by KnightMusic
Part 1
Disclamer: The Phantom of the Opera is not mine, neither character nor story. Nor can I claim Javert. He belongs to Victor Hugo. But I promise that neither shall come to any harm under my care, and shall be put back when I'm done with them. I'm certainly not making any money off this, so copyright infringement is not intended.
The floor of the catwalk creaked for what seemed the twentieth time, and Javert reflected that it probably was not a good idea to be up there. He leaned over to see exactly how far down to the ground it was, and concluded that it was quite a long way by the extraordinary amount of time it took his hat to contact the ground once it took its leave of his head. But at this point, he had no idea how he would go about doing that. The stairs he had climbed to this point on had collapsed shortly after he had left them, and besides, he was determined to find this 'Phantom' character, since his commanding officer seemed more interested in making passes at all the pretty chorus girls. If he did successfully locate this masked perpetrator, it would almost certainly mean the end to the condescending manner with which he was treated on the force, as well as a promotion.
'One step closer to Inspector,' he thought to himself, as he stepped off into a darker corner of the third cellar. 'Or perhaps,' he thought again, 'not.' He now had no clue as to get back to where he had started, but continued to press ahead. Pausing in an attempt to get his bearings, he totally failed to notice the looming shadows that played on the wall behind various set pieces. Had he noticed them, he would never have turned his back to them.
He moved closer to inspect on of the set pieces, and his attention was drawn to a small opening just beyond it. Pushing carefully on the rock wall, he was surprised to find it giving way slightly. Redoubling his efforts, he soon had an opening big enough for him to fit through. Tucking his nightstick under his arm, he cautiously stepped through the opening and into a largish room, the existence of which no one would have been able to guess at if not for the tell-tale opening in the rock.
The room was big enough for him to stand up in and move around easily in, but was extremely dark. In fact, he almost fell through the small trap door before he noticed it. Looking down, he saw and opening almost darker than the room he was now in. The thought of jumping in passed briefly through his mind, but was rapidly discounted. Even he knew better than to blindly plunge into the unknown. Instead, he turned back to the door, vowing to return later with a light, only to see it slide slowly shut. In that instant, he was plunged into total darkness, and his every sense was suddenly blinded.
Javert was not given much time to ponder over his rather limited choices, as a sudden pressure around his neck hauled him backward of balance. One hand reached up and felt a thin rope around his neck, slowly tightening itself around him. His other hand tightened around the nightstick under his arm, and with a swift, deft motion, he turned to face his assailant, nightstick raised to intercept the rope. As soon as it did, he wrenched his arm down, twisting it slightly, and catching the holder of the rope so completely off guard, that it was torn from the hand, and Javert was given the opportunity to pin the man up against the wall, his nightstick pressed firmly across the other's chest.
Much to Javert's surprise, and considerable vexation, the strange man began laughing maniacally. "Well done, Monsieur!" the man said, once his laughter had died down. "I rarely have the opportunity to meet one as skilled as you are." The man paused for a moment, and regarded the nightstick pressed across his chest.
"You need not exert the effort to keep me pinned here. I assure you, I could free myself any moment I chose," he waved a hand slightly in Javert's direction. "And you needn't worry about your life, I am not about to jeopardize that again at this time."
Slowly, carefully, Javert lowered his nightstick, tucking it back into it's resting place under his arm. With his free hand, he removed the lasso from his neck, and, feeling slightly foolish and apprehensive, offered it back to the man before him. The man took the rope, and wound it back up before looking at it for a moment.
"The Punjab lasso," he said, an almost wistful tone surfacing in his dark, melodious voice. "It has never failed me. Until tonight." He looked up at Javert. "One wonders why you did not die..." He faded out, and turned slightly to produce a small lamp, seemingly out of mid-air and lighting it.
Javert could not hide the slight smirk as he pulled down the collar of his coat just slightly to reveal the leather stock under, the sole purpose of which was to prevent what the man had just attempted. The man slightly returned his smile and place the lasso under his large velvet cape. Javert took this moment to afford the man a scrutinous once-over. He was approximately Javert's height, although several years older, wearing very expensive opera clothes under his cape, as well as a low-brimmed velvet hat, and, strangest of all, a white mask concealing the right half of his face. If the stories were true, and at this point, Javert was ready to believe they were, he was standing face to face with the notorious Phantom.
The Phantom stepped slightly away from the wall, making his way to the trap door. "You are undoubtedly the most intelligent young man ever to make his way this far into my lair, what's your name, boy?"
Despite Javert's dislike of the term the Phantom had used to address him, he nevertheless respected the man as a gentleman, and felt he should answer him. "My name is Javert. Of the police."
The Phantom tensed momentarily, as if gripped with a bad memory. "An unfortunate name," he muttered, and looking Javert in the face, said, "The first man I ever killed was named Javert. You may call me Erik."
Javert raised his chin indignantly. "That neither impresses nor frightens me," he responded.
Erik smiled at him. "It should, but I admire your courage. He was a gypsy, like yourself." He then turned his attention to the small trap-door.
Javert moved across the room quickly and laid his large hand on Erik's collar, pulling his face close. "How do you know that?" he hissed. Again, Erik laughed, and very easily removed Javert's hand. "Little things about you, boy, the color of your skin, your hair, the way you move, just the small things. I spent much of my early life with gypsies, you know," his voice hardened, and he turned away suddenly, as if the memory caused him pain.
Erik looked again at the trap door at his feet. "I'll go first, then you hand down the lantern and follow," he said. Javert remained rooted to the spot, and regarded Erik with the same watchful curiosity he always used when he felt his life might be in danger.
Javert folded his arms across his chest "You'll excuse me, if I don't trust you." Erik simply shrugged.
"Feel free to stay up here if that pleases you, it matters not to me," he disappeared into the hole, and a moment later there came the sound of counter-weights being released, and Erik re-appeared. "But I assure you, you will not discover the exit. You will be much more comfortable in my home."
Javert turned this last thought over in his mind. 'If he wished to kill me, staying up here certainly wouldn't stop him,' he mused. And it was getting rather cold. Wondering if he was doing something he would regret, he cautiously jumped down into the hole.
The jump down was not as bad as Javert had originally thought, and, once down, he found himself in a small, mirrored, hexagonal chamber. At one end, there stood a large tree. At the other, an opening into which Erik was disappearing.
Javert poked his head cautiously into a well lit smallish room. Erik Had his back to him, and was working with a series of wires and switches. Javert heard a soft 'click' and the door to the hexagonal chamber closed.
Erik turned to Javert and flashed an eerily reassuring smile at him. "Welcome to my home Javert," this elicited a slight raise of an eyebrow from Javert. It was the first time he could remember Erik using his name. "I dare say, you are the first person ever to make it this far."
Javert turned slightly to admire the room he had been brought into. It contained a large fireplace on one side, decorated with various odds and ends, a few chairs, a couch, and two doors. One leading to the room he had just left, and the other leading further into Erik's home. Javert glanced over his shoulder, only to find Erik, no longer in the room.
He walked over to the door, but found it locked. The madman had imprisoned him in this room! For a moment, Javert simply stood there, seething. Finally, rational thinking gripped him, and he began searching the room for a possible exit. He paused briefly over the door to the mirrored room, but that showed him nothing. After making a few more passes over the room, his attention was drawn to the small panel of switches that Erik had been tampering with. His knowledge of such things was rather limited, and as a result, he was able to decipher much about it.
A slight tap on his shoulder made him whirl around. Erik was standing behind him, a second lantern in his hand. He offered the lantern to Javert who was still to stunned to speak. Finally, he found his voice, "You locked me in here," he said, rather weakly.
"Of course I did," Erik said, reasonably, "I had to re-enforce the exits from my home. I could not take the chance that you might find your way out of here."
Javert's chin raised indignantly, "And why not?" he asked.
"Don't take me for a fool," Erik admonished, "You are a loyal police officer. You would have my home flooded with your little friends. Now, if you come with me, I will show you around a little."
Javert was unable to speak for a moment. Erik seemed almost to laugh. "You needn't worry about your life. I have no intention of killing you. Not tonight at least. Tomorrow, ah, well who can say. I like you, boy, you are not nearly as droll as the other officers who managed to stumble down here."
"What happened to them?" Javert asked quietly.
"What do you think happened to them?" Erik returned. "They removed their leather stocks simply because they were uncomfortable." Javert nodded slightly. "You, on the other hand, have clearly shown your superiority to these others, and you needn't worry about wearing this," he said, producing Javert's leather stock in his hand. Javert's eyes widened. He had not even felt Erik touch him. Clearly, his life was more in Erik's hands than he had fist appeared. But somehow, the fact that Erik had reveled this skill to him seemed to reassure Javert of his safety.
Erik spread one arm out, gesturing for Javert to accompany him out the door.