Ok, this is my favourite chapter. We have senseofhumour!Erik and makesafoolofhimself!Erik. One part in here had me in hysterics while I was writing it. However, we do have a serious bit where we find out why Erik is still here. Omg, (incredibly vague) plotline! Hope you all like it!
In His Darkness…
When we got to box five, Monique entered nervously. She looked carefully around the box before letting me inside. I sighed impatiently, putting on the air of someone who is only going through with this to humour her friend.
"There!" she said triumphantly, pointing to the foremost chair.
I stepped forward to look. A programme from the night before was resting on the chair.
"Where?" I asked, confusedly.
"The programme!" she said excitedly.
I picked it up and looked at it. It was just an ordinary programme. Just as I was about to tell this to Monique, and silently 'congratulate' Erik on his carelessness, I saw a rose drawn on the corner of the front page. It was a simple design-just a few black lines to give the impression of a rose-but one I had seen many times on Erik's manuscripts and on the flyleaf of his books. I looked up at Monique and said, in a flat unenthusiastic voice, "It's a programme."
"But…the rose!" she said, looking crushed.
"Oh, anyone could have drawn that," I said putting the programme down on the chair.
"Not just anyone."
"Of course it could have been anyone. I could draw that if I wanted to." I turned round to see that Monique had gone even paler than usual. "Are you all right?" I asked concernedly.
"I didn't say that."
"Say what?"
"'Not just anyone'. That was not me."
"Who was it then? The opera ghost?" I said disdainfully.
"Yes."
Monique gave a strangled squeak and rushed out of the box. I peered out of the door to see her practically running along the hall. I stepped back into the box and shook my head. I could hear faint chuckling from one of the columns. On the pretext of cleaning some of the gold next to it, I whispered, "You are an evil git, you know that?"
"That was fun," Erik replied. I could hear the smile in his voice.
"How did you get in there anyway?"
There wasa soft click and a wood panel next to the column slid open. Erik's head poked round the edge of the gap. "I can't come out any further in case anyone sees me."
"You didn't care when Monique saw you."
He shrugged. "I have to keep up my reputation as a ghost somehow."
I grinned at him and he smiled back. "Look," I said, "I'm coming straight home after I've finished. I'm exhausted. I didn't sleep too well last night."
"Really? Why?"
I shrugged. "I'll tell you later," I replied, knowing full well that I wasn't.
His brow wrinkled but he quelled his curiosity and said, "Fine. I'll see you in a few hours then."
"Yep, see you in a bit." He made to move back inside the panel but I stopped him. "Wait. How are you getting back? Through the walls?"
He tapped the side of his nose. "I have my ways," and disappeared. The panel slid shut with a click and I continued with my cleaning.
When I had finished box five, I leant over the front of the box and called, "Monique?"
A few of the cleaners looked up at me but I couldn't see Monique's flaming hair amongst any of them.
"Pierre!" I called. "Oú est Monique?"
"Je ne sais pas, Marguerite. I look for her, yes?" he replied eagerly.
"Non, merci, Pierre. C'est bon."
He shrugged and turned back to his work. Pierre was a very sweet 24-yr old singer who had just joined us after Erik had managed to scare away another two cleaners-Thierry and Marie. With his thick black hair, dark brown eyes and straight black brows, he could turn heads no matter what he was wearing. Mind you, you'd be hard pressed to find something that didn't flatter that gorgeous figure. He has a beautiful voice but I kept getting the distinct impression that he had a crush on me or Monique, or was harbouring fantasies involving the two of us and a large pool of jelly. The way he looked at us sometimes when we walked in together with our arms linked gave me the creeps.
I peered outside the box. "Monique?" I called again.
"Yes?" she called back.
"Where are you?"
"Box seven."
"What about box six?"
"Bugger box six."
"Sounds painful," I mumbled to myself as I gathered our cleaning materials and made my way along the corridor.
-8 -
When our shift had finished, I told Monique that I was going to practise in the old dressing room so that we didn't leave together. I waited five minutes and left, waving to the porter before doubling back around the side of the opera house and going down the stone steps. I know it may seem odd; leaving the opera house only to sneak back into it again but I had to be seen to have left, otherwise they might start a search party or something. Erik hadn't told me to do this, I did it anyway.
When I got back to the house, Erik wasn't there. It didn't bother me too much; he often went off for a bit to haunt the opera house. I went to my room and unpacked my shopping-a few DVDS, another James Patterson novel and some warm clothes. I sat down on my bed and wrote a reply to my parents telling them that I had moved but I wasn't telling them my address because I didn't want them to spring any surprise visits on me, and that Guillaume was perfectly happy to send on any letters. I didn't think it was going to go down very well with my dad, as now he couldn't come and fetch me home like I knew he was itching to do.
Just as I had finished writing the letter, there was a loud crack, a surprised yell and a splash from the main cavern. I went out curiously and found Erik standing in the boat, except the sides of the boat came up to his knees. He was looking down at the boat angrily. Resisting the urge to burst into hysterical laughter, I said, "Are you ok?"
"The boat broke," he said looking up at me, his face a mixture of surprise, anger and confusion.
"Mm-hmm," I said with my lips pressed together tightly to stop myself from laughing. Unfortunately, it didn't help and I burst out laughing at the expression on his face. When I had just about stopped laughing, I slipped off my shoes and socks, rolled up my jeans and stepped into the lake to help Erik out of the boat. I steadied the boat with my foot and held out my hand so he could lean on me while he freed his legs. We waded to the side of the lake and Erik pulled off his shoes and socks. Before turning back to the boat and glaring at it as it sunk slowly under the surface of the water. The lake is fairly deep; just deep enough to swim in if the urge took you. Not that it would in the winter.
"Well," I said, trying not to laugh too much, "it is very old."
"I'm very old but I'm not falling apart," he snapped. "And stop laughing! I need that boat."
"I'm not laughing at the boat," I said. "I'm laughing at the expression on your face when the bottom fell out." I dissolved into giggles again as he glowered at me. "Oh, go and get changed," I said, shoving him into the lake again and walking back to my room to find a towel to dry my feet.
As I dried my feet, I started thinking about what he had said. He may have been around for 150 years, but he was a very sprightly 150-year-old. I didn't really understand why he was still around but, to be honest, I wasn't all that bothered. My wish had come true and I didn't want to question it. However, when I went outside and found him in the lounge, still fuming, my mouth decided to take leave of my brain.
"So, how old are you?" I asked, sitting down in the empty chair opposite and curling my legs up under me.
He sighed. "Do you want my age or how many years I've been alive?"
I paused. "Aren't they the same thing?"
"You'd think so, wouldn't you."
"Yes. So tell me both."
"Well, I've been alive for 150 years, apart from one day," he added, "but my age is thirty-seven."
I nodded, trying to figure out why there was 113 years difference between the two figures. "Care to explain why?"
"Not particularly."
"Oh." I wriggled around in my chair trying to keep quiet but he read my mind.
"But since you're obviously bursting to know…" he took a deep breath and settled back in the chair with his eyes closed. "March 12th, 1895. I remember it like it was yesterday. Well, I don't really because I was at death's door. I'd been bedridden for two weeks with Mme. Perraux, Guillaume's great-great-grandmother, looking after me. I say 'bedridden', it should really be 'coffin-ridden'. I slept in a coffin back then-Leroux did get something right, that idiotic popinjay. In the evening, I remember having another attack, a big one. It knocked me over the edge. Mme Perraux couldn't do anything to help so I died.
I always thought that dying would involve lots of white light, harps and fluffy clouds. It doesn't, I'm sorry to say-at least, mine didn't. I went…somewhere. I suppose you would call it limbo-it's not heaven, it's not hell but it isn't earth. And technically I wasn't dead either, but nor was I alive. I was greeted by a spirit, the Spirit of The End. She is the person who decides by looking into your heart and soul whether you go to heaven or hell for all eternity. She looked at me and saw…everything," his voice became hoarse and he sounded as though he was holding back tears. "Everything I've ever done. Every wicked thing, every order I've made, every…murder. She looked into my heart and found nothing but hatred and disdain for my fellow man. She found no trace of love or pity. I knew where she would send me," he said, his voice becoming stronger but staying flat and unemotional. "I knew I was going to hell. I knew it. But do you know what she did? She spoke to me. Normally, she doesn't speak, she just points people in the direction where they have to go, but she spoke to me. She said, God I can remember every word, she said, "I have never seen anyone who hasn't loved. I have never seen anyone whose heart is so full of hatred for mankind. I pity you." And then she gave me a choice; either I could die and go to hell, or I could live forever. I told her that I wanted to do neither of those things. So we made a bargain; I could return to earth until I found someone who I could truly fall in love with and who could love me in return. When I find them, I become truly alive again and start to age. At the moment, I can't die. I can't be killed. I would have died a few times during the Great Wars if it wasn't for the bargain. I agreed to it because there was someone else who I wanted to send to heaven, even though I knew I would never find anyone to love me once they'd seen this," he gestured to the mask.
"So that's why I'm here," he concluded. "Why I'm still here. And why I'm going to be here forever."
"You won't be here forever," I whispered hoarsely, brushing away the tears that had run down my cheeks.
"I will," he replied flatly, opening his eyes for the first time since he began speaking and looked straight at me. "No-one will ever fall in love with me when I look like this."
"If looks are important to her," I said quietly, "then she's not worth it."
He sighed and looked down at his hands where they were folded on his lap. I sat watching him until he raised one of his hands and brushed it across his bare cheek.
"Are you ok?" I asked softly.
He nodded fervently.
I stood up and walked over to where he was sitting. I knelt next to his chair and looked up at his face. There were tears running down his face. I knelt up and took his chin in my hand, lifting his head up so he had to look at me. With my other hand I brushed away the tears on his cheek. When they had gone, I took a slow, deep breath and tentatively reached towards the edge of the mask. His hands jerked reflexively in his lap and I put my left hand on top of his gently. I ran my right hand over the top edge of the mask and he closed his eyes. Biting my lip, I slid a fingernail under the mask and pulled it off in one fluid motion.
-8 -
And I do believe that is the perfect place to finish. Yes, I know, cliffy. Sorry. I want reviews! No reviews no updates!