Loup Égaré
Authoress' Note: So, the false nose thing was a thing that I always enjoyed about the Leroux novel—and it makes sense. Erik couldn't get all that he needed by writing out orders to Madame Giry and the like, some stuff he'd have to go out and get. Course it wouldn't last all that long and the process of the prosthetic being put on would be hard for the phantom—mainly having to look at his own face—so unfortunately it isn't passable enough to get him out and around people except at night when the lights are dim, and it's really hard to see. I debated for a good few hours on the last scene in the last chapter, about Kit hugging him, but decided to go with it. The original scene had her just go into the sitting room with wet eyes, have her thank him and then they would have continued on. I hammered this chapter while pushing through some writers block, so I hope that it's not too bad of a chapter...I'm also uploading this around 5 am. I didn't quite get to Il Muto, but this scene was a necessary one. Unfortunately though, not everything can stay pleasant, as things are about to get action packed with Il Muto about to debut. I hope you enjoy the chapter!
Rating: M (Warnings in first chapter)
Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.
Two weeks had passed, Il Muto looming closer and closer.
Erik was irritated—the managers had not listened, and it seemed they weren't going to change their mind. Today was the day of the debut, and Kit was feeling jittery, and having a hard time focusing with all she knew would happen that evening. She had been feeling stressed and worried the past week, and while she was beginning to show her reluctance more clearly in the morning lessons with the phantom—mainly because of nightmares that had been cropping up lately. The phantom had woken her from a few when she had gotten particularly loud, but she had bitten her tongue and refused to speak on any of them.
Tension was growing thicker in the house many floors below the stage.
The masked phantom at the piano pushed forward through the lessons though she was quite hesitant and distracted, especially today. He did not question her reluctance as of yet, and he would stop her and explain what he needed her to do, correcting her posture—though he admitted that it was only slightly off—and such things. The interruptions were frequent and that disheartened the redhead further as she had thought she had been doing so well with the pieces they had been working on, but she knew her host was a perfectionist.
'I hope he realizes you are still incapable of such a thing, even after so much effort of his,'the thing laughed next to her ear.
Kit steadfastly ignored the jarring voice, the cackles brushing against her consciousness. She twitched when she nearly felt hot breath fan over the side of her neck, but this kept happening more and more. Kit felt like she was going more crazy than usual.
She tried to keep her composure that was ever worsening as she kept failing, even as she wiped at her nose and blinked back tears that pricked at her eyes, desperately hoping that her host did not notice how pathetic she was though she had little hope of reality being so kind.
Erik stopped. "No, no, mademoiselle, you need to get more breath support for this part. Breathe from here," He insisted, putting his fist about level with his stomach as a visual representation. "Not here," He raised his hand to his chest. Kit gave a jerky nod and shifted on her feet, not trusting her voice at the moment to not be sharp.
She swiped her hair back, feeling it loosening from where it was tied. Her ribbon came loose and was about halfway down the length of her curls and waves when it came completely undone and slipped to the ground.
Kit gave a shot noise of frustration, both at her rebellious locks, and at the way her nose was running more and more the more her eyes stung with tears that she barely kept held back.
The masked man stopped and observed her for a few moments. "Mademoiselle?" He ventured cautiously as he leaned over and picked up her ribbon, holding it out to her. She took it and he observed her hands shaking as she brought it up and tried—and failed—to tie her hair back. Erik hesitated, licking his lips anxiously. "Ah—Mademoiselle, do you need help...?" He asked quietly but Kit shook her head sharply.
"No!...No," The second word was just an utterance, seeing him having drawn back at her too-loud and sharp answer. "No, I-I can do it."
"What is wrong?" He asked quietly, and Kit, stuffing her ribbon into her pocket angrily after another failed attempt, swiped irritably at her eyes as she felt the tears well higher.
"I'm fine—! She bit out, the tight feeling of anxiety in her chest choking her again. "I'm fine." She murmured.
He was silent for a few moments before he stood, abruptly ending her lessons. "I will be going up above early, mademoiselle. You still have two hours until you need to go upstairs," He checked his pocket watch, Kit looking to the side and giving a short nod. They had decided to have practice start a little later, since the performance would keep them later than normal. Without another word the phantom swept from the room after donning his cloak that hung on the hook next to the front door.
Kit went over to the couch and plopped down with a sigh, covering her eyes with her hands as she was swallowed up by the silence of the house. She gave a shaky breath, and tried to find something to keep her mind occupied. 'Time will keep marching on, all I can do is roll with it,' She reminded herself.
About an hour and a half later Kit had stood and had pulled on her cloak, pulling the lovely fabric close to herself. She had decided upon one of the simple dresses with the cinching belt since she would have to change into her maid's costume—she had been incredibly shocked to have been picked as one of the maids that got a few lines and actions on stage, but had dreaded it as well. She would be onstage, just as Meg would, when Carlotta began choking—or croaking, Kit thought absently—in the middle of her singing. The simple sky blue dress was easy to put on, and cinched with the black belt that it had come with, it was nice, light, and simple. After savoring the warmth that almost radiated from what had come to be her favorite item Erik had given her, she had just put her hand on the doorknob when the door flung open.
Kit stumbled back in surprise, and then bit at her lip as she saw Erik was in a tizzy, golden brown eyes too bright and his hand wrapped around something in his cloak as he muttered crossly to himself. "Ah—mademoiselle." He spoke, as if he hadn't thought she would still be there.
"Erik," Kit inclined her head in greeting. "Things are not going well upstairs, I assume?" She ventured cautiously, seeing the fire light up in his eyes once more.
"No!" He practically spat, stalking over to the hook to hang up his cloak, swiping his hand over his wig in agitation. "Those damned fools will not listen to me on how my theater is to be run!" Kit found her voice died in her throat at his anger as he began pacing with stabbing steps.
'If his feet were knives the floor would have so many holes,' She thought in a bit of a daze, offset because of the anger. "I am sorry," She lowered her head a bit, folding her hands in an instinctive reaction to make herself seem as nonthreatening as possible.
Erik ranted on. "They refuse to cast my dear Christine as the Countess! That harpy, that absolute toad will absolutely butcher the performance! And not only that but those imbeciles have sold my box!" His eyes were wild with anger, and he suddenly stopped, inspiration striking him. "Wait here."
Kit opened her mouth to protest, as she was going to be late if she didn't leave soon, but he dissapeared off into the house. Not even two minutes later he returned with a letter with his signature wax seal on it, and held it out to her. Kit took it with a raised eyebrow, and when she looked at the front, she saw the names of the Opera's managers.
"Erik...?" She asked, eyebrows drawn together.
"You see, mademoiselle, they will not open my letters when I send them! No, they ignore them, even if sent by Giry! They refuse to even read them, and throw them into the fire. I need you to take this to them and ask them, get them whatever way you can to read it," He spoke quickly, the gears in his head whirring and turning so quickly that the redhead swore it was making her own head spin.
"But, Erik, I doubt they'd for one accept this from me, for another I doubt I have any way to persuade them to read it," She tried to hand it back but he shook his head.
"No, no—mademoiselle, they have a weakness for pretty young women. Just spend a little time talking to them with a sweet tone, smile, and bat your eyelashes at the fools and I'm sure they will read it,"
Kit stiffened.
He couldn't be serious.
She closed her eyes, counted to three and let out a slow breath then opened her eyes. Her eyes narrowed at the look on his face—he was serious!
She tried to give him back the letter, but he would not accept it. Kit, losing her temper, threw it on the floor.
"Excuse me?!" She spoke coldly. "Erik, I am not one of the ballet rats. I will not go and flirt with the managers to try to get them to read this. It wouldn't even work because for one, I'm not that pretty, for another, I am not degrading myself like that!"
The phantom seemed taken aback. He had not asked her to do anything other than act, like she had been doing on the stage! Still, her tone made him falter. "I...did not mean—"
"Yes you did!" Kit cut him off, taking the phantom aback. "I am willing to help you, but not in such a degrading way!"
"Fine!" Erik snapped. His brain sparked and switched gears, his eyes narrowing. "Why was there another footprint on the bottom of your dress last night?" He asked, Kit tensing in surprise at the sudden, new topic as well as the fact he had definitely noticed what she had tried to hide the night before when she had gotten back from the upstairs.
Apparently he hadn't missed the new footprint like she had thought at all, before she had gone to change her dress or wash off anything that didn't belong, like she usually did.
"How often does that happen, mademoiselle?...Three days ago you came home, covered in food from lunch. What is happening up there?"
Kit shook her head, lips pressed together in a thick line which only served to irritate him further. He had asked how things were upstairs, if she had any acquaintances, where she went on lunch when not in the mess hall and how her day had gone but she always gave noncommittal answers, and he'd had enough, it exploding forth with his irritation over all that was happening above as well as her refusal to help him with the letter.
"It's nothing. Everything up there is fine," She lied, but grimaced as her voice wavered. His golden-brown eyes narrowed.
"I do not appreciate being lied to, mademoiselle." He spoke icily.
"Fine. Carlotta hates my guts," Kit bit out, feeling cornered. "She and her little clique harass me. They talk about me and gossip, saying horrible things about me, clearly intending for me to hear them. They dump food on me at lunch, and trip me, and shun me. Nobody talks to me up there except for Reyer. Everyone else just stays away, and I quickly gave up even trying to ask someone for the time or any questions at all." The words flowed from her lips, bitter and biting from the isolation and ridicule she had endured above.
The masked man pulled back at her acidic tone. "What about Madame Giry? Surely she would have told her daughter to be nice to you," He was grasping at straws, he knew, when Kit gave a snort.
"Nope. The woman pities me for what I went through but her daughter and her friend take the hint from everyone else and mainly spend time in each others company."
"You are still lying to me yet, mademoiselle." Erik pulled something out of his jacket pocket, and her stomach dropped as her old engagement ring glittered between his fingers.
"I don't want to see that," She folded her arms tightly, not wanting to remain there any longer as a cold lump settled in her stomach.
"She told me that you were from Amiens, and that you were running from your former fiancé," His tone was insistent and sharp even as she shook her head and turned towards the door, frowning when he moved to stay in her view. 'Here it comes,' She wanted to curl up and dissapear. "Why were you running from him? Surely, a rich enough suitor your parents would entrust your care to could not be all that bad," His voice was mocking. "What, was he not handsome enough? Not intelligent enough for conversation? Did he not cater to your whims?"
Kit, hurt by the assumption, blinked back angry tears and shook her head, stepping back from him even as he came closer, the more he spoke the more she realized that the stress of the past while hadn't been good for his mental state, just like it hadn't been for hers.
Erik had not lived a life conducive to maintaining sanity.
"Or did he try to do what Buquet tried to do? Well, mademoiselle? Did he—" The redhead could no longer handle biting her tongue, the poisonous sparkle of her engagement ring just in front of her nose as the phantom had stalked ever closer, eyes alight with encroaching madness.
"YES!" Kit cried out, slapping Erik's hand away, the ring skittering under the piano. Erik's eyes followed it before turning back to her face, which was red with embarrassment, eyes wet with anger and pain. "Yes, he tried to RAPE me! Is that what you want to hear? He tried to hold me down and touched me and hurt me, just like Buquet did when you left me fucking stranded up there!" She panted, shaking as Erik took a step back.
They were silent for a few moments. When Kit blinked tears ran down her cheeks and she wiped at them roughly with her sleeve. The phantom opened his mouth to say something but she shook her head, refusing to look at him.
The grandfather clock chimed eleven.
"Erik, I have to go. I'm going to be late," Kit's voice was tight and flat, hands still trembling as she pulled her cloak closer and hurried out of the door. She launched herself into the boat and made her way across the lake quickly.
Over her shoulder she caught a flash of white in the darkness, Erik obviously watching her leave but at this point, she couldn't care less as she practically fled from his home.