A/n - All right you vultures!! (teasing) I'll write this one last chapter!
I know it's a switch from my usually sappiness/cheeriness, but that's what
I like about it. Maybe if you guys don't like it I won't have to write
anymore! (teasing again, but is in all serious walking on a wire with this
one).
@-}--@-}--@-}--@-}--@-}-
"I am the writing on the wall; the whisper in the classroom. Without these, I am nothing. So now I must shed innocent blood. Be my victim." "Do you believe in me? . . . Come with me and be immortal." ~ Quote snippets from Clive Barker's "Candyman".
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The Truth
Erik stood staring out over the lake, a pile of stone at his feet. There was more than stone in that pile, but he didn't want to look down. His eyes were bloodshot and damp, as was the skin under his mask, which made him feel terribly uncomfortable. At least it would have . . . had he been alive.
There was a small inflatable raft coming across the lake, a group of people aboard it, all carrying flashlights, and miner's helmets with lights on them. It helped them to see much more than any lantern would have. They were coming to see what the loud crash had been only fifteen minutes before. Now they would find the open doorway, the body, and they would also find Rosemarie.
It would be another rumor about the Opera Ghost to add to the thousands he'd already created over the years. Although the myth of the Phantom of the Opera had long been called legend, it was mostly taken on as a flight of fancy, and as rubbish. With the new happenings at the lake, no one would doubt his existence any longer. No one would doubt the power of the Phantom.
Sighing, he knelt to look at the face staring out blankly from the pile of stone. The lungs had been crushed, vital organs pulverized, bones snapped - including the back and neck. Had she been alive, it would have caused a momentous amount of pain. He was glad she hadn't suffered. She'd been so sweet. He hadn't wanted to hurt her. Truly, he hadn't. He hadn't meant for the wall to collapse on her. He'd wanted her to carry the story of the masked skeleton back up to Paris for him. Of course he couldn't have let anyone else find his sacred home. So he'd wanted the wall to collapse. If only he'd been paying attention . . . sweet Rosemarie would still be alive.
"Rose . . ." He sighed, brushing his finger against her chalky cheek, his shoulders shaking slightly as he tried not to cry. He was confident that the group coming across the lake would not see or hear him. He'd botched everything up again. There would be stories of the Opera Ghost. Yet there would also be displays of the body, pictures of the underground house, museum displays of the music kept safely untouched in a vault. They would be careful not to ruin his compositions, since by now the paper would be so fragile. They'd rewrite it and publish it, sending it out into a public that was never supposed to be exposed to it.
The legend of the Phantom of the Opera was going to live again, and very little would be said about the girl who had been killed discovering it.
"Erik!" Jerking his head upward, his own eyes widened.
He should have known.
Rosemarie stood in the doorway, smiling at him brightly, even though she was fully aware of her own body lying just by him. She folded her arms over her chest as she watched him, and then nodded back towards the lair.
"C'mon, Erik! Let's go!"
Blinking rapidly, he stood and moved into the shadows with her, just as the inflatable boat filled with Opera House staff reached their shore.
@-}--@-}--@-}--@-}--@-}-
"I am the writing on the wall; the whisper in the classroom. Without these, I am nothing. So now I must shed innocent blood. Be my victim." "Do you believe in me? . . . Come with me and be immortal." ~ Quote snippets from Clive Barker's "Candyman".
@-}-- @-}--
The Truth
Erik stood staring out over the lake, a pile of stone at his feet. There was more than stone in that pile, but he didn't want to look down. His eyes were bloodshot and damp, as was the skin under his mask, which made him feel terribly uncomfortable. At least it would have . . . had he been alive.
There was a small inflatable raft coming across the lake, a group of people aboard it, all carrying flashlights, and miner's helmets with lights on them. It helped them to see much more than any lantern would have. They were coming to see what the loud crash had been only fifteen minutes before. Now they would find the open doorway, the body, and they would also find Rosemarie.
It would be another rumor about the Opera Ghost to add to the thousands he'd already created over the years. Although the myth of the Phantom of the Opera had long been called legend, it was mostly taken on as a flight of fancy, and as rubbish. With the new happenings at the lake, no one would doubt his existence any longer. No one would doubt the power of the Phantom.
Sighing, he knelt to look at the face staring out blankly from the pile of stone. The lungs had been crushed, vital organs pulverized, bones snapped - including the back and neck. Had she been alive, it would have caused a momentous amount of pain. He was glad she hadn't suffered. She'd been so sweet. He hadn't wanted to hurt her. Truly, he hadn't. He hadn't meant for the wall to collapse on her. He'd wanted her to carry the story of the masked skeleton back up to Paris for him. Of course he couldn't have let anyone else find his sacred home. So he'd wanted the wall to collapse. If only he'd been paying attention . . . sweet Rosemarie would still be alive.
"Rose . . ." He sighed, brushing his finger against her chalky cheek, his shoulders shaking slightly as he tried not to cry. He was confident that the group coming across the lake would not see or hear him. He'd botched everything up again. There would be stories of the Opera Ghost. Yet there would also be displays of the body, pictures of the underground house, museum displays of the music kept safely untouched in a vault. They would be careful not to ruin his compositions, since by now the paper would be so fragile. They'd rewrite it and publish it, sending it out into a public that was never supposed to be exposed to it.
The legend of the Phantom of the Opera was going to live again, and very little would be said about the girl who had been killed discovering it.
"Erik!" Jerking his head upward, his own eyes widened.
He should have known.
Rosemarie stood in the doorway, smiling at him brightly, even though she was fully aware of her own body lying just by him. She folded her arms over her chest as she watched him, and then nodded back towards the lair.
"C'mon, Erik! Let's go!"
Blinking rapidly, he stood and moved into the shadows with her, just as the inflatable boat filled with Opera House staff reached their shore.