A/N: I said at the beginning that this would be more ALW based and you will I like to think I draw some of Erik's character from Leroux, though I can Just an explanation of what has been and what is to come.
see in the next chapters that it is. I use this version because I feel it is
more user friendly for the purposes of thisstory. Also, quotes from the
musical are much more easy to remember and more people have seen the play
than read the book (and those who have read the book have definitely seen
the play)
never bring myself to make him quite so crazy. I also believe in a further
developed Persian (hence using the name that Kay created)
Chapter 28- Runaway
Antoinette turned around the corner, her stride long and purposeful. When she arrived at Christine's room to find the new patron of the opera, Raoul De Chagny, banging on her door her temper almost flared.
'What on earth are you doing, Monsieur?' she asked, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice.
'She was in there,' he said, not answering her question.
'Now she, evidently, is not,'
'I heard her,'
'What are you doing down here?' she demanded. Patron or no patron he would have to answer for his actions.
There were other cast and crew members watching them now, curiosity almost too much to control. She ignored them and kept her eyes focused on Raoul.
'Taking Christine out for dinner,' he said.
'Obviously you are not, Monsieur,'
He jerked his head around to face her, his eyes blazed with anger. 'She is an old friend, Madame Giry, I wish to take her out to dinner,'
'I think that her not answering her door is probably hint enough, don't you?' she asked.
'No,' he snapped. 'We have already spoken,'
'When?'
'Five minutes ago,'
'Did she tell you she wished to go for dinner with you?' Antoinette asked, lifting her eyebrows at him.
Suddenly, the anger vanished from his eyes and he looked deflated. 'No,' he said quietly.
Just as suddenly Antoinette felt a wave of sympathy for the young man.
He leaned against the wall. 'There was someone in there with her,' he said.
'Did you see someone?' she asked.
'No,' He shook his head. 'I heard him,'
'What did he sound like?'
Raoul appeared to think for a moment. 'He was French, deep voice, sounded older...'
'He is her teacher,' she said, feeling her heart hammer into her chest. What was Erik doing letting anyone hear him and why wasn't Christine answering her door?
'Teacher?' he asked, his voice soft now, almost relieved. 'Not a... er...'
'No,' she said quickly, although she was now no longer sure herself. 'He has been teaching her to sing,'
Raoul smiled. 'He has been doing a very good job,' he said. 'But why won't she come to the door?'
'Perhaps she is sleeping,' she said.
'Could you try for me?' he asked, his eyes were soft. 'Only... I haven't seen her in so long Madame, too long,'
Antoinette thought for a moment about the consequences of what she was about to do. Her concern eventually got the better of her and she took out the spare key to Christine's room.
Raoul smiled at her, encouragingly. It was obvious the boy was in love with her and under most other circumstances Antoinette would have been very happy for Christine. In this particular instance, she knew that nothing good could possibly come of this. She slid the key into the door and turned it, on hearing the click she pushed in gently.
'Christine,' she said softly.
When no answer came she opened the door completely.
No Christine.
She turned her head to look at Raoul who's face was crinkled in confusion. 'Where is she?' he asked.
'I don't know,' she lied.
'I swear I heard her... I heard her and a man,'
She shrugged. 'These corridors often play tricks on us, Monsieur,'
'Is this referring to the ghost you're all so fond of?' he asked.
'I wouldn't go as far as to say fond,' Joseph Buquet interjected. 'More scared,'
'I don't believe in ghosts, Monsieur,' Raoul said simply and then turned his gaze onto Antoinette. 'Do you?'
'I'm not sure what I believe in this place,' she said simply. 'It has a certain... way of changed your outlook,'
'My outlook is positive, Madame,' he said. 'But not when my friend disappears,'
'I'm sure she has not disappeared,'
'Then where is she,'
'I really don't know,' she said. 'You will have to ask her when she returns,'
A look of sadness washed his face. 'But when will that be?'
'Who knows but Christine?' Antoinette said. 'I'm sure she will be back when she is ready,'
He nodded and then turned his attention back to Joseph Buquet, who was now standing at Antoinette's side.
'Do you believe in this ghost?' he asked, his voice was somehow both demanding kind.
Joseph smiled, showing his well known gaps. 'Of course,' he said.
'Why?'
'I've seen him,'
Raoul glanced at Antoinette with a frown and then let his eyes fall back to
Joseph. 'Where?'
'Around,'
'What does he look like?'
Again, a smile, Oh, how Joseph Buquet loved to tell his stories. 'Well, he is tall... wide, like a shadow,'
Raoul said nothing.
'He has sunken eyes and a white mask over one side of his face,'
Sunken eyes indeed, Antoinette thought. Erik had nothing of the sort. In fact, Erik's eyes were magnificent if a little frightening, sunken they were most certainly not. His eyes were something a person learned to treasure if they knew him, something so beautiful in someone so disturbed was a sight to behold.
'I think the Vicomte has heard quite enough,' she said, forcing a smile.
Raoul smiled at her. 'No, tell me more,'
Joseph grinned like the cat with the cream and continued, 'He haunts this opera house...'
'Why?' Raoul asked.
'I... it is rumoured that he was the architect,'
Antoinette stifled a laugh with the back of her hand but Raoul noticed. 'What is funny?' he asked, with genuine curiosity. 'Do you know something?'
'This opera house is over one hundred years old,' she said, trying to keep the smile from her face. Good Lord, how old did they think Erik was? 'The ghost has been here for, perhaps twenty years at the most, meaning, logically that he died twenty or so years ago,'
Raoul nodded, following her explanation and she could see what she thought was intelligence in his eyes.
'Therefore, if the theatre is, lets say, exactly one hundred years old,' she continued. 'Then twenty years ago the theatre would have been eighty years old,'
Raoul nodded again, 'Right,' he said. 'So if he was architect to the theatre then he would have to have been at least twenty or so when the project started,'
Antoinette nodded, 'Indeed, when it started,' she said. 'The theatre took nearly five years to build,'
'Making him twenty five, at least, one hundred years ago,'
'Meaning he would have been at least one hundred and five when he died,' she finished, glad that Raoul was obviously a bright young man. 'Illogical, is it not?'
'Most,' he turned his head back to Buquet. 'Too many rumours around here,'
'There is a ghost,'
Raoul shrugged. 'There is certainly something going on but whether or not it is a ghost haunting this building has yet to be seen,'
'There is a ghost,'
Antoinette turned to the origin of the voice. Carlotta was standing in her dressing room doorway, pale and looking tired. Piangi stood next to her, like a pet.
'Have you seen him?' he asked.
'No,' she said, shaking her head. 'But he tried to kill me,'
'I heard about it,' he said. 'I'm sure it was an accident,'
She laughed bitterly. 'No accident, I assure you,' she said.
'I'm sorry you feel that way,' Raoul said, calmly. Antoinette was growing to like the young Vicomte and that made her even more concerned about his feelings for Christine.
'This ghost,' he said, looking around him at the cast and crew still hanging around. 'Has anyone seen him?'
Only Joseph Buquet held up his hand like school boy. Antoinette knew that he had seen Erik, more than once, because Erik was not the only person that lurked in the dark. There was something distinctly eerie about Joseph Buquet but though he had seen Erik, he did not know him. To speak of him this way, of his sunken eyes, of the way he looked, would only be to Joseph's detriment.
'Stop fuelling the rumours, Monsieur,' Raoul said to him.
'They are not r...'
Raoul's looked stopped him. 'They are rumours until they are substantiated,'
Joseph nodded, suddenly looking defeated. Someone had finally had the nerve to stand up to him and question the origins of his story. Part of Antoinette had some sympathy for the man, he wanted to be listened to, he wanted to be acknowledged. Is that not what all people wanted? Another part of her said that anyone who would push the hand of a ghost known to kill people might just deserve everything they got.
She wondered when she had become so callous.
Raoul smiled at her as he turned. 'Walk with me,' he said simply, though it was not a demand.
Her curiosity about the new patron overcame her and she followed him out of the dark corridor and into the back stage area.
'What do you know about this ghost?' he asked, without looking at her.
'Not much,' she lied.
'But you believe that there is a ghost?'
She thought about her answer. 'A ghost?' she asked. 'Maybe, maybe not, but something haunts the Opera Populaire,'
He stopped walking and turned to face her, looking at her with thoughtful eyes. The moment between them was surrounded by an eerie quiet. It was unusual for there to be no sounds in the theatre but not even the clunking of stage props being moved disturbed them.
'Have you seen what haunts the opera house?' he asked, breaking the silence with what seemed like a snap to her.
Antoinette was not unaccustomed to lying but that did not mean that she liked to do it and she only ever did to it where the situation really warranted it. She thought for a moment and then decided that this was definitely one of those occasions.
'No,' she said.
He nodded. 'Yet you believe there is something amiss,'
This time it was Antoinette's turn to nod. She did not want to say anymore, wanted the subject to end, but she knew what was coming.
'Tell me what you know,'
And so, choosing her words very carefully, she filled the new patron of the Opera Populaire in on the infamous Phantom.
Erik placed Christine carefully into the crib he kept and sat on the seat next to it. Looking down at her soft features he wondered if he had made a terrible mistake bringing her to his home, letting her see him.
The jolt of Raoul De Chagny's appearance had made him act irrationally, showing her his hiding place and bringing her down to his home. He had planned to reveal himself that night anyway but in a far less... dramatic way. He was going to arrange a meeting in somewhere quiet and private.
Apparently, her room was as quiet and private as he was likely get.
She sighed in her sleep and it struck his heart, direct and centre. He was not sure if he had ever seen anything quite so wonderful in all of his life. Christine' dark curls had spread across her shoulders, one stray strand kissed at her cheek. His fingers wanted to brush it away from her face so that he could see her full beauty, but he resisted
Instead he simply sat there, barely a few feet away, and watched her sleep. The slow rise and fall of her chest had his attention, the way her eyes flicked slightly, her hand grabbed the sheets he had placed around her.
When she began to shiver he stood quietly and placed the blanket over her body, covering her and, hopefully, keeping her warm. Something about Christine was enchanting, something about her was simply charming. Her beauty was an undeniable factor but there was more, so much more to her.
He sat back in his seat and kept his silent vigil.
He had not been surprised when she had lost consciousness, she had worked very hard and was probably exhausted. He had only added to her somewhat stressful evening.
Raoul De Chagny was hardly blameless. The boy had startled her and surprised her and then, with a nerve even Erik could not surpass, insisted she go to dinner with him. The utter rudeness of the situation stunned him but his reaction had been that of possession... it was the way he felt about Christine.
Though she would never be his as a material object could be, he felt that in many ways she was his on an intellectual level. Of course, she did not match his intelligence , very few people did, but she was certainly emotionally his. Over the months their lessons had developed to gentle, yet strange, conversations and then to something he felt oddly comfortable with- a friendship.
Of course, it was clear to him now that he needed more from her than friendship and she appeared, at least on an obvious level, to reciprocate. Christine had done anything and everything with in her limited power to earn his trust and for in that he must have at least some confidence.
He did trust her now, probably not quite the way he should, but he felt that that step was not too far away.
She sighed again and he felt that same stab to his heart, the one that hurt him but also made him feel alive. He would always feel this way about her, he knew that. The very sight of her made him ache because he knew that he would never look like Raoul De Chagny. He imagined that his face would ultimately end his relationship with Christine.
However, he aimed to keep his face covered for the time he was with her until he could at least judge her feelings properly.
He was beginning to feel like somewhat of a fool, sitting there watching her sleep. Something inside him tugged him away, told him that he should let her be, that she was too young... his mind told him to let her go home and to leave her alone.
His heart said otherwise.
Erik was under no allusions about himself, he knew what he was and where he had come from. He knew that he wore the devil's face and had the devil's soul yet... he could feel love. He had denied this to Nadir but even Nadir was not dull enough to believe the ravings of a lonely man.
Ugly and cold, that's all he was. Money drove him in the oddest way, no because he needed it but because it gave him power. Power was something he had come to crave after spending so many years out of control of his own life. The power he had in the Opera Populaire sometimes waned but never did it disappear.
Staring at Christine again he let himself wonder what she might be dreaming, he saw her eyes move under their lids, and wondered if he was somewhere in her thoughts. To his shame, he hoped that he was. She slept so soundly, something Erik, even as a child, could never do. Her breathing was the gentle wave lapping at the sand, so even and so soothing.
He stood and walked into the kitchen where he took a sip of brandy. He did not drink so much anymore though there were many years when he drank too much. It was not that he liked the taste particularly, it was that he liked the effects of the liquid. Still, he had learnt recently that he should be in control at all times and so the occasional sip of brandy was all he allowed himself.
He took a last glance at Christine before he headed into his bedroom and it then crossed his mind that he had no idea what he was going to do in the morning.
