Chapter 2-Forgetting
The cloaked figure walked briskly down the dark alleyways of Paris, the only revealing light was that of the moon and he did his best to avoid the spots where it shone the brightest. His heavy boots slapped against the uneven stones and grew louder as he increased his pace and eventually the heavy cloak he was wearing billowed out behind him as he was finally at a full sprint.
His only goal was to find himself as far away from the Opera Populaire as his trembling legs could take him. He needed to get away from the disaster he created, from the memories. From Christine Daae. Her name held in his thoughts and he stopped, glancing back over his shoulder towards the distant screams, a deep part of him secretly hoped her screams were included in the sounds.
The sight of the opera house in flames devastated him. His entire life's work was potentially destroyed, all his music, possessions, his only hope was that the fire didn't find its way into his home. Perhaps he should have just stayed and ended his life before the mob reached him, giving them something to put on display once the disaster had subsided.
His black half-mask shone from the orange light of the fire, and his expression changed from sorrow to rage and he violently wiped the semi-dried tears from his bare cheek, dragging the back of his hand as hard as he could against the flawless half of his face.
The perfect irony, one half of his face was so perfectly chiseled like that of a god, but the other half–absolutely monstrous. It was no wonder his own mother rejected him, a face like his didn't deserve love or attention, only solitude and shame, which he had gladly accepted in his underground world, that is, until she came along.
He clenched his jaw and took in deep shaky breaths through his nose, then struck the stone wall he stood next to with his bare fist, letting out a strangled angry cry.
Everything was gone, just like that! He had devoted years of his life to Christine Daae and she had the audacity to reject him. How dare she abandon him after everything he had done for her? Had he not given her enough of his precious time and...his music? He wasn't quite as rich as the Vicomte so of course she wouldn't choose him, she needed a life of luxury, not a dark and dank home in the basements of an opera house. Of course she would choose a more secure life with a pretty boy over the poor pitiful creature that lurked below her all those years.
Any affection from her was a farce and only done out of pity…but that kiss…that kiss felt like something, hadn't it?
He pulled his aching fist from the wall and turned to slump against it, placing his fingers on his lips. She kissed him so passionately and with such lust, and he let her go. Tears rolled down his cheeks and he began rocking back and forth, shoving his head between his knees. She had surrendered to him and he let her go so she could be happy. But what of his happiness? Regret washed over him and he clutched his head in his hands, hitting himself with the balls of his palms.
You let her go! a voice snarled inside his mind, She would have married you!
"No! I'm repulsive, distorted, no one could love me. She would have never willingly married me!" he hissed.
Then he thought of the words she had said to him, about his soul. She had said it was the true distortion and not his face, what had she meant by that? All his life, his disfigurement brought him pain and suffering and now his soul too! He would rip it from himself if he could, tear it from his body and leave it to rot on the dirty streets of Paris.
That woman—her perfect lips speaking of him in such ways! Had she not appreciated his attempts to make her the leading soprano of the Opera Populaire? The same building which was now a smoldering ruin because she betrayed him and removed his mask in front of the entire audience, revealing his deformity to the world. He had no choice but to flee and that meant he had to create the disaster. It was the only way.
That Christine Daae chose a life of luxury with a boy, a mere boy, only for his money. Turning down a man who could have given her more than a Vicomte ever could. More than anyone could ever give her, he gave her comfort, love, and most importantly, music. His music! Oh, how she had betrayed him! That selfish wretched woman left him, hardly even considering what he himself could have given her.
The world! The entire world was what he could have provided! He would have given her anything she desired, even cut his wrists and bleed himself to death for her if she so much as asked.
You still love her, the voice in his mind whispered.
Sobs wracked his body, and he fell onto his side on the damp ground. His mask scraped on the rough stones as he shoved his face into the earth, hoping to bury himself alive.
There was no denying it, he could never stop loving Christine. He would never stop thinking about her, dreaming about her, wishing she had stayed with him even after he had given her the freedom she so desperately craved.
Now, he would never have a life with her, he would once again be pushed into solitude and shunned into the next darkest place he could find.
Yes, he would crawl into a sewer and live out his numbered days, perhaps even drown himself in the stagnant water he would find down there. Without Christine, there was no reason to go on living, he would end his existence, slowly and torturously like he deserved.
He quickly rose from the ground, now determined to find the perfect place to make his tomb. He rubbed the sore knuckles of the fist he had slammed against the wall and wiped the blood on his coat, then started his journey to the outskirts of the city where he was sure he would find a nice sewer to crawl into.
He made it down a few more alleyways before he heard laughter coming from the direction he was heading in. Cautiously, he crept down the street and peeked his head around the corner to see three women standing outside of a building.
The light from a street lamp illuminated the area they were standing in and his breath hitched when he saw that the woman facing away from him had cascading brown curls running down her back, just as Christine had. It couldn't be her, though, she was taller than Christine and had more weight on her.
The women went inside of the building and he moved from his hiding place to the area they were standing. His actions confused him, but he found himself oddly curious as he has hardly had any human interaction outside of the opera house. He casually walked by, doing his best to behave like a normal man and found that the building was a brothel. He scoffed and kept walking, he had no need for a brothel. The only woman he ever loved had walked out of his life for good, he had no desire for sexual favors.
He stopped in his tracks, debating on if the favors may aid in his forgetting his Christine. Yes, all he needed was a woman to help him forget of her existence entirely. Perhaps, he didn't need to end his life after all! He could rebuild, restructure, just as the Opera Populaire will! A new woman was what he needed, someone who wouldn't reject him. Of course a woman he paid for would accept him and do what he wanted.
Maybe the woman with the brown curls, he thought to himself.
He turned on his heel and walked back towards the entrance of the brothel, being sure to pull up the hood of his cloak to cover his face. He hesitated at the door for a moment, calculating if he was making the right choice, then without a second thought, he pushed it open to head inside.
The place reeked of cigarettes and mold and there were at least a dozen women sitting around on chairs, couches and tables and most turned to face him as he walked inside, some even getting up and making seductive movements to catch his attention, but he only had his eyes on one girl and she was not paying attention to him. She sat at the bar in the large room, conversing with the woman on the other side. He walked up to the bar and sat in one of the many stools before glancing over at the girl. He pulled his hood tighter over his head, worried about whether they could see his mask or not.
The short, fat woman behind the bar made her way to him, pressing her thin lips together and giving him a smug look before speaking, "What will it be, monsieur? You may have any girl of your choosing for the night."
His hands were shaking and he pulled them from the top of the bar and into his lap to conceal them, "I would like this one," he said, gesturing to the girl that sat near him, "How much would it be, madame?"
The thought of paying for sexual favors never really sat right with him, until now that is, he felt it completely necessary in his effort to forget Christine. This is what he needed.
The woman looked him up and down, "First time, huh? Well, she is extra, she is our best after all. Ten francs for the night." He quickly pulled the francs from his pocket and handed them to the woman. "Enjoy your night, monsieur," she said, her full attention automatically on the money in her hand.
The girl he had paid for stood, flashing him a warm smile. She was very beautiful, with green eyes and her brown curly hair. Her face was heart shaped with pale delicate skin. Hardly what he would think a prostitute would look like. She looked like she should belong in a high status family, or at least marry into one. He hesitantly took her hand, shuddering at the foreign touch, and allowed her to lead him up a flight of stairs to the second story of the establishment.
They arrived in one of the many rooms and she closed the door behind them, then made her way around his stiff form, circling him like he was her prey. He stood stiffly by the door, debating if he had made the right decision now that he was in the room alone with her, after all he didn't even know her name, or her likes and interests. He wasn't sure if he could engage in a sexual act with someone who he knew so little about.
She broke the silence first, sauntering over to the bed and sitting on the blue sheets, "How do you like it, monsieur? On the bed, perhaps?" She slowly reached out her hand and patted the spot next to her.
His mind flooded with questions he wanted to ask her, hoping she would answer them before they continued with their night. He stared at her for a moment before joining her on the bed, being sure to keep an ample amount of room between their bodies.
He swallowed hard then asked, "What is your name?"
The girl looked at him with confusion, as if she wasn't used to conversation during these types of meetings, "I'm not often asked that question. Claire, and what is yours?" She shifted towards him, reaching out to place a hand on his thigh. He recoiled slightly at the feeling of such an intimate touch which she noticed as she quickly removed her hand from him. "My apologies, monsieur, I didn't mean to frighten you," she looked down at her lap and bit her lip.
"Erik," he said bluntly.
Claire smiled up at him, seeming a bit more relaxed, "Well, Monsieur Erik, why don't we remove your cloak and I can give you what you paid for?" She reached for the hood of his cloak, prompting Erik to bolt up and retreat to the other side of the room. His breathing increased and he felt a rising anger within him. He took deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself, not taking his eyes off of Claire who still sat on the bed, seeming to be in a state of shock.
Erik mustered up enough calmness to speak, "I'm not used to being touched. I'm afraid my appearance is not very pleasant. I don't know if I am making the right decision by being here with you."
Claire slowly stood and made her way over to his hiding place, "If you would like, we can just sit and talk for a while. Would that help, monsieur?"
Erik nodded, following her to the pair of chairs near the fireplace. He sat in one and noticed his hands were trembling, so he quickly stuck them between his thighs and steadied his breathing before looking back towards Claire. Her eyes shone bright in the firelight and were full of curiosity as she gazed upon him.
"You don't need to be nervous around me, monsieur. I do not judge by appearances," Claire whispered, she seemed genuine with her words and Erik felt inclined to remove at least his hood. He slowly pulled it down, revealing his masked face and red swollen eyes. Claire let out a quiet gasp that made Erik wince.
Of course she was scared of him, he was a monster even with the mask on. He began to stand to make a quick exit, but a hand caught his wrist.
Erik yanked his wrist away, pulling it to his chest then stared at Claire out of the corner of his eye, "Don't touch me anymore."
Claire swallowed and nodded, "Why have you been crying?" she asked, "Did someone hurt you? Are you safe?" Erik glared down at her with furrowed brows. How could this stranger be worried for him?
"Why do you care?" Erik asked bluntly, he was having a hard time believing someone like her would show genuine affection towards her clients. He was sure she was only behaving as such because she was being paid.
Claire scoffed, "Contrary to what you may have heard, not all prostitutes are heartless and only care for money." She crossed her arms and slouched back into the chair, letting out a heavy groan.
Erik cocked his head, genuine curiosity on his mind now, "Oh really? All women are the same, they take what they want and when they have had their fill, they move on to the next boy who can provide for them. What makes you any different?"
The words felt like unwarranted acid leaving his mouth, she didn't deserve his hostility, yet he couldn't help himself.
Claire scoffed louder and stood from her chair, making her way towards him, "I don't know who hurt you, but she has nothing to do with me. I am a good woman, yes, my profession may not be to your liking but it's the only means I have. Now, are we going to fuck or are you going to insult me some more, monsieur?"
Erik towered over her, looking down at her with a glare that could burn right through her if he tried hard enough, but then he stopped. No one had ever spoken to him this way before, and of course she was right. Christine had nothing to do with the woman who was standing before him. Claire could never amount to the beautiful creature he lost tonight.
Erik lowered his stare towards the floor and began crying, then he turned from Claire and stalked towards the door, he had made a mistake, this wouldn't help him forget Christine. Every single woman he encountered would be compared to her. She wasn't his and yet she would always be in his mind. There was nothing he could do about that.
Right when his hand found the door knob, Claire grabbed him again, "I'm sorry, why don't you come sit down again? I didn't mean to upset you."
Erik tugged his arm from her again and flung the door open. He was a few feet outside of the room when he heard soft sobbing from behind him that made him pause. He turned to see Claire on her knees, tears streaming down her face.
"Please, she will hurt me if you leave. Stay?" her whisper was shaky and Erik knew she meant it. He felt a strange feeling rush over him. He had not an inkling of what it may have been, a pang of guilt perhaps?
Erik couldn't leave her to be punished, not when he had experienced so much torture in his own life. He moved back into the room, then slowly closed the door, "Fine, but I do not require your services. I only wish to converse with you. Nothing more."
Clarie sighed with relief, "Yes, monsieur, thank you. I can make some tea if you would like."
Erik hesitated but agreed to the tea, then removed his cloak and placed it on the bed. He still wore the clothing he left the opera house in, though it had thankfully dried since his time leaving. He returned to the seat by the fire and settled in, looking into the flames and debating on if he should shove his hand into the fire so it could burn him to death. He was sure it would mentally scar Claire, but it was worth the price to leave his miserable existence behind.
Claire interrupted his thoughts, "Here you are, monsieur. I hope it is to your liking." Tears were drying on her cheeks and her eyes were wide as she joined him by the fire.
"Thank you, Claire," Erik said, taking a sip of the tea, not caring that it burned his mouth. He welcomed the pain, he deserved it.
Claire turned to look at him, her body now wrapped in a robe to conceal her revealing clothing, "Tell me, monsieur, where is it that you come from? Do you have any family?"
Erik looked away quickly, unsure of how he should answer the question. Honesty was not a skill of his so he was quick to come up with lies. "I lived here in Paris, I recently lost my home in a fire," he gestured to his mask, "which is why I wear this. I had a wife but–" he paused, cursing himself, then quickly changed the subject, "I make music."
"What happened to her?" Claire pressed, taking small sips of her tea.
Erik stopped breathing, his heart felt heavy and he clenched his cup tightly. What happened to her? She left him for a Vicomte. For a boy who could provide her with everything she thought she needed. Of course, Erik couldn't tell Claire that, no she would know he was the famous Opera Ghost. He was sure everyone in Paris knew he was about and ready to wreak havoc. He would tell another partial truth.
"I'm unsure, the last time I saw her was during her escape from the fire. I fear that she may believe me to be dead," then he turned to stare at Claire, and without thinking he spoke again, "I love her, more than anyone could ever love another living being. More than life itself. I don't know if I can live without her. I–I miss her more than I could even try to explain." Erik looked back at his tea, secretly cursing himself once again for willingly giving so much information to a stranger.
Claire smiled at him, "I'm sure she is out there somewhere. Why don't you try to find her? Bring her home–well you would have to find a new home since you lost yours–" she laughed nervously, "but I'm sure she would love to see you alive. It would be a beautiful reunion." Claire reached out, then quickly retracted her arm, instead she gave him a look of affirmation, "That's what I would want my husband to do for me."
Erik considered her words, turning his focus back to the flames. How could he have been so foolish? The answer was so simple yet he had completely missed it! He would only have to find her again, and take what was his. She belonged to him, she just needed a little convincing. She may have left him for that pretty boy, but that wasn't to stop him from taking what was rightfully his, from showing her that he couldn't live without her. He just needed an opportune moment along with patience which he was not too welcoming of.
Erik smiled widely and set down the tea, "Claire, you are very wise. Indeed, I shall go find her, but not now. I need to wait for the perfect moment–" then he paused, pondering his next words. Should he tell her of Christine? Surely he couldn't, that would be a foolish mistake.
No, half-truths only, he reminded himself, then he turned his body towards Claire, who sat smiling at him. She still sipped her tea while she rested her chin on her hand. "Claire, I'm afraid I need to wait to find her. I have been ill and don't feel I have the strength to start a search right now."
"She will still be there for you when you are ready, I'm sure of it. Now, why don't you stay with us for a while? I'm sure Madame would not mind if you paid for room and board. We have plenty of room, we are after all just a small brothel. Not much business in this part of the city."
Erik considered the offer and wanted to accept, after all, he had nowhere to go while he waited for the perfect time to reunite with Christine, "If it would not be a problem. I could offer five thousand francs per month. I'm sure that is well above the amount that would be expected of me and of course, I would require your company every night, platonically that is. You have been a great help to me in just the short amount of time we have been together."
Claire gasped, "I'm sure Madame would gladly accept, I will present the offer to her in the morning. Now, why don't you get some rest. You look very tired. Feel free to use the bed."
Erik looked at her puzzled, how was he to sleep when she could easily kill him during the night, or remove his mask. He had no trust for this girl before him, yet something in the back of his mind told him he was safe. He wasn't sure if he should believe the voice, but after a few moments of deliberation, Erik stood and moved to the bed. Though, he paused for a moment, "Are you going to sleep? I can use one of the armchairs, I do not mind giving you the bed."
Claire shook her head, "No, no, monsieur. I am not tired. I sleep during the day as my work is to be done at night. Do not worry about me. I will be busy with my reading."
Erik nodded slowly, then climbed into the bed, "Claire, I only ask one thing of you while I rest. Please, don't touch me as I have asked. Especially while I sleep." Erik was sure if she did he would end up hurting her, and he didn't want to be responsible for her injuries or even death.
The girl nodded back an affirmation, "Of course, I promise."
Erik nodded curtly, then turned on his side away from the woman to silently weep. He would have his Christine back in his arms in no time at all. He would have her all to himself, though he wasn't sure of where. Perhaps, his cottage near Lyon, the one that had been given to him by Monsieur Lefevre when he hadn't been able to pay his salary for several months.
Yes, that would be where he would take her. He had been living there during the three months he was away from the Opera Populaire while he was making the finishing touches to Don Juan Triumphant! It had been the perfect distraction free environment for him to complete his masterpiece and it was in fact a masterpiece. His Christine had played the part of Aminta so well, just as he had planned. He only hoped she would perform for him again someday, maybe even with him.
Erik sighed and closed his eyes, relishing the memory of his Christine. How soft she was, and how well she sang for him. She was to be his again soon, only time stood between them. He would feel her kiss again, touch her skin again, and love her like he had never loved her before. He would have his living bride and present her once again with a ring when the time was right, and she would agree to be his wife. His perfect wife.
Erik curled into a ball on the bed and balled the coverlet into his arms imagining that it was Christine he held. He didn't sleep that night, not while he held so little trust for those around him. Instead he pretended to sleep, being sure to be ready at any moment in case Claire decided to hurt him, though she never did. She stayed in her chair reading all night, just as she had promised.
xXx
Erik had been living at the brothel for two weeks, Madame Bassett having accepted his offer of five thousand francs for the month. He had spent every night with Claire, exchanging stories of each other's past. Though, of course, Erik still only told half-truths, not wanting to frighten the poor girl away. He was growing rather fond of her, though not in a way that he had with Christine and she was overly thankful to be able to spend her time with him rather than tending to the needs of the unsavory men that frequented the establishment.
Erik hid in the room that they shared during the day to work on his plan to find Christine, the only time he left was during the night to tend to Cesar at the stables nearby the Opera Populaire. He felt bad for leaving his sole companion alone during the days, but assured the stallion that it wouldn't be much longer before they headed to the de Chagny estate. Christine was sure to be there waiting for him to rescue her. All he needed was the perfect distraction to whisk her away.
One evening, Claire burst into the room, excitement on her face, "Oh, Erik! You will never guess it!"
Erik looked up from his book, "What is it? Did something bad happen?"
Claire shook her head, "No, no, but I will be gone for a couple of weeks. I know you requested every night with me, but I just can't turn this down. There is a ball next Saturday night and I was invited as an escort for one of my clients. It's going to be fantastic!" She dramatically swooned into the back of her arm and collapsed on the bed.
Erik stood from the chair and crossed to the small stove in the corner of the room to pour himself a cup of tea, "Where is this ball?"
"Near Dijon, in Chagny. It's an engagement ball for the Vicomte de Chagny and his new fiance. I heard she is extremely beautiful," then she gasped, "Have you heard of what happened in the Opera Populaire? She was there, stolen away by the Opera Ghost, can you believe it? They finally concluded their investigation. After–" Claire shot up in bed, "They found his body, you know? The Opera Ghost?"
Erik went still and his cup dropped from his hand, bouncing on the thick rug, thankfully not shattering. His body? He was believed to be dead? Executing his plan was going to be easier than he thought, and he could try to return to his home to collect any of his surviving valuables. Then his mind shot to the engagement party.
The perfect scene that would have plenty of people no doubt, the perfect place to sneak in and wait for an opportune moment to steal his bride.
Claire gasped and crossed to where Erik was standing, picking up the cup and handing it to him.
"Are you okay, Erik?" she asked, grasping his arm and pulling him back to reality.
Erik looked down at her, "Quite alright, Claire. I just remembered a ball I attended with my wife. I think I should feel ready in a couple of days to start my search. I know I said I may be here for a couple months, but it seems that has changed."
Claire looked at Erik with tears in her eyes, "Only a couple more days, so you will be gone when I return?" then she wiped her eyes, "That's alright, I'm sure Madame will gladly refund your money for the time you will not be using. I have very much enjoyed your company."
Erik reached over and awkwardly patted the top of Claire's head, "No worries, Claire, I'm sure we will see each other again, after all, if I don't find my wife, I may need another place to stay," then he thought of what she had said about his apparent death, "For now, tell me about this investigation and the body they found."
Claire smiled and sat back on the bed, "Well, the woman, I believe her name is Christine Daae, she told them the Opera Ghost was her vocal teacher and it was all a misunderstanding. He wasn't a ghost, but a man who lived in solitude under the opera house and he only wanted her companionship. She didn't say much else other than she cared for him and wished he would find peace in death. They found a body a few nights after the disaster, it was said that the face was mangled beyond recognition and assumed to be that of the Opera Ghost. That's all I heard from the women downstairs. It was all very overwhelming."
Erik saw Claire shiver from the tale she had told, then began wondering what poor fool had suffered death to stand in his place. It didn't matter though, everyone including Christine thought him dead. Maybe she wasn't waiting for him after all, but it would be a great surprise for her to see him alive and well. Christine had said she cared for him and wished him peace in death. Of course she would be happy to see him.
"Interesting," was all Erik could say in response.
Claire moved to the fire and began warming her hands, Erik's eyes watching her movements, "Yes, very. I feel bad for the man, all those years alone with no one. I would go mad."
"I would as well," Erik agreed, turning away and trying not to let his emotions get the best of him. He thought back to his desperate pleas during that night, how hard he fought for Christine to love him.
Your soul is distorted, she won't accept you back, Erik thought to himself.
She wouldn't take him back, not without fighting against his efforts. He was too angry, vindictive, violent, his efforts to control these emotions in the past had been in vain, but perhaps, with a new environment there could be hope for him. He would do anything if it meant she would take him back. If he proved to be changed, would Christine learn to love him?
Erik wracked his brain, then turned to face Claire again, "Do you think she could have really loved him? Do you think that they had a chance of a future together?"
"Christine and the Opera Ghost?" Claire questioned, her brow furrowed as if she was in deep thought.
"Yes!" Erik said urgently.
Claire stood and began pacing, biting her lower lip, "After all he had done, the murders, the manipulation as some have said, I don't know," she paused, then sat in one of the armchairs, "I would like to think that if he attoned for his sins and apologized for his actions, there may have been hope for them. He would have needed to see the wrong in what he most likely thought was right. From what I heard, Christine refused to speak to anyone for days once she learned of his death, apart from wishing him peace, that is," Claire's eyes flicked from the fire towards Erik's, "She must have held deep feelings for him if his death affected her in this way."
Erik slowly nodded, then sat on the bed having felt his legs trembling too badly to stand any longer. There was hope for them, even after everything he had done. Though, how was he to atone for the sins he had committed? He didn't feel badly for his actions. He didn't know how to feel remorse, and change wasn't something Erik felt confident in doing. Perhaps if he distanced himself from scenarios where he had to commit murder, change would come naturally and he no longer felt the need to manipulate Christine, she knew who he was–what he was.
"When are you leaving for Chagny?" Erik finally spoke, not even realizing the words left his mouth.
"I am leaving tomorrow afternoon then staying in Dijon until the night of the ball," Claire said, "I have to pack tonight so I will be ready when my client arrives."
Erik nodded, then moved to the door, wrapping himself in his heavy cloak, "Well, I will leave you for the night. I have an important errand to run, but I will be back by morning to wish you a safe journey."
"Of course, I will see you again, Erik," Claire whispered, glancing towards him.
Erik gave another nod and opened the door, "Oh, and Claire, thank you. I don't know where I would be if I hadn't found you that night. I owe you my life." It wasn't a lie, Erik knew he would be dead if he hadn't wandered into the brothel that night. He would have ended his own life before the sun rose just as he had planned.
Erik could see tears in Claire's eyes and before he knew it, she had her arms wrapped around him. He froze and his arms hesitantly hovered around her and he debated if he should return her embrace. There was no harm in it so he gave in, lightly setting his arms around her shoulders.
"I will see you in the morning, now pack while you can. Have a good night, Claire," Erik whispered, pulling away from her and patting the top of her head. Erik silently vowed to send her a large sum of money once he was settled down with Christine. He had to return the favor somehow.
Claire smiled up at him, tears now streaking her cheeks, "Thank you."
Erik left then, pulling up his hood and taking the stairs two at a time. He landed in the main room of the brothel and swiftly escaped into the night, determined to make it back to his home under the Opera Populaire and enact his plan to take back Christine.