Sorry again for the late update. I'm sad to say that my story has hit an all time new low when it comes to views. No one is really reading this much anymore. I'm sure 90% is due to the fact that I can't update as quickly as I used to, but that's just part of life, unfortunately. I really do wish I could update as often as I used to, but I simply can't anymore. I've been writing as much as possible before and after my shifts at work, trying to get ahead so I can update a little more frequently. I've been going in and out of "ruts" (AKA writer's block). I'll sometimes go a week or so without touching my story because it saddens me that I've lost a good 85% of my readers or so, but then I eventually hit a surge of inspiration to keep on moving forward. I thanks those who have stuck around. Thank you for your kind words, and for each person that still clicks on my latest updates. You're the reason why I'm still updating. I'm still trying, even if it seems like each update takes forever.
On a more positive note, I've got a good head start with at least the next chapter (it's pretty much done). This chapter is named after "Bad Dream" by Ruelle. I discovered it recently, and I've been listening to it an unhealthy amount of times. I feel it fits Clare's situation perfectly.
I do not own the Phantom of the Opera, or any of Ruelle's music. I only own my OC's.
Enjoy!
. . .
I spent the next several hours merely reading. It was escapism with the exception of the few times I suddenly remembered my true location when reading - that I was not in Paris, France, but rather this delusional man's house. While I read this novel partially for escapism, I also used it to find answers to Erik's past. Although with that said, I remained skeptical. Who was to say everything I read in it was true? I thought back to my visits to Erik's world. Had I been traveling to the past, or a fictional world?
With that thought at the back of my mind, I read onwards with wariness. Erik's actions revolted me. His hauntings at the Opera House enraged me - it seemed accurate to what Erik had told me in person. The ridiculous "salary" he demanded was mentioned in the novel, making me wonder if all of his tricks held some truth as well. With each letter he had written to the managers, I felt my heart sink in my chest. At the mention of the death of a stagehand, my stomach turned, and I felt compelled to close the book.
No. I told myself. I must try to learn the truth. Even if it's painful.
Was this the man Erik had murdered in real life? If so, was he just one of many? The book never said Erik killed this Buquet. Part of me said, mostly in pure denial. It's simply assumed.
I knew in my heart that for the sake of telling a good story, the novel was implying that Erik was responsible for the man's death. I hated there was no explanation for it. It truly did make him seem more like a monster than a man.
I felt a strange sense of hollow pity for Erik during Apollo's Lyre. Part of me felt sympathy for him, but I also found his behavior towards everyone else to be far too loathsome to redeem him. I wasn't sure how to feel about the idea of him falling in love with Christine primarily because of her voice. It didn't exactly sound like love as much as infatuation. I knew Erik certainly never could have fallen in love with me for my voice. I did not possess a natural talent for singing - or any musical talent for that matter. I wondered if he had ever felt cheated out of being with someone more fit for him. We could never allow our souls to soar and twine together through music. He could effortlessly caress me with his voice, but I knew I would never be able to inspire him with my own voice. Not like how Christine had.
No point in fretting over swooning a murderer. My mind whispered. You're not honestly going to stay with him, are you? My stomach twisted.
I don't even know why he has committed murder. I never heard the details. And the novel certainly didn't help to explain either. It may have been out of self defense for all I know.
That certainly isn't the case in Leroux's novel. My mind shot back.
To hell with that. Another side of my me growled back. Erik's real life deformity doesn't even match with his character in the novel. So much for accuracy.
Still. My mind argued back. Erik admitted to terrorizing the managers for a 20,000 francs salary he doesn't even deserve.
I didn't know which side to listen to. The side of me who came to my fiancé's defense, or the side that pointed out the Phantom's sins. Both had valid points. Regardless, whether I approved or disapproved of Erik's past deeds, there was no way for me to tell him. I wondered if I would ever grasp the opportunity. I instead continued to read, knowing that being torn over whether to forgive Erik or not was redundant at this point in time.
From the letters I had written years ago, I recalled reading about my disdain for Christine for breaking Erik's heart. I remembered sitting on the swan bed as I read my old letters. I remembered how Erik had paced back and forth as I read them, eager for there to be a spark of a memory - a memory that never resurfaced. Instead, I had merely sat there reading about the grief that was brought upon Erik by Christine, for what felt like the first time.
Reading the novel, I felt differently. To my surprise, I did not loathe her. She was a human being like anyone else. While Erik's story was tragic, there was no reason for her to chain herself to someone she did not love. To someone she feared. It was not right to hold her responsible for his pain. She did not wickedly desire to shatter his soul. She merely desired a happy life like anyone else. She desired to be in the arms of someone she loved.
To be cross with her "selfishness" was unfair. If anyone deserved to be selfish, it was when it came to love. Everyone deserved to be with someone they loved, as long as the other was willing to exchange their heart in return. No one deserved to be with someone merely out of fear of leaving and/or for the sake of hurting their feelings. To be alone is better than to linger in a hollow relationship. And for that, I could not hate nor blame Christine for her actions.
In fact, I felt much like Christine - being trapped in the home of my capture. I wondered if this doppelgänger would also become ugly with rage if I stripped away his mask, much like the Erik in Leroux's novel. What was his reasoning for wearing a mask? I wouldn't have been in the least bit surprised if he did not bear a deformity. Who's to say he wasn't merely obsessed with the Phantom of the Opera? Maybe he was a diehard fan. Tack on whatever mental illness this doppelgänger had, he was not only willing to wear a mask everywhere, but also abduct people. I wouldn't put it past him. I wondered if Erik was even his real name.
While I adored the beauty of fictional universes, sometimes fiction could become a horrible curse. That is, if it fueled the imagination of those with bad intentions. I shuddered even though the room was not cold. I wondered if this doppelgänger was determined to play out the same roles at the Phantom in this novel. Was that why he took me?
I imagined putting myself in Christine's shoes and yanking the mask from the doppelgänger's face. What if he had the same deformity as the Erik I knew? What if they were somehow the same person?
No. I realized. If that had been the case, he would have told me who he truly was, rather than allowing me to live in great fear here. He saw how terrified I was when I arrived in his time, in tears, explaining my hellish situation. I knew he wouldn't intentionally put myself in a horrific and extreme situation as this. Unless he had wondered off into the deep end.
Erik can't even time travel like how you can. My mind pointed out. Unless he had figured out a way to come to this time period after all. He would have told you. My mind pressed, and I knew it was true. This doppelgänger couldn't also be the same man as my fiancé when they both had different pasts. One I met upon stumbling into his time. The other I apparently went to high school with. Odd, since I didn't recall ever seeing him on campus. He must have been a senior when I was a freshman.
If they had truly been the same person, Erik would have been doing everything he could to make me remember him. Not reinventing himself only to confuse and terrify me.
I realized that I had pulled my attention from the small novel, my eyes blindly wandering upon the books that lined the shelves of the dark bookcase, deeply immersed in thought. Who was to say that alternate realities and/or dimensions didn't exist, since time travel did? Was this doppelgänger Erik from another dimension? What other abstract concepts of life lurked besides time travel? Were there more sci-fi and fantasy-like elements out there that failed to meet the eye? My mind imagined super heroes and vampires.
I mentally shook my head at the thought. Sometimes I truly had an over active imagination. I was about to refocus on the novel when a loud ringing startled me, a gasp escaping from my lips.
"Dammit." Erik's doppelgänger growled under his breath, fishing into his pocket. I recognized the familiar sound, and he pulled my cell phone out. Ice water felt to have ran through my veins to see that he had still been carrying my phone this entire time. It had only chimed once, indicating a text message. He sat his book down, his eyes flickering back and forth as he read the message silently. I waited for him to say something as he read it, his eyes squinted a little as he observed the screen. My heart throbbed in anticipation.
"What is it?" I asked once I had grown tired of the quiet suspense. "What does it say?" It felt odd to even be addressing him. I practically regretted even speaking to him once the words left my lips. I wanted to cringe for slipping up like that.
His blue eyes flicked up briefly, clashing with mine before they returned to the glowing screen of my phone that illuminated his face with a white glow.
"It's Mina," his voice sounded flat and lifeless - almost bored. "she wants to know how you're doing, and when you're coming back." My gut felt as if it wrenched, and my throat tightened. I was surprised she hadn't tried to contact me sooner. She must have been trying to give me space.
I'm doing terrible. I wanted to say. You'd never guess, but my date is a lunatic and kidnapped me. If only I truly was at my parents house right now.
I wanted to attack him for my phone. All I had to dial were the three simple numbers of 911. It would all be so easy. And yet, so terrifyingly risky. I made the mental note to call the police once he trusted me. That is, if he was stupid enough to let his guard down.
I watched his thumbs move, texting back a message I could not see. I was surprised he was bothering to reply back.
"What are you doing?" My voice came out more panicked than I intended. I tried to swallow back my trepidation.
"I'm pretending to be you." He stated the obvious before continuing on. "And I'm explaining that you're staying with your parents longer because you're not feeling well." Damn right I don't feel good. That tends to happen when you're dragged somewhere against your will.
"I'm supposed to work tomorrow." I stupidly stated, as if that would somehow make a difference.
"Well then," he calmly said, tucking my phone back into his pocket. "tomorrow you will continue to be 'sick', as well as the rest of the week." My eyes burned, loathing his plan - hell, loathing him as a person.
"And what about after then? I can't be 'sick' forever." I stubbornly argued, my voice thick as I tried to smother my overwrought emotions that were threatening to spill over. Had he thought that far ahead?
I wished I could merely gaze into his eyes to see what was lurking in his mind. I wondered if his intentions swam in his head like sharks. His expression seemed hard, but his eyes looked blank. It always seemed that way when I was in his presence. I wondered if it ever softened when I wasn't in the room. Looking at him now, it was the first time I had looked long enough to realize he had dark circles under his eyes. He seemed dead inside.
"By then it won't matter."
I felt my eyes widen, horror gripping me. I'm going to die. My soul felt as if it wanted to leap from my bones and rip free from my flesh to make a mad dash for the nearest exit. And yet, my body was unmovable like a rusted piece of machinery. I knew I had to escape before a week's length came around.
His visible eyebrow furrowed as he studied me. My horror must've been evident on my pale face. As if he had read my mind, he sighed and rolled his eyes slightly.
"My goodness, child, I'm not going to harm you."
"Sure." My voice wavered uncontrollably. "You won't."
"Alright, let me put it this way," he said, sounding exasperated at this point. "I'm not going to allow anyone to hurt you." A part of me knew he could have been lying when he said that. They were merely words after all. Why trust the words of a kidnapper?
Well in all fairness, he's kept his word so far about not hurting you physically. . .Minus the inured wrists and ankles. . .But those are nothing in comparison to being trapped here.
"You say that, and yet you've already hurt me yourself." I took a steadier hold of my voice, trying to remain strong when I wanted to hug my knees to my chest and blubber like a baby. "If you truly care for me, let me go." Although I felt too sick to look at him, I could feel his powerful eyes. There was a silence that filled the room, and I knew he would not fulfill my wish.
"You know I can't do that."
A deep sense of homesickness set in, feeling almost like a fever that would ransack my body until I would be left exhausted by it's merciless presence. I was once more a child yearning to find their way back home. A home I would never return to. My lip quivered, my sight becoming blurry. I tried to take deep breaths, but they wanted to be drawn in by choppy segments.
Don't you dare be weak in front of him. I knew he could only see the side of me, and I was grateful that my hair was down, shielding my face from his eyes.
"Now," he began in a surprisingly softer tone. "it won't be all that bad, you'll see. You'll get used to living here, eventually." Used to it, huh? He was obviously hoping for stockholm syndrome to take effect.
Tough luck. Because I hate you. My mind growled angrily. Why would I grow to love someone who's clipped my wings?
"I'll allow you to see the rest of the house soon. Maybe you'll feel more at home, then. You may even prefer living here." I couldn't stop myself from shooting a burning glare at him. To my shallow disappointment, his eyes were averted, missing my piercing glance. He was gazing down towards his book, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of the black cover.
I drew my attention towards the bookcase, not wanting to look at him any longer. I tried to calm the tremor that shook through my body. I didn't know I could feel this much rage. He obviously didn't know what it was like to have loved ones to return to. Ones that you want to return to. I took several deep breaths, swallowing back the lump in my throat.
"And what about family and friends?" My voice came out low, trying not to have a melt down. I felt as if I kept having to pull back on an imaginary pair of reins, trying to tame the wild emotions that were tugging savagely to break free. "Have you even thought that far ahead?" Mina was already suspicious - that I could detect in her voice from our last interaction on the phone. It wouldn't take long before her and Veronica figured out that I wasn't at my parents house.
"Disappearances occur." He simply stated in a matter-of-fact tone, flipping back to where he left off in his book. "Some people run away. Some mysteriously die. We'll just have to let your family and friends assume either one of the two." Simultaneously, both a chill ran up my spine by his apathetic plan, and a wave of disgust and anger burned in my soul like a glowing ember. Ugly emotions swirled in my body, and yet I felt numb. I didn't want to believe that any of this was real.
My family and friends would know that I wouldn't have ran away. There was no reason to. I had always been close with all of them. My parents were the only family I had by blood, and both Mina and Veronica were like the sisters I never had.
The only reason I could imagine them suspecting that I had run away was the fact that through both Mina and Veronica's eyes, I had been acting oddly lately. Being on edge, waking up on the bathroom floor. . .All of which was basically Erik's fault for haunting me. Not that they had known that, of course. It didn't help that I had asked to see Mina's mother's card, pondering over seeking out help. Deep down, they probably feared I was beginning to lose it.
My heart throbbed in my chest by the thought of my poor parents. I couldn't imagine being a parent, losing my only child. Especially when there was no other family to gravitate towards when tragedy struck.
I wondered how long it would be before someone realized I was truly gone.
. . .
Yay for awkward endings for chapters! Sorry, I would've liked to leave it off at a better spot, but that would've required writing another ten pages or so - all of which are going to be saved for the next chapter! On the bright side, I have the next chapter pretty much done, I'm just trying to write ahead the best I can.
So what do you guys think of Erik 2.0? What do you feel are his intentions? Do you think Mina will believe Clare's forged text message? Welp, continuing following this story and you'll eventually find out. I only say "eventually" because it takes me forever to update nowadays. There will be answers, though! That, I can promise.
Thank you for reading! Pretty please review, and you'll be my favorite person ever.
