A/N - I've never been to Paris and have only ever seen one picture of the
underground lake in "The Complete Phantom of the Opera". I am making
everything about it up. Also, I loosely base my Erik's looks on the
Charles Dance rendition. Of course I don't know what he looks like under
his mask, but just picture him if you can!
Rosemarie might have been booted from the Opera House that day, but she was in France for the entire summer. Three days later, she returned and took another tour. Although she wanted to go into Box Five again, there was somewhere else that she'd never been: the underground lake. She hardly expected anything to happen again; she thought herself lucky to have spoken to Erik once, twice would have been inconceivable. But she did want to see the lake none-the-less.
The area was restricted, for some reason or another, that day. Yet when they were close enough, she again used the excuse of having to use the bathroom to sneak away from the rest of the tour group. She searched every door and stairwell. Even using the directions she remembered from the book by Gaston Leroux, it was difficult to find her destination. It was very well concealed, it seemed. Yet finally, she walked down through the correct corridor, lit dimly by lights that aligned the floor.
The moment she saw the black underground lake shimmering under a few emergency lights that had been wired into the walls, she felt something strange come over her. It was the same way she'd felt in Box Five days earlier, when she'd knocked on the marble panel only to find it was hollow. She didn't know what made her feel so strange this time. No male voice suddenly spoke to her with such beautiful tones as to make her heart stop. She was alone, or at least she believed herself to be.
Smiling, and sighing in relief, she sat down quietly at the side of the lake, reaching down to touch her fingertips into the water, through the safety rails that had been installed. It was freezing! Pulling her hand up quickly, she wiped her wet fingertips on the forest green sweater sticking out from under her leather coat. With a fiendish little smile, she sang quietly to herself. Nothing else could have suited except for the title song from the Andrew Lloyd-Webber production of "Phantom of the Opera". Yet she preferred, just this once, to sing the first lyrics ever planned.
"Beneath the Opera House, I know he's there. He's with me on the stage. He's everywhere. And when my song begins, I always find the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind!"
Her voice came out pretty, like a rather clear bell. Yet it was absolutely nothing in comparison to the beauty of Rebecca Pitcher's voice. Rebecca was a young lady she'd seen twice on stage, and could never fully get over her performance. Well, perhaps it wasn't Rebecca's performance she couldn't get over, after all. It was entirely due to the powerful stage presence of Ted Keegan!
Hearing something to the side, Rosemarie started, turning sharply. She expected to have been found by one of the Opera House staff. Yet that wasn't who stood just over her shoulder. This was the man she'd seen three days earlier. He still wore the same slacks, shoes, white shirt, and cloak. He wore his hair in the same way, and still wore the black mask. Yet he no longer wore a vest. Apparently he hadn't planned on meeting with anyone else. A gentleman who'd been raised in the 1800's did not wear only their shirtsleeves in the presence of a lady. At least that is what her mind surmised.
"Monsieur." She breathed; surprised she could get a word out at all. For a long moment, she simply stared up at him. In return, he peered down at her, curiously. He didn't seem especially nervous or cross. He simply watched her.
"Mademoiselle Rose." He finally greeted, the fine tones of his voice lifting and falling with each syllable. He bowed just slightly, and then offered her a hand. That was also what was different about him. He wore no white gloves, and so his strong looking hand was bare. He had the fingers of a pianist. Slowly, Rosemarie gave him her hand, and he pulled her gently to her feet.
"Erik, I didn't think I'd see you again." She said quietly. Again, he watched her a long moment. He seemed to examine her clothes. Then, he nodded.
"I thought the same about you." He confessed. "What are you doing down here?"
"Wishing I was out there." She stated, pointing out across the lake, to the darkness beyond which was not open to the tourists. Erik followed her gaze, and it was somewhat apparent that he smiled.
"Would you care to go there with me?" He asked, his voice a bit of a challenge. "Though I dare say you probably won't be seen in Paris again. You know what it means to come down here to my domain. Don't you?"
That made her blood run cold, even though she could tell by the tone of his voice that he was teasing her. The very idea of the possibility made her shiver just a bit. He'd succeeded in frightening her for the first time. Then again, the threat of death would frighten just about anyone.
"You wouldn't have to kill me, would you, Erik?" She asked in return. "I could stay there and live with you until my natural death."
That had Erik laughing, leaning forward just slightly. It was one of the most enchanting sounds in the world. How easy it was for him to weave a spell of sound about her. Perhaps she was susceptible to it because she knew he could do it. Maybe she wanted him to entrance her, and seduce her with his voice. Many female Phans did.
"Go back above, Rose." He suggested. "You don't want to go across there. There is nothing to see. The house is gone. I walled it in over a century ago."
She turned to look directly into his eyes again. He seemed casual, and amused. There was no trace of sadness in his eyes.
"You're a ghost then." She stated. Erik seemed to think this over for a long moment.
"Yes, I suppose I am." He confessed. "I'm something like a ghost, at least. Yet I can't necessarily chose who sees me, and who doesn't. I can't chose who does and does not hear me, either. I use my old tricks to keep concealed."
"Why did you speak to me then?" She whispered.
"You're the first person that I've actually seen get into my private box." He said simply. "I know others have gotten inside, other than the staff members who go in to clean up all the envelopes constantly being shoved under the door. I've never had a chance to read the letters."
"Does the staff read them?" She asked, horrified at the idea. If the workers of the Opera House were living in the late 1800's, they would never have dared to touch Erik's private mail. Erik shrugged slowly.
"Once in a while." He said. "That's a good thing, believe it or not. They often read them aloud to one another, so I can hear what people have to say to me. I spoke to you so that I might have the chance to read the letter myself for a change."
"You weren't going to come out and get it with me there." She protested.
"No." He confessed. "Yet I was going to get the letter just as soon as I managed to frighten you away. I thought if you heard me speak to you, you would run."
"Run from you?" It was Rosemarie's turn to laugh. "I don't think I would ever run from you, Erik!" Turning, she looked back across the lake. "I still want to see what's over there."
"Well . . . one of the areas I stoned in is rather weak." He confessed. "It could be very easy to take away the stones and get into my old home."
She thought for a very long moment. Why would he still be in the Opera House if his spirit seemed so at ease? Was it tormented and she simply couldn't see it? Erik watched her in that long moment, but did not answer the unspoken questions, which he must have been able to sense. It had always been one of his instincts, knowing what people thought.
"Come with me." He finally whispered, and swept past her, along the cement she stood on, towards the end of the rail. "Let me show you something."
Rosemarie was fast to follow, even into the blacker shadows, where the light did not reach. Soon enough, Erik gently grasped her upper left arm to lead her in the darkness, and then they stopped after about fifty seconds. There was a snapping sound, and then a small flame flared to life from a match. She watched as he lit a lantern, and could then see they were at the end of the observation deck - if that was one would call it.
Erik reached up to the short section of protective railing at that end of the deck, and unlatched a nearly invisible lock, which swung the thing inward towards them on invisible hinges. The seam between the lateral bars attached to the cement, and the ones on the now gate like rail, was invisible when together and locked. Erik glanced up at her with a smirk.
"I don't know how I managed to affect things physically, but I made this the night after they built all of this." He told her quietly. "They never knew it. The lock to keep the rail in place is sturdy."
Nodding, Rosemarie didn't speak as he pulled up his sleeve, and leaned over the edge of the deck to reach into the water. Moments later he pulled up a rope, and started pulling. In only a few seconds, an ancient looking boat - sturdy, but with faded paint - came into view, and then bumped up against the deck.
"Erik . . ." Was the only word she managed to breathe as he dried off his arm and hand with his velvet cloak, and pulled his sleeve back down into place.
Chuckling at her obvious amazement, he took the half-foot step down into the boat, and then offered his hand to her. Without hesitation, Rosemarie took that offered hand, and sat down where she presumed Christine would have sat. He reached up for the lantern still on the deck, and hung it at the front of the boat, to lead their way across the blackness of the lake, and started poling them forward.
"You aren't going to change your mind?" He asked. "How do you say it again today? Chicken out?" He laughed, and she managed a nervous giggle. This was so utterly amazing that it was hard to find anything particularly humorous. Nothing could defeat the sense of awe that she felt.
"I want to see this." She insisted, and looked back up at him. Yet he wasn't looking down at her now. He was paying strict attention to where he was directing the boat. After only a few minutes, they bumped up along a nearly invisible shore.
"Home sweet home, if you'd call it that." He announced with mild sarcasm, stepping out of the boat to tie it off to some bolt in the wall beyond the light of the lantern. Then, he came back to lift her onto the shore with careful, tender hands. Rosemarie became temporarily lost in that sensation, leaning against him even when her feet were on solid ground. He didn't seem to mind, but he didn't encourage her either.
"Well now, would you like to go see it?" He asked curiously. He bent down to pick up his lantern, and turned up the wick until a fine constant puff of black smoke was rising into the air. He kept hold on one of her hands. "Here, even with the light way up, your eyes can't adjust to the dark like mine can."
He led her up along the thin embankment, which was unbalanced by huge chunks of broken up cement. She wondered where it had all come from, but didn't ask. What did it matter? After walking a few paces, they stood in front of an area that had obviously been a doorway before it had been stoned in. It looked like the wall of a fireplace. Slowly, her gaze traveled up to Erik.
"It looks sturdy enough to me." She said quietly. He laughed, shook his head, and pointed to the top left hand corner. There was a gap, even if it was filled with black cobwebs. "I suppose I have to do this."
"I am afraid so." He told her, putting the lantern down once more. "Here, I know you can't reach." He went down on one knee and helped her to stand on his thigh. She balanced well, and hurried to pull down first one stone, than the other, without falling or dropping them on him. Even if he was a ghost, he was in physical being. She thought there was a good chance he could get hurt. So she was careful, throwing the stones far behind them.
"I think I could reach standing up now." She told him, and stepped down from his leg. Even though he wore a black mask, there was something about his stance when he rose to his feet that said he might be embarrassed about how he'd helped her. Maybe it was the fact that he'd been holding her by the lower thighs the entire time to make sure she kept her balance steady. He stood back, watching as she strained with a few of the rocks, and then finally just knocked them aside in the weaker areas. Soon, the wall was only a foot high.
"I think that's far enough." He told her gently. "Go on inside." He put both hands behind his back.
Rosemarie turned curiously.
"Aren't you coming in with me?" She asked in concern. He merely shook his head. "Why not?"
"I haven't been in there since I made the walls." He told her softly, looking away. Rosemarie felt her skin go cold. It was something no phan had ever imagined. Everyone had thought that Erik would never have done such a thing.
His body was in there. Erik had walled himself in, killing himself.
"Will you be out here when I come out?" She worried. At this, he looked back to her with a genuine smile.
"Long enough to take you back." He promised. "Even if I weren't, you'd be able to get back."
Rosemarie walked up to him, staring up at him for a long moment. Then, biting her lower lip, she hugged him tightly. He gasped sharply, obviously having not expected that, but put his arms back around her in return, lightly stroking her short hair. Equally unexpected to her, Erik gently kissed the top of her head.
"I've been waiting to be able to speak with someone." He admitted quietly. "It took over one-hundred years for someone to finally believe in me enough for me to speak to them. To finally have the good coincidence of moving up to my box in the very moment that someone was there."
Backing away, she stared up at him. She thought she was beginning to understand. Yet if she understood correctly, she wasn't so certain she wanted to go in there. If she went into his home now, she would probably never see him again after today. Even knowing he was real, and had always been real; she didn't want to let him go.
"Erik, I do love you." She whispered. "So many of us do."
He stared at her a long moment.
"Thank you."
Then he turned and found a boulder a few feet away, sitting down on slightly trembling legs. That worried her, but not much. He was a ghost, for heavens' sake. He couldn't be feeling ill in any sense of the word.
Turning, she stepped inside.
Rosemarie might have been booted from the Opera House that day, but she was in France for the entire summer. Three days later, she returned and took another tour. Although she wanted to go into Box Five again, there was somewhere else that she'd never been: the underground lake. She hardly expected anything to happen again; she thought herself lucky to have spoken to Erik once, twice would have been inconceivable. But she did want to see the lake none-the-less.
The area was restricted, for some reason or another, that day. Yet when they were close enough, she again used the excuse of having to use the bathroom to sneak away from the rest of the tour group. She searched every door and stairwell. Even using the directions she remembered from the book by Gaston Leroux, it was difficult to find her destination. It was very well concealed, it seemed. Yet finally, she walked down through the correct corridor, lit dimly by lights that aligned the floor.
The moment she saw the black underground lake shimmering under a few emergency lights that had been wired into the walls, she felt something strange come over her. It was the same way she'd felt in Box Five days earlier, when she'd knocked on the marble panel only to find it was hollow. She didn't know what made her feel so strange this time. No male voice suddenly spoke to her with such beautiful tones as to make her heart stop. She was alone, or at least she believed herself to be.
Smiling, and sighing in relief, she sat down quietly at the side of the lake, reaching down to touch her fingertips into the water, through the safety rails that had been installed. It was freezing! Pulling her hand up quickly, she wiped her wet fingertips on the forest green sweater sticking out from under her leather coat. With a fiendish little smile, she sang quietly to herself. Nothing else could have suited except for the title song from the Andrew Lloyd-Webber production of "Phantom of the Opera". Yet she preferred, just this once, to sing the first lyrics ever planned.
"Beneath the Opera House, I know he's there. He's with me on the stage. He's everywhere. And when my song begins, I always find the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind!"
Her voice came out pretty, like a rather clear bell. Yet it was absolutely nothing in comparison to the beauty of Rebecca Pitcher's voice. Rebecca was a young lady she'd seen twice on stage, and could never fully get over her performance. Well, perhaps it wasn't Rebecca's performance she couldn't get over, after all. It was entirely due to the powerful stage presence of Ted Keegan!
Hearing something to the side, Rosemarie started, turning sharply. She expected to have been found by one of the Opera House staff. Yet that wasn't who stood just over her shoulder. This was the man she'd seen three days earlier. He still wore the same slacks, shoes, white shirt, and cloak. He wore his hair in the same way, and still wore the black mask. Yet he no longer wore a vest. Apparently he hadn't planned on meeting with anyone else. A gentleman who'd been raised in the 1800's did not wear only their shirtsleeves in the presence of a lady. At least that is what her mind surmised.
"Monsieur." She breathed; surprised she could get a word out at all. For a long moment, she simply stared up at him. In return, he peered down at her, curiously. He didn't seem especially nervous or cross. He simply watched her.
"Mademoiselle Rose." He finally greeted, the fine tones of his voice lifting and falling with each syllable. He bowed just slightly, and then offered her a hand. That was also what was different about him. He wore no white gloves, and so his strong looking hand was bare. He had the fingers of a pianist. Slowly, Rosemarie gave him her hand, and he pulled her gently to her feet.
"Erik, I didn't think I'd see you again." She said quietly. Again, he watched her a long moment. He seemed to examine her clothes. Then, he nodded.
"I thought the same about you." He confessed. "What are you doing down here?"
"Wishing I was out there." She stated, pointing out across the lake, to the darkness beyond which was not open to the tourists. Erik followed her gaze, and it was somewhat apparent that he smiled.
"Would you care to go there with me?" He asked, his voice a bit of a challenge. "Though I dare say you probably won't be seen in Paris again. You know what it means to come down here to my domain. Don't you?"
That made her blood run cold, even though she could tell by the tone of his voice that he was teasing her. The very idea of the possibility made her shiver just a bit. He'd succeeded in frightening her for the first time. Then again, the threat of death would frighten just about anyone.
"You wouldn't have to kill me, would you, Erik?" She asked in return. "I could stay there and live with you until my natural death."
That had Erik laughing, leaning forward just slightly. It was one of the most enchanting sounds in the world. How easy it was for him to weave a spell of sound about her. Perhaps she was susceptible to it because she knew he could do it. Maybe she wanted him to entrance her, and seduce her with his voice. Many female Phans did.
"Go back above, Rose." He suggested. "You don't want to go across there. There is nothing to see. The house is gone. I walled it in over a century ago."
She turned to look directly into his eyes again. He seemed casual, and amused. There was no trace of sadness in his eyes.
"You're a ghost then." She stated. Erik seemed to think this over for a long moment.
"Yes, I suppose I am." He confessed. "I'm something like a ghost, at least. Yet I can't necessarily chose who sees me, and who doesn't. I can't chose who does and does not hear me, either. I use my old tricks to keep concealed."
"Why did you speak to me then?" She whispered.
"You're the first person that I've actually seen get into my private box." He said simply. "I know others have gotten inside, other than the staff members who go in to clean up all the envelopes constantly being shoved under the door. I've never had a chance to read the letters."
"Does the staff read them?" She asked, horrified at the idea. If the workers of the Opera House were living in the late 1800's, they would never have dared to touch Erik's private mail. Erik shrugged slowly.
"Once in a while." He said. "That's a good thing, believe it or not. They often read them aloud to one another, so I can hear what people have to say to me. I spoke to you so that I might have the chance to read the letter myself for a change."
"You weren't going to come out and get it with me there." She protested.
"No." He confessed. "Yet I was going to get the letter just as soon as I managed to frighten you away. I thought if you heard me speak to you, you would run."
"Run from you?" It was Rosemarie's turn to laugh. "I don't think I would ever run from you, Erik!" Turning, she looked back across the lake. "I still want to see what's over there."
"Well . . . one of the areas I stoned in is rather weak." He confessed. "It could be very easy to take away the stones and get into my old home."
She thought for a very long moment. Why would he still be in the Opera House if his spirit seemed so at ease? Was it tormented and she simply couldn't see it? Erik watched her in that long moment, but did not answer the unspoken questions, which he must have been able to sense. It had always been one of his instincts, knowing what people thought.
"Come with me." He finally whispered, and swept past her, along the cement she stood on, towards the end of the rail. "Let me show you something."
Rosemarie was fast to follow, even into the blacker shadows, where the light did not reach. Soon enough, Erik gently grasped her upper left arm to lead her in the darkness, and then they stopped after about fifty seconds. There was a snapping sound, and then a small flame flared to life from a match. She watched as he lit a lantern, and could then see they were at the end of the observation deck - if that was one would call it.
Erik reached up to the short section of protective railing at that end of the deck, and unlatched a nearly invisible lock, which swung the thing inward towards them on invisible hinges. The seam between the lateral bars attached to the cement, and the ones on the now gate like rail, was invisible when together and locked. Erik glanced up at her with a smirk.
"I don't know how I managed to affect things physically, but I made this the night after they built all of this." He told her quietly. "They never knew it. The lock to keep the rail in place is sturdy."
Nodding, Rosemarie didn't speak as he pulled up his sleeve, and leaned over the edge of the deck to reach into the water. Moments later he pulled up a rope, and started pulling. In only a few seconds, an ancient looking boat - sturdy, but with faded paint - came into view, and then bumped up against the deck.
"Erik . . ." Was the only word she managed to breathe as he dried off his arm and hand with his velvet cloak, and pulled his sleeve back down into place.
Chuckling at her obvious amazement, he took the half-foot step down into the boat, and then offered his hand to her. Without hesitation, Rosemarie took that offered hand, and sat down where she presumed Christine would have sat. He reached up for the lantern still on the deck, and hung it at the front of the boat, to lead their way across the blackness of the lake, and started poling them forward.
"You aren't going to change your mind?" He asked. "How do you say it again today? Chicken out?" He laughed, and she managed a nervous giggle. This was so utterly amazing that it was hard to find anything particularly humorous. Nothing could defeat the sense of awe that she felt.
"I want to see this." She insisted, and looked back up at him. Yet he wasn't looking down at her now. He was paying strict attention to where he was directing the boat. After only a few minutes, they bumped up along a nearly invisible shore.
"Home sweet home, if you'd call it that." He announced with mild sarcasm, stepping out of the boat to tie it off to some bolt in the wall beyond the light of the lantern. Then, he came back to lift her onto the shore with careful, tender hands. Rosemarie became temporarily lost in that sensation, leaning against him even when her feet were on solid ground. He didn't seem to mind, but he didn't encourage her either.
"Well now, would you like to go see it?" He asked curiously. He bent down to pick up his lantern, and turned up the wick until a fine constant puff of black smoke was rising into the air. He kept hold on one of her hands. "Here, even with the light way up, your eyes can't adjust to the dark like mine can."
He led her up along the thin embankment, which was unbalanced by huge chunks of broken up cement. She wondered where it had all come from, but didn't ask. What did it matter? After walking a few paces, they stood in front of an area that had obviously been a doorway before it had been stoned in. It looked like the wall of a fireplace. Slowly, her gaze traveled up to Erik.
"It looks sturdy enough to me." She said quietly. He laughed, shook his head, and pointed to the top left hand corner. There was a gap, even if it was filled with black cobwebs. "I suppose I have to do this."
"I am afraid so." He told her, putting the lantern down once more. "Here, I know you can't reach." He went down on one knee and helped her to stand on his thigh. She balanced well, and hurried to pull down first one stone, than the other, without falling or dropping them on him. Even if he was a ghost, he was in physical being. She thought there was a good chance he could get hurt. So she was careful, throwing the stones far behind them.
"I think I could reach standing up now." She told him, and stepped down from his leg. Even though he wore a black mask, there was something about his stance when he rose to his feet that said he might be embarrassed about how he'd helped her. Maybe it was the fact that he'd been holding her by the lower thighs the entire time to make sure she kept her balance steady. He stood back, watching as she strained with a few of the rocks, and then finally just knocked them aside in the weaker areas. Soon, the wall was only a foot high.
"I think that's far enough." He told her gently. "Go on inside." He put both hands behind his back.
Rosemarie turned curiously.
"Aren't you coming in with me?" She asked in concern. He merely shook his head. "Why not?"
"I haven't been in there since I made the walls." He told her softly, looking away. Rosemarie felt her skin go cold. It was something no phan had ever imagined. Everyone had thought that Erik would never have done such a thing.
His body was in there. Erik had walled himself in, killing himself.
"Will you be out here when I come out?" She worried. At this, he looked back to her with a genuine smile.
"Long enough to take you back." He promised. "Even if I weren't, you'd be able to get back."
Rosemarie walked up to him, staring up at him for a long moment. Then, biting her lower lip, she hugged him tightly. He gasped sharply, obviously having not expected that, but put his arms back around her in return, lightly stroking her short hair. Equally unexpected to her, Erik gently kissed the top of her head.
"I've been waiting to be able to speak with someone." He admitted quietly. "It took over one-hundred years for someone to finally believe in me enough for me to speak to them. To finally have the good coincidence of moving up to my box in the very moment that someone was there."
Backing away, she stared up at him. She thought she was beginning to understand. Yet if she understood correctly, she wasn't so certain she wanted to go in there. If she went into his home now, she would probably never see him again after today. Even knowing he was real, and had always been real; she didn't want to let him go.
"Erik, I do love you." She whispered. "So many of us do."
He stared at her a long moment.
"Thank you."
Then he turned and found a boulder a few feet away, sitting down on slightly trembling legs. That worried her, but not much. He was a ghost, for heavens' sake. He couldn't be feeling ill in any sense of the word.
Turning, she stepped inside.