L'Ange de la Mort

by e l l e1

"Phantom of the Opera" fiction set during the time Erik spent at the Persian Court. ["Flashback" sequence - this is one passage from a story I'm working on.]

Setting & brief synopsis from previous chapters...
Stockholm, 1867
It has been hours since the wife of Joseph Daaé fell into deep and peaceful slumber, one that would last for an eternity. Cursed with an incurable disease, Katherine had been granted mercy and saved from a slow, painful death - all thanks to the doctor from the East. Both men, Daaé and the doctor, are now sitting within the drawing room, taking tea.

Read a passage from the story.

[Note: The "flashback" sequence interconnects with certain events which occurs in various parts of S. Kay's Phantom]

*

Christine never came out. She stayed in her room for the rest of the day without eating any dinner, without speaking to me or the doctor. It seemed there was nothing to soothe her. For the first time, I believe, she had shown her anger willfully and made sure I knew of it. While she grieved for her mother, I grieved for both Christine and Katherine.

As much as I wanted to hate the doctor that day, I was glad he was there to keep myself from falling into the clutches of madness. He kept me entertained by asking a lot about Katherine, and though I was reluctant to say anything at all, I was relieved I could share some stories with a trusting person.

"I would never have imagined you to be such a trickster," he laughed. "I'm surprised, sir, your wife has not yet decided to file for divorce. My wife would certainly have gone out of her mind, if I were to pull so many tricks as you." The doctor took a sip of tea and smiled, eyes twinkling. "Then again, I lack your charm."

"You don't know the half of it," I said, adding a smirk. "Now, my good man, I've told you all you needed to know about my late wife and I. Tell me about yourself."

The doctor leaned forward and placed his cup of tea upon the table. "Sir Daaé--"

"Joseph, if you do not mind."

"Of course not. Joseph... I am afraid my life involves a great deal of things and events which occurred; it would be impossible to start at a random time. Where would you like me to begin?"

I shrugged. I'd be lying if I said I really cared. Why was I even here conversing with him in the first place when I should be thinking up ways to apologize to my daughter? Still, I decided to let the wave of guilt pass quietly. "Wherever you want. I suppose you can start with your education, how you became a doctor, and so on."

"Well, I never went to any institute or schooling during my time in Teheran, my hometown. For years I have studied privately with my tutor, who happened to be the chief physician at the court of the Shah-in-Shah of Persia, and the most distinguished of all known doctors in my country. He served the royal family while I served the state officials of the palace. It was a fine life for the both of us."

"Indeed... so why did you choose to move here? You can't get any more rural or poorer than our meager little Sweden!" I laughed.

But the doctor's expression did not change; it remained serious as ever. His words suddenly took on a darker tone as he replied gravely, "I did not choose to move here, Joseph. I fled."

"Fled?" I echoed, incredulous. "From what, possibly?"

"Fled from my home, fled from the palace... fled from my own cowardice." I only cocked my eyebrows in confusion while he stared into empty space, apparently lost in thought. His eyes then locked with mine as he continued, "During the fifth year I was working there, rumors spread that the Daroga of Mazanderan has arrived with the court magician from Novgorod, Russia. Talk of this dark magician was at its prime during the first few days and quieted down afterwards; however, I paid no attention to such insignificant matters at all. I thought it was only another trickster who would keep our ruler entertained... but in the end my theory proved somewhat wrong.

"One day, several months after the magician arrived, I was praying to Allah as the duty of my religion calls for when I overheard a commotion from the guards: one of the Siamese cats of the court had lost its collar. Needless to say it was a prize of the Shah, and he was throwing every incompetent guard who has chosen to neglect an order to search high and low for the priceless jewels. It was not before long the cat itself turned missing. For the next few days, he seemed to have suspected every single man at the court - except for the magician, for a strange and inexplicable reason. If he did suspect him, he remained silent. Even my tutor, and I, who was tending to a patient at the time the crime was committed, were accused. Luck was on my side, thankfully, for he chose not question me; it was a different story for my tutor. He was the last person alone in the throne room where the cat had been last seen. For two weeks he endured all the suffering any guilty prisoner would receive... but in the name of Allah, he was innocent, Joseph! When he was finally released, I saw him in the worst state imaginable; I couldn't even recognize the man... if you could still call him that. A beaten and half-starved skeleton walked into my arms and I was so repulsed I would have ran from that very sight - had I not cared for him so. My poor, poor teacher never recovered from such psychological horrors in the dungeons. Guards say prisoners never see the sun, you know? They know only of the darkness and cold.

"The collar and cat were never found, but I personally suspected the court magician - after all, they are known for their sleight of hand and cunning treachery. Incidentally several months before the occurance news reached to me from the officials that glass had been found in place of the jewels in the Peacock Throne, though word has not reached the shah yet. Again, the magician came to mind; only a master conjurer would come up with such an ingenious plan. Still I did not open my mouth, for it was said he was favored by the shah and his mother. My word would be useless. That is, unless I had proof - and that was why I decided to further investigate the matter..."

* Teheran, Persia - 1852 *

It was an unusually cold morning at the palace, though the events of the day were no more different than any other day. Guards went about their business protecting the corridors. The officials spent half their day socializing with their peers about daily occurances within the palace while I was awaiting word from my 'spy' - who happened to work as a servant under the Daroga of Mazanderan's estate. (Word was that the magician resided there temporarily.) Bribery with a few gold coins did the trick. It isn't hard to find traitors among every social class, no matter who they owed their allegiance to. If there was such a place that would house beggars, thieves, and lowlifes, Persia would be considered their sanctuary.

"Any word of the houseguest?" I whispered lowly to the hired spy as he crept into my chambers.

He shook his head. "No, I am sorry."

Damn! For the whole week I heard nothing of this man; it was as if he was a ghost who chooses to appear whenever he pleases! I slouched in my seat and put my hands to my face - suddenly my head was hurting.

"However, one interesting note I've obtained..." I sat upright. "The boy, the Daroga's son - he was begging his father earlier about the magic man; he wanted to know when he would arrive. 'Soon,' the Daroga said. 'How soon?' 'Within a fortnight, I promise you.' That is what I overheard just this afternoon while I was serving tea for my master. I shall keep my ears opened for you for the next week, oh gracious one, if there is money involved..."

"How much?"

When he named a figure, I nearly fell out of my chair. This was absurd; as a spy I paid him more than enough, and now he was asking for twice the amount! Men of his kind were all the same: thieves and scoundrels. I knew better than to agree to his outrageously fixed price.

But as irritated as I was, I was desperate. I was determined to get to the bottom of all this; the innocent do not deserve to suffer under the Shah's wrath. I knew this when I thought of my teacher.

I focused my attention on the man with a conniving smile in front of me. Razeem, Razeem... such a cunning yet graspy mind. Your greed will get the better of you one day soon enough. "Very well. You will have your money once you bring me useful news."

"Ah, my good doctor... how do you mean by useful?" he cackled.

My patience was dwindling as he continued to carry out this pointless conversation. "Just bring me information on any events dealing with the magician!" I snapped.

He bowed deeply and left, leaving me alone with a horrid headache. Why did it seem so hard to keep track of one man? He had caused endless amount of trouble, yet he remains pampered and protected by the shah. What was the reason behind it? The question remained until I finally decided to put an end to it by a much needed rest. Either fate decided to toy with me - or he was simply a very proficient man.

Frankly, I don't believe in fate.

*

One week passed. It seemed an eternity as I was anxious to hear news about the magician. Finally Razeem came to me with a gleeful grin upon his twisted face.

"Well, Razeem? Any word?"

"The cat, sir... I saw the cat! It was hidden in the boy's room the entire time."

So, my beliefs were true and I was not wrong! The Daroga was a righteous man (though a bit disillusioned if I should say so myself); he would never dare even hope to defy the Shah -- or at least he beared the appearance. The only way the cat would have entered the estate was if it had been smuggled in. There was no one else in the household besides the Daroga and the magician who had access to go within the palace walls. Since the Daroga was out of the picture, only the other remained. Now the only thing left was to prove my theory. "I suspected so... any other news about the guest?"

"Not much; I do not see him often, for he seems to come and go everyday! But I shall follow him if I must and to the death." He said nothing more but looked down. My gaze followed his and it rested upon his right hand; his fingers were rubbing each other in an eccentric fashion and it did not take me long to understand the meaning of his hidden message.

"I am not a forgetful man, Razeem. And I always keep my word." I reached for a bag of coins on the table and dropped it into his ravenous hands. He eyed the bag greedily as he listened to me. "Yes, follow him if you must. When you return with more information I shall reward you gladly."

"Yes, sir..."

"That will be all. Be gone and leave me in peace." I noticed the little man took no time to hesitate and left my apartment rather quickly.

*

Five days later, he came to me once more - no grin, no devious smile... only a frightening sort of terror I found in his eyes. His eyes, which shone madness, bore deep into mine. He did not even bother to wait for me to speak this time and grabbed hold of my shoulders. "I cannot do this anymore!" he whispered. "I must go into hiding before he finds me... and kill me! You must give me the money so I may flee!"

I blinked. No doubt the man was in a hurry to rush out of here as soon as possible... but why? I tried to think, yet his grip upon my shoulders tightened considerably so until I could no longer feel anything except pain. I struggled to escape his hold on me. "Calm down, man! I cannot just give you the money and let you leave without your end of the bargain. You forget we have an agreement! Now, will you please, with as much peace you can conjure up, tell me what has happened and why you are so eager to leave?"

Razeem turned his head as if to check if anybody -or perhaps a certain person?- was listening. When he riveted his attention fully on me, he began lowly, "I had just finished serving supper to the Daroga and the boy. I noticed the guest excused himself and quietly slipped away to his quarters as usual during mealtime. The day before when the two gentlemen were away, I drilled a small hole from the adjacent room next to his. I made sure it was covered by one of the houseplants so it was not visible to prying eyes.

"No sooner after the guest departed I followed quietly into the other guestroom where I arranged the hole. He was in his chamber, that was certain, working furiously with such diligence on some sort of project. 'Confound these bloody plans!' I heard him cry as he slammed his fist onto the desk and shoved some of the paper work onto the floor. His temper, I can tell you now, Doctor, is very bad! As I was guessing he had been standing the entire time since he arrived in his chamber, he walked over to some other documents lying on another desk, shook his head and muttered something in another foreign language which I do not know. His back was facing me as his hands reached to untie the strings which kept his mask in place. You can understand that I was, at that point, mesmerized as to finally know the face of this mysterious man who masquerades everywhere he goes. He turned just enough for me to view the side of his head - Allah, I had been cursed at that moment to see the devil himself! You cannot imagine how ugly he is, Doctor! His face, Doctor, his face! I did not think when I let out an audible gasp - he heard, and swung round fully, and -- and... it seemed impossible, but his eyes pinpointed my own within that small hole and I glimpsed his entire deformity! Doctor, if you only knew my horror then! I thought he was already hideous and frightening when I saw the side of his face; imagine two black holes, burning with madness! Allah, the rage...! It was all said in those two gaping holes. I could not think of anything else except to run - to run far, far away from that gaze...

"The Daroga was the first to notice my panic and asked me what was troubling me so. I did not give him a reasonable answer, only to leave my job as soon as I could. I did not say anything more, and ran. Here I am, as you can see now... please, Doctor! You must give me the money so I may flee this asylum!"

His story kept me captivated until that moment when I pitied him. I had not known his life was at stake when he secretly employed under my name. Then again, the magician was not christened the 'Angel of Doom' by the shah's mother for no reason. Tales were told by spectators of the court who had seen this dark angel who kills any man with a single stroke of his infamous lasso. I should have known instead of sending this man on a suicide mission...

With a sudden dread I reached into my pockets and gave him what money I could. "Here - take all of it. Leave at once, do you hear me? I have given you enough money during the past several weeks for you to keep in good health for your journey to come. You must leave here as soon as possible - would you like my horse as well?"

"No, I have one outside..." he muttered dumbly as he stared at the pyramid of gold coins in his hand.

I walked over to the window in order to breathe some fresh air so I may calm myself. My eyes wandered toward the horizon. It had been a beautiful day, strange enough, calm and quiet. The morning passed innocently enough; the small puffs of cloud seemed to happily roll along. The sky was clear and blue as ever - though perhaps not for long. There, far in the distance, ominous dark clouds loomed, its very presence threatening to shatter the peace. A storm was coming.

When I turned the fool was still standing there.

"Leave, you imbecile! Go now!"

And he ran - for his life. I did not expect to see him for a long, long time...

*

I was wrong. It was not long before Razeem returned - without a trace of breath left in him, that is.

Approximately two days after he fled, I had been in the palace treating my old teacher, who apparently has caught, what they called it in western countries, 'influenza' during his time in the cold and dank cells of the palace. It was hot in Persia; one would not be use to the freezing cold temperatures of the underground. He was getting worse each passing day and I was struggling to save him. No matter what medicine, prayer, or injection I gave him, his state was no better. And he was not young. I feared for the worst...

I stayed by him since I woke up, holding his hand sadly as I was forced to listen to his shallow, uneven breathing and his terrible coughs. He was suffering very badly, and it was all that damned magician's fault. If only I could prove him guilty...

Suddenly I heard a thud. I swiveled from my position only to find Razeem's dead body on the floor... with his murderer only a few steps from him. My previous hatred of him was in no way compared to the astonishment now -- it was that which saved me from grabbing my firearm and shooting his black heart right as of this moment. Still, one must wonder: how did he even get within the chamber without me hearing him enter? Had I left the door opened...?

"I believe this is yours," he impassively declared.

I continued staring at this ebony specter from head to foot; I finally realized why the khanum has called him the 'Angel of Doom,' for he looked very much like an angel of death. His midnight cloak swayed gracefully as he stepped back from the corpse. The mask only added mystery, but his voice! His voice troubles me so; it was like none other that I have heard; grave, and yet resplendent at the same time - resplendent enough to keep me in a curious daze.

I found my own voice. "How--how did you know I sent him?"

"Spies are not to be trusted, Doctor. You have spent your entire life here within these walls and have heard all that goes on; you should know."

It wasn't until then I realized my question had been totally irrelevant; he must have confronted Razeem as to who sent him, right before his untimely death. Oh, the poor fool! Why did I have to be so selfish to persist in gaining information from him and risking his pitiful life at the same time? Of course he had been a greedy and sniveling coward, but life was life! You only had one, and once that was gone there's no hope of ever reclaiming it...

I didn't notice he already started to leave until I forced myself to shake off my prior thoughts. Without thinking I dashed for the firearm which I kept hidden in the desk -and it was a good thing I kept it there- and grabbed it... However, as fast as it got into my hand, it was gone twice the speed. Before long the gun which was once in my empty hands was now in his - as well as a strange-looking rope, which was casually coiled around his arm. Ah yes, the Punjab lasso. Made by the skilled Punjabi nomads in northwest India, it looked harmless enough - but that was when it was not used to kill. Now I was face-to-face with its experienced master - unarmed too, as a matter of fact. There was no ultimatum; death was inevitable for me. I closed my eyes and awaited the fatal blow... my last thoughts would be for my dying tutor, that I have miserably failed him. I waited... and waited; but strangely it never came. When I opened them, both weapons were already gone. The man was still there.

"Be thankful I did not aim for that infernal neck of yours." He crossed his arms, indicating a certain impatience as if I was wasting his time. "It is rather difficult to obtain any privacy in this hellish prison, even more so when you are paying someone to follow me like a wretched shadow - and look what happened to him." I glared at him resentfully as he started to leave. "A shame, isn't it? At least experience taught you to acquire someone more efficient in the future."

My tongue would not be held back any longer. "You don't know anything, do you?!" I cried out. It was quite obvious that he heard, for he froze in his spot and slowly turned to face me with an odd composure which I found infuriating. Yet still I went on. "You, who play mind games with his Majesty and entertain queens with these disgusting forms of death, can never hope to understand the meaning of justice!"

I knew I struck the chord as I now see the vengeful angel who came to spell my doom. The coldness that was once in those eyes were now replaced with an ire hotter and more evil than any hell imaginable. I finally understood Razeem's fear of his hateful eyes. I held my head high, though I desperately wanted to escape that gaze and the man.

"How easily you speak of justice to one who has never been shown any! You think it is so simple to lead a life with a face such as this?" He then did the unimaginable: the mask was removed. Remembering Razeem's words I struggled to turn away, yet the face I saw kept me in a trance of horror and wonder. I've never seen deformities on any man or woman to such extremes; the entire face looked as if it had been dead over a century ago! As my quivering hand reached to cover my face from that apalling sight in front of me, he laughed with contempt. "Ah, you tremble, Doctor! Now you know the magician's secret! What is that? You wish to make this -- this thing disappear before your eyes? My apologies, but this is one trick I cannot perform."

Allah, let this be over or just let me die!

To my relief the demon face disappeared once the mask was in place. The anger had been gone in his eyes. I struggled to contain myself in the meanwhile.

"I do not know you and therefore could not have possibly done anything to damage you in any way, yet you persist in sending a spy to chase after me. My desired privacy was violated, so I was reasonably angry and killed this pathetic life form when I coincidentially encountered him trying to flee an hour ago. Within these past few moments, you were trying to shoot me in cold blood and I merely defended myself from being shot. That, is what I know," he retorted as he crossed his arms once again over his chest and waited for my answer.

I had none to offer nor did I feel inclined to do so. All I could think about was how much I hated this monster, how soothing it would be to see him executed as painfully as possible. I was not a violent man by nature, but I could make an exception in this case.

I heard a moan, followed by sudden strenuous coughs. I immediately forgot the madman in front of me and rushed to my mentor's side. His head was burning as I felt it; time was running out fast.

My hand absently reached over to the table where an injection of painkiller awaited. It had once been my dream to be a physician, treating those who suffer and saving lives who would eventually turn to me as a guardian angel sent from the heavens to bless their soul. I was a mere child then. Now... now I feel as if my hands are bonded with some imaginary shackle, chained to the fate of others whose life depended on my so-called skills; I was tired. And I was failing.

Just as I was about to give him the injection, that damning voice called out to me: "What ailment?"

"Influenza, as they call it in Europe."

"How long has he been in this state?"

I gritted my teeth at his insolent question. Whether he was aware of it or not, it brought hateful memories which I would rather not say. But the ignorant fool had to know... "Ever since he was sentenced to the dungeons for a crime he did not commit--" I stopped short as he curiously came over to the bed and bent over to place his hand on my teacher's forehead. I took a moment to glare at those bony fingers; they were so thin, like twigs on a branch! How could anyone work with hands such as those? I was surprised they were still in tact after all the work he has done for the Shah. And knowing the Shah from word of mouth, he does not demand little from men of this sorcerer's talents.

"I'm afraid that does not provide any valuable information," he replied (I noted a tint of annoyance in his voice), which woke me from my reverie.

"Think, magician: Do you not recall the missing collar which belonged to one of the Siamese cats at the court? Or perhaps the disappearance of the cat itself?" This, for certain, answered his question as he chose not to give a reply save for his deafening silence. Absurd as it may be in that moment of silence I heard his temporary defeat and the sweet sound of my own triumph; his memory served him well and he subconsciously admitted his guilt.

The bony hand I had been staring at moments ago suddenly seized my teacher's wrist; when I was about to make a move to do something in case he meant to harm the old man he stopped me. He turned to look at me; I feared those eyes will return to punish me for my actions...

They remained the same shade of yellow. "I am sorry you view me as a monster, but I hope you aren't cruel enough to assume I behave as one." I stared at him warily, backing away yet not lowering my guards, as he continued. "Killing men for sport is one thing which I understand you do not approve of; however, killing defenseless old men dying in their beds is not in my taste, and it is in your own best interest never to assume so. Even should the khanum order his death I would not yield to her request." His attention was turned back to the suffering man and felt for a pulse - nothing more. He did not try to suffocate him, nor cut off his hand - only check for a pulse. I couldn't help but wonder, why bother checking? He was still alive -- for how long was another story. "What is his normal pulse rate?"

Flabbergasted I struggled to remember the exact number and gave it to him.

He settled the hand down and stood to his full height. "As I have suspected. Your mentor's rate has dropped drastically and I would not count on it to return to normal. From his ill appearance I gather his intake of food must have been reduced to mere crumbs. He seems to have suffered much due to inflammation of the lungs. If he has been in this fevered state for months, he is already at an advanced stage. You can sooner find a red moon than a cure or vaccine here before death claims him."

Yes... I knew that horrible fact already. However, I was foolish -- foolish, and stubborn to admit it. "Then I shall simply fly there and paint it red, won't I?"

He ignored my comment and placed a half-filled bottle on the desk. While I suspiciously eyed the vial of colorless liquid he spoke again, "Place one spoonful into his drink and he shall no longer feel any pain."

My eyes instantly widened with horror as I heard the silent message in those words. "Kill him, you mean?" I whispered.

"He would die eventually," he replied almost nonchalantly, "however, he would not suffer so much if you give him this now. It is your choice, Doctor; I trust you know what's best."

I didn't know what to say to this and simply looked away. I glanced to the magician and back to the vial grudgingly. A cough. From the vial to the magician. Another cough.

"If you care for your teacher then you would take great measures to do as I say." With that he turned, his black cloak swirling magnificently about him as if the night clung to this mysterious creature of the dark - but I was not done with him yet.

"Magician!" He halted with his back still facing me. Only a few feet from me, I could've taken a nearby chair and knocked him out of his senses. Vengeance came at my doorstep yet I reluctantly kicked it away. I had to know... "Why? Why this concern? I have shown you nothing but ill spite yet you seem to care for--"

"I care for no one, Doctor, and it would do you good to remember that," he snapped.

"But... why all this?" My question came out no more than a breath or whisper. When he started walking away again and mentally dismissed my query I found myself frantic, desperate for the answer of this riddle. This would be the only time in my life I'd reduce myself to begging. "Please!"

He hesitated. In the seconds which passed by there had been no sound except my teacher's ragged, shallow breathing. He decided to turn and look at me; all memory of those evil eyes dissipated from my mind as I saw a strange sadness wash over them. For the first time that day he meant no mockery or sarcasm when he gave his reponse. "I had a teacher... He was a father to me, much like your mentor, when the world shut the door to a twelve-year old boy with the face of a demon and the voice of an angel. He saw that I was well, taught me all he knew about masonry and more. It is impossible for me to say that I love him as a son - yet I did. I had been a child back then, naïve to the last, but I swore to see that he would be well as long as I lived. His daughter came, and not much later he betrayed me. Oh, it wasn't his fault - his daughter was mainly to blame. She ran from me, ran as if I were some disgusting creature about to eat her (How disdainfully and passionately he uttered this!). Ran to her death. When my surrogate father cradled her in his arms I saw this and ran from them as well, from the immense sorrow, anger... the immense guilt. I never saw him again."

As fascinated as I was while he told his tale with such moving emotion, curiosity broke its way through. "What does that have anything to do with my current situation?" I quietly demanded.

"He was old, Doctor Katar..." He spoke so softly that I could hardly hear him. The fact that he knew my name when I did not give it to him shocked me, but I was too eager to learn more than care about that small detail. "I have not a doubt his daughter's death and my sudden departure carved a void in his soul; his thoughts solely on my anger with him most likely broke his heart. But I was not angry, not for long. I lingered on in Italy for another week or so when I saw his name among the dead in the papers. I knew his health had been dwindling since I knew him, and I wasn't there to witness his death! Whether he died sleeping into his ripe old age or screaming from pain at the claws of some God forbidden disease, I would never know. Should he have died of the latter I'd have killed myself." He paused. In the next moment I noted his voice lost all feeling and became detached. "Now... will you require any further information?"

I shook my head dumbly. As the Angel of Death solemnly walked away back into the gates of heaven or hell (which one I had yet to decide) I absent-mindedly reached for the nearest chair. How my soul was in turmoil from that moment on! I hated this man, but now I was starting to pity him - and in turn I hated myself for doing so.

Sinking back into my seat I never left my gaze on he who had both killed yet saved my teacher in the same day with his strange warlock ways. An Angel of Death? Hardly, perhaps. Just as he disappeared into the dark I realized he knew my name, yet never gave me his... However, that didn't matter now. I sadly looked over to the vial and knew what I must do.

There was no red moon - in fact, there was no moon at all that night.

~ * ~

--a passage from Chapter 1 of
s h a d o w . o f . a n . a n g e l

soon to come.

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