Betrayal is the Highest Form of Flattery
By Deep Roller
A/N: First, I shall dispel some confusion, which was my fault in the first place. The prologue is the morning after all the other chapters. It was a new technique I was trying out. I wondered if people could identify the body and the body's killer before it was actually revealed. Hey, it worked for some authors. Well, while I was strapped to the dentist's chair today, listening to their plans for extracting my remaining wisdom teeth and leaving a hole in my mouth, I finished my next chapter. Oh yes, and again this situation is highly improbable, but I was younger and more vengeful. Enjoy my friends, for one half of my mouth I cannot feel at the moment.
Disclaimer: If it was mine, the Phantom phan mafia would come and eat me. What Phan mafia, you ask? Mine! I have started the phan mafia, dedicated to ridding the world of those who would question the Phantom's greatness. Or at least converting them. Care to join me? Ah, well then. *sighs and walks away*
"The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull
And his affections dull
Let no such man be trusted."-William Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice
The foyer was bathed in soft light, and the flickering shadows and talk of relieved stagehands, tired dancers, and others. Raoul sat, his eyes watching everyone else idly as he thought on the night. Christine had been acting somewhat flighty, some ungrounded fear hindering her logical thoughts lately. The episodes had become more frequent of late, and it had taken all power of persuasion he possessed to get her to the Opera that night. But something nagged at him, something he wouldn't dream of acknowledging around her, or even aloud at all. It was this something that caused his hand to gravitate towards the Derringer that night, the same thing that made him snap his head up at every slight sound. Maybe, maybe she IS right, and Erik is indeed still lurking about, he mused to himself, idly twining his hands together. The fact was, Raoul had always been a tad jealous of Erik's attentions. But that was before he had known even the identity of her admirer. When he would take Christine on a ride through the park, and talk with her, she always had a dreamy, rather unfocused look to her. As though her eyes and mind were with another.
And even when he HAD found out this stranger's identity, when he found her crying in her dressing room, his jealousy rose. Why poor Erik? Why no thought of his endeavors? Had he not a pure and honest love for her? And yet, she was mooning over another. And then he had learned the truth, and he learned too, that if she was to stop thinking of Erik, he must get her away. Get her to a safe place. He almost wasn't hearing her then, how she talked of his misfortune. All he seemed to hear was that she leaned more for Erik's cause than his own. But then he had dove deep into the depths of the Opera to save her, when the madman had abducted her, he had gone through fire and pain for her, risked his very life, nearly burned and then drowned alive. She was his, then, when Erik finally came to his senses and let them go in peace, she was his. And then she began to drift away, to dream of HIM again. After all of his efforts, she still could not let go. He just didn't understand it. But he was beginning to feel that her allegiance was shifting. He had fought for it once before, and he could do so again. That was why he brought the Derringer.
"Raoul?" A soft voice interrupted him, and a timid shadow drifted into the foyer to blend with his own. "Raoul, are you there?"
"Christine, I am here. Yes, are you ready to go?" He lifted his head to see her, bracing against a pillar with one hand, bathed in shifting shadows from a nearby open doorway, and the interminable darkness at her back. Rising, he couldn't erase a strange chill of foreboding that played gleefully on his spine.
"I must talk with you, Raoul. It is about Erik-"
"He is dead." Raoul interjected swiftly and coldly. "He is dead and you and I both know it. Didn't your visit prove that?"
"No, it did not." Christine replied firmly, taking a step forward, her eyes locked with his. "It did not prove that one bit."
"Well, you must take-"
"I will take nothing from you, but you will listen to me. You never have, not fully. I was always to be humored, pampered, coddled, rescued. Never listened to, never taken seriously. I will not be silenced. Now, Raoul, you will listen. Erik is alive, and I have discovered that I belong here, this is my place. I should have known it long ago." Raoul swallowed hard, his knuckles gripping each other to show white. His eyes flashed with a war-like vengeance that Christine had glimpsed years ago, when she had confided in him. He had shot at shadows then.
"Where is he? Where is Erik? What has that horrible man done to you now? Hypnotism no doubt." Raoul demanded in a growl, the hand in his coat pocket seeking the sleek assurance of rebuttal.
"Raoul, Erik wants merely to speak with you. It is my decision, and mine alone. It was none of Erik's doing. Listen well, Raoul. I want nothing bad to happen to you, nothing, please, please listen. Listen to Erik." She took on a tone of pleading, a tone that suited Christine more than her firmness, in Raoul's opinion. He gave her a dismissive wave and shoved her aside in his search of the inkiy dark.
"Erik! Erik come out, come out I say! What have you done to my wife?!" His harsh voice grated into the silent velvet of the dark corridor.
"I am here, monsieur le vicomte, I am here. And I assure you, I have done nothing to Christine, merely listened to her." Erik stepped majestically into the shadows, his cloak sweeping behind him like an errant shadow hurrying to cling with its brothers. The two men stood face to face, and Christine's eyes flicked from one to the other in agitation.
"Liar!" Raoul hissed, crouching a bit. Erik took a step forward, a slow step forward, but it was enough. The Derringer flashed in the light, swift and deadly silver as its muzzle was aimed at Erik. It roared its triumph as he was struck down. Christine screamed and ran towards his fallen form, bending to whisper to him, her lips barely moving. She ran her hands over his mask, putting her head against his and lifting him up slightly, before setting him down. Erik lay still and quiet on the foyer floor as Christine keened softly over him for a moment. Raoul stood proudly, looking at the Derringer and nodding his satisfaction. He nodded when he saw Erik lie still as he re holstered his gun. "It is done Christine. I have freed you from this monster at last."
Christine rose to her feet, her face hidden for a moment, and a look of intense grief washed across it before calm smoothed it. She walked toward Raoul, a last look at Erik before she made her way into her husband's arms. "Yes, you have dear. I never have to worry about the monster again." She whispered silkily, her arms going around his neck. He never felt her pull the letter opener from her glove, but in one swift instant, she had plunged into his neck, where it lay buried hilt deep. A slow trickle of blood tickled from the spot as she stepped away from the circle of his arms. "You didn't listen, I warned you, you didn't listen." She murmured, watching as his eyes widened, and he struggled painfully to breathe.
"Christine...Chris..." his voice became something like a gurgle as he tried weakly to yank the object from his neck, only causing a fresh gout of blood to dribble down his collar. He sank to his knees, his eyes still trained on her as breathing became nearly impossible. On the floor, he watched in fascinated horror as Christine walked to the fallen form of Erik and helped him to his feet. Erik scowled for a moment and brushed his cloak off before the two shared a little chuckle. And then they both made their way to where he lay.
"Poor Raoul, I'm so sorry it had to end this way, I really am." Christine turned into the circle of Erik's arms for a moment, peering back at him with something like heavy, but distant pity. Raoul crawled closer, but then stopped, his eyes going incredibly wide as the struggle to breathe became too much. He reached out a hand and it halted midspan, as his form went completely limp. Christine bent forward to slip a piece of paper between his fingers before Erik helped her up and they left Raoul in the empty halls and echoes of his own dead vanity.
The night was exceedingly cold, but the statues did not feel the cold. Stars and wind were nothing to them. It seemed the same of the two forms huddled on the roof, under one cloak.
"But how did you know? How did you know he would shoot?" Erik murmured, his eyes on the glimmering lights of Paris.
"The Derringer, I saw him bring it, and he has always been terribly impulsive. Two years of living with him have taught me that. A wonder I didn't learn it sooner. And you, what was it that you had?" Christine turned her eyes up, to the indefinite form above her, before giving up and merely resting against him, letting his voice massage her ear with sound.
"When you're an Opera Ghost, you get used to being shot at. You have to develop ways to protect yourself when not at your quickest. Bullet-proof padding is a wonder, but rather heavy." He smiled quietly, resting his head on top of Christine's. "Will they suspect you?"
"The note I left, it tells all without naming names. I know his handwriting, I can match it as my own. It really was the only way, I knew from the moment I thought of speaking with him. If he had let me go, he would be alive. If he had been nice to you, he would be breathing." Her eyes changed visibly in the darkness, taking on the spark they had first grown in Erik's presence. Even he could feel the change. And then she spun to face him, her eyes never leaving his as her slender fingers reached to remove the mask. His hand stopped her, gently, but then followed hers as they slid it from his face together. But then Erik dropped his eyes. "No," she whispered, lifting his chin up with her hand, her eyes tender, "don't be afraid."
"I thought you were the one who was afraid." He murmured somewhat meekly, looking at her demurely. Her only answer was to lean close and kiss him firmly, pulling tight the cloak around them to connect them. When she finally drew back, she was smiling sadly.
"I was not afraid, I was foolish and stupid, I know now. It was of myself that I was afraid, it was of everything I had ever done to wrong you. I was stupid then, a stupid girl to run from you. I didn't know what I had until I was torn from it. And I let it rule me, this fear and this stupidity." She growled at herself, before gazing at him again. "Erik. I broke your heart. I have come to see if I can help to mend it again." Her fingers ran over his face slowly, and she looked at him thoughtfully, tenderly.
"You may stay as long as you wish, forever if you wish. It was only in dreams that you returned to me. Only in dreams. I had you caged, but when I set you free, you returned...Christine, it is like a dream to me." Timidly he reached forward to her, his lips meeting her forehead softly, and she smiled, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tight, as if not to let go. The two of them stayed motionless for a time on the roof of the Opera house, under Apollo's Lyre and under the gaze of benevolent stars. And then, in the blink of an eye, they had vanished into the deep deep night, together.
Mush! Mush! I was a very demented little eighth grader when I wrote this, but I thought Christine needed girl power. It's been heavily embellished of course. And I enforced my own sadistic Raoul on you people. I can't tolerate a Raoul like that unless he's gonna die in the immediate future. Well, I hope you liked my first ever phic that I wrote so long ago. And it wasn't my last, either!
By Deep Roller
A/N: First, I shall dispel some confusion, which was my fault in the first place. The prologue is the morning after all the other chapters. It was a new technique I was trying out. I wondered if people could identify the body and the body's killer before it was actually revealed. Hey, it worked for some authors. Well, while I was strapped to the dentist's chair today, listening to their plans for extracting my remaining wisdom teeth and leaving a hole in my mouth, I finished my next chapter. Oh yes, and again this situation is highly improbable, but I was younger and more vengeful. Enjoy my friends, for one half of my mouth I cannot feel at the moment.
Disclaimer: If it was mine, the Phantom phan mafia would come and eat me. What Phan mafia, you ask? Mine! I have started the phan mafia, dedicated to ridding the world of those who would question the Phantom's greatness. Or at least converting them. Care to join me? Ah, well then. *sighs and walks away*
"The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull
And his affections dull
Let no such man be trusted."-William Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice
The foyer was bathed in soft light, and the flickering shadows and talk of relieved stagehands, tired dancers, and others. Raoul sat, his eyes watching everyone else idly as he thought on the night. Christine had been acting somewhat flighty, some ungrounded fear hindering her logical thoughts lately. The episodes had become more frequent of late, and it had taken all power of persuasion he possessed to get her to the Opera that night. But something nagged at him, something he wouldn't dream of acknowledging around her, or even aloud at all. It was this something that caused his hand to gravitate towards the Derringer that night, the same thing that made him snap his head up at every slight sound. Maybe, maybe she IS right, and Erik is indeed still lurking about, he mused to himself, idly twining his hands together. The fact was, Raoul had always been a tad jealous of Erik's attentions. But that was before he had known even the identity of her admirer. When he would take Christine on a ride through the park, and talk with her, she always had a dreamy, rather unfocused look to her. As though her eyes and mind were with another.
And even when he HAD found out this stranger's identity, when he found her crying in her dressing room, his jealousy rose. Why poor Erik? Why no thought of his endeavors? Had he not a pure and honest love for her? And yet, she was mooning over another. And then he had learned the truth, and he learned too, that if she was to stop thinking of Erik, he must get her away. Get her to a safe place. He almost wasn't hearing her then, how she talked of his misfortune. All he seemed to hear was that she leaned more for Erik's cause than his own. But then he had dove deep into the depths of the Opera to save her, when the madman had abducted her, he had gone through fire and pain for her, risked his very life, nearly burned and then drowned alive. She was his, then, when Erik finally came to his senses and let them go in peace, she was his. And then she began to drift away, to dream of HIM again. After all of his efforts, she still could not let go. He just didn't understand it. But he was beginning to feel that her allegiance was shifting. He had fought for it once before, and he could do so again. That was why he brought the Derringer.
"Raoul?" A soft voice interrupted him, and a timid shadow drifted into the foyer to blend with his own. "Raoul, are you there?"
"Christine, I am here. Yes, are you ready to go?" He lifted his head to see her, bracing against a pillar with one hand, bathed in shifting shadows from a nearby open doorway, and the interminable darkness at her back. Rising, he couldn't erase a strange chill of foreboding that played gleefully on his spine.
"I must talk with you, Raoul. It is about Erik-"
"He is dead." Raoul interjected swiftly and coldly. "He is dead and you and I both know it. Didn't your visit prove that?"
"No, it did not." Christine replied firmly, taking a step forward, her eyes locked with his. "It did not prove that one bit."
"Well, you must take-"
"I will take nothing from you, but you will listen to me. You never have, not fully. I was always to be humored, pampered, coddled, rescued. Never listened to, never taken seriously. I will not be silenced. Now, Raoul, you will listen. Erik is alive, and I have discovered that I belong here, this is my place. I should have known it long ago." Raoul swallowed hard, his knuckles gripping each other to show white. His eyes flashed with a war-like vengeance that Christine had glimpsed years ago, when she had confided in him. He had shot at shadows then.
"Where is he? Where is Erik? What has that horrible man done to you now? Hypnotism no doubt." Raoul demanded in a growl, the hand in his coat pocket seeking the sleek assurance of rebuttal.
"Raoul, Erik wants merely to speak with you. It is my decision, and mine alone. It was none of Erik's doing. Listen well, Raoul. I want nothing bad to happen to you, nothing, please, please listen. Listen to Erik." She took on a tone of pleading, a tone that suited Christine more than her firmness, in Raoul's opinion. He gave her a dismissive wave and shoved her aside in his search of the inkiy dark.
"Erik! Erik come out, come out I say! What have you done to my wife?!" His harsh voice grated into the silent velvet of the dark corridor.
"I am here, monsieur le vicomte, I am here. And I assure you, I have done nothing to Christine, merely listened to her." Erik stepped majestically into the shadows, his cloak sweeping behind him like an errant shadow hurrying to cling with its brothers. The two men stood face to face, and Christine's eyes flicked from one to the other in agitation.
"Liar!" Raoul hissed, crouching a bit. Erik took a step forward, a slow step forward, but it was enough. The Derringer flashed in the light, swift and deadly silver as its muzzle was aimed at Erik. It roared its triumph as he was struck down. Christine screamed and ran towards his fallen form, bending to whisper to him, her lips barely moving. She ran her hands over his mask, putting her head against his and lifting him up slightly, before setting him down. Erik lay still and quiet on the foyer floor as Christine keened softly over him for a moment. Raoul stood proudly, looking at the Derringer and nodding his satisfaction. He nodded when he saw Erik lie still as he re holstered his gun. "It is done Christine. I have freed you from this monster at last."
Christine rose to her feet, her face hidden for a moment, and a look of intense grief washed across it before calm smoothed it. She walked toward Raoul, a last look at Erik before she made her way into her husband's arms. "Yes, you have dear. I never have to worry about the monster again." She whispered silkily, her arms going around his neck. He never felt her pull the letter opener from her glove, but in one swift instant, she had plunged into his neck, where it lay buried hilt deep. A slow trickle of blood tickled from the spot as she stepped away from the circle of his arms. "You didn't listen, I warned you, you didn't listen." She murmured, watching as his eyes widened, and he struggled painfully to breathe.
"Christine...Chris..." his voice became something like a gurgle as he tried weakly to yank the object from his neck, only causing a fresh gout of blood to dribble down his collar. He sank to his knees, his eyes still trained on her as breathing became nearly impossible. On the floor, he watched in fascinated horror as Christine walked to the fallen form of Erik and helped him to his feet. Erik scowled for a moment and brushed his cloak off before the two shared a little chuckle. And then they both made their way to where he lay.
"Poor Raoul, I'm so sorry it had to end this way, I really am." Christine turned into the circle of Erik's arms for a moment, peering back at him with something like heavy, but distant pity. Raoul crawled closer, but then stopped, his eyes going incredibly wide as the struggle to breathe became too much. He reached out a hand and it halted midspan, as his form went completely limp. Christine bent forward to slip a piece of paper between his fingers before Erik helped her up and they left Raoul in the empty halls and echoes of his own dead vanity.
The night was exceedingly cold, but the statues did not feel the cold. Stars and wind were nothing to them. It seemed the same of the two forms huddled on the roof, under one cloak.
"But how did you know? How did you know he would shoot?" Erik murmured, his eyes on the glimmering lights of Paris.
"The Derringer, I saw him bring it, and he has always been terribly impulsive. Two years of living with him have taught me that. A wonder I didn't learn it sooner. And you, what was it that you had?" Christine turned her eyes up, to the indefinite form above her, before giving up and merely resting against him, letting his voice massage her ear with sound.
"When you're an Opera Ghost, you get used to being shot at. You have to develop ways to protect yourself when not at your quickest. Bullet-proof padding is a wonder, but rather heavy." He smiled quietly, resting his head on top of Christine's. "Will they suspect you?"
"The note I left, it tells all without naming names. I know his handwriting, I can match it as my own. It really was the only way, I knew from the moment I thought of speaking with him. If he had let me go, he would be alive. If he had been nice to you, he would be breathing." Her eyes changed visibly in the darkness, taking on the spark they had first grown in Erik's presence. Even he could feel the change. And then she spun to face him, her eyes never leaving his as her slender fingers reached to remove the mask. His hand stopped her, gently, but then followed hers as they slid it from his face together. But then Erik dropped his eyes. "No," she whispered, lifting his chin up with her hand, her eyes tender, "don't be afraid."
"I thought you were the one who was afraid." He murmured somewhat meekly, looking at her demurely. Her only answer was to lean close and kiss him firmly, pulling tight the cloak around them to connect them. When she finally drew back, she was smiling sadly.
"I was not afraid, I was foolish and stupid, I know now. It was of myself that I was afraid, it was of everything I had ever done to wrong you. I was stupid then, a stupid girl to run from you. I didn't know what I had until I was torn from it. And I let it rule me, this fear and this stupidity." She growled at herself, before gazing at him again. "Erik. I broke your heart. I have come to see if I can help to mend it again." Her fingers ran over his face slowly, and she looked at him thoughtfully, tenderly.
"You may stay as long as you wish, forever if you wish. It was only in dreams that you returned to me. Only in dreams. I had you caged, but when I set you free, you returned...Christine, it is like a dream to me." Timidly he reached forward to her, his lips meeting her forehead softly, and she smiled, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tight, as if not to let go. The two of them stayed motionless for a time on the roof of the Opera house, under Apollo's Lyre and under the gaze of benevolent stars. And then, in the blink of an eye, they had vanished into the deep deep night, together.
Mush! Mush! I was a very demented little eighth grader when I wrote this, but I thought Christine needed girl power. It's been heavily embellished of course. And I enforced my own sadistic Raoul on you people. I can't tolerate a Raoul like that unless he's gonna die in the immediate future. Well, I hope you liked my first ever phic that I wrote so long ago. And it wasn't my last, either!