstage."
Christine moved her head violently from side to side, sobbing. "No, no, no...why has he said such a thing? It is Erik I love...why has he done this, why?"
Meg took Christine's other hand, squeezing it. Everything was so confusing...First Christine had told her that she was betrothed to the Phantom of the Opera, no less, and now, one of the most well-known young aristocrats in all of France was claiming her as his own. Yet Christine was denying this. Meg shook her head sadly.
There was a knock on the door. Both Meg and her mother looked over at it. Meg arose, hoping it was the doctor they had sent for earlier.
She sucked in her breath as the door cracked open before she reached it.
"Is it Erik?" Christine asked, her voice strained.
It was the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny.
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The full moon rode the silvery clouds, and the swift breeze whipped his cape out behind him. He had dressed carefully, in his most elegant clothes. His shining black hair was impeccably styled, and he did not care that the wind ruffled it, alternately flinging it in front of his eyes, then behind his ears.
He had not been up on the roof for the longest time. Indeed, it had been much too long...He realized that he had missed the sharp, invigorating bite of the pure night air. He felt a kinship with the night. The darkness hid everything, even the foulest deeds. The night was his only true friend, the concelling darkness, his only mother.
Laughing, he threw his arms open to embrace the night. Giddily, he turned, then turned again, and yet again, until he had to stop, as dizziness briefly claimed him. A strange happiness abruptly bubbled up in him. Inexplicably, he felt free, completely free. He was the night, in all its ominous, dark splendor. He was a true son of darkness...He laughed and laughed, thinking that he might take wing, fly away with all the graceful majesty of an eagle, into the night's welcoming embrace...
He stood at the very edge of the roof now...he laughed again, and an answering laugh echoed in his mind. Free, so free, he felt. Truly free. He was invincible, his defenses were impenetrable. He was indomitable, unafraid. He peered over the edge of the roof, fearlessly. There was only more darkness down there. Just a short leap, after all...
He stepped back from the edge, frowning. Something was wrong here. He was not indomitable, unconquerable. He was simply a human being...but no, he had been denied his humanity, had he not? He had been scorned and shunned. The woman he loved had chosen another over him. That other was a man with normal features. She would be happier with him, after all...
He brushed these thoughts aside, and took a deep breath. Smiling bitterly, he remembered he was of the night. The night wanted him. He stepped up to the edge of the roof once more, preparing to sail out into the void...
