Author's note: The last chapter before the end of Act I, in this, the Phantom's opera…
Disclaimer: YES, I own them – I own them all! Ah-hahahahaha!!! And I own private property on the moon.
Chapter Eleven –
Sorrow's Unwilling Captive
Erik narrates…
An indeterminable time later, I felt my being ebbing back into the world of consciousness and I opened my eyes. My vision was still blurry and I felt very lethargic, very tired, and very weak. I heard low, hushed voices nearby me and turned my head, with an effort that I was not accustomed to exerting. Unsure of myself, for I still couldn't quite see in the shadows, I spoke to the voice that I could most easily recognize.
"Antoinette?"
Suddenly, she was beside me, her dark eyes gazing into mine, and she looked tired and careworn, as if she had just spent a many long hours of worrying. But over whom? What had happened? My memory was hazy.
"Yes, Erik." she replied, her voice soft. "I'm here."
Another face drifted into my line of eyesight and I felt myself start with a jolt of shock and just a bit of irritation.
"Nadir!" I growled – or tried to. Somehow my throat and chest wouldn't permit me to make any sound above a weak, pathetic, and raspy whisper.
Nadir regarded me calmly, his face without expression although his dark eyes were sad.
"Yes, Erik," he said. "You have been unwell."
"And how long have I been 'unwell'?" I asked, impatiently; I was beginning to remember a little of what had happened to me. I really wanted to know how he had come to be here, in my lair, and where Christine now was, but I couldn't ask that yet.
"Almost a week."
Mme. Giry had been helping me sit up and I thought that I had almost mastered the feat when I heard his words. I fell back, stiffening in shock, and was grateful for the presence of the pillows behind me. Almost a week!
The phrase did something strange, something unnerving, to my mind. Without even thinking about it, I ran my hands through my hair, feeling the coarse reality of its brown thickness, and saw nothing but the blankness of my own whirling mind for a moment. Realizing that they were still there, I looked up, to Nadir, who was sitting, waiting for me to speak. "What happened?" I asked.
His eyebrows lifted slightly. "You don't remember?"
I glared at him. "Were you expecting me to?"
Mme. Giry shot me a 'behave yourself' look that was full of warning; in spite of the fact that I was her employer of sorts, she had always taken the role of a mother in my life, and, much as I sometimes despised this, I usually humored her, and spared myself the annoyance of her lecturing, by obeying. Nadir ignored my snappishness, and, with an air of complacent serenity, he sat back in his chair – both he and Mme. Giry were seated, only he had placed a chair beside the bed, while she was sitting at my side – and made a steeple of his fingers, staring at them for a few moments. Then, he leaned forward and explained all.
"You were badly injured in a struggle against a certain opponent of yours, one Vicomte de Chagny – Raoul. He shot you."
I nodded, not saying anything.
"I arrived on the scene shortly after the incident to find you unconscious, with your very concerned friend and a sobbing Mademoiselle Daae hovering about you, while a guilt-ridden and terrified Vicomte de Chagny tried vainly to pull her away from your limp, unresponsive body. I helped the Vicomte bring the young lady away, and then I, together with Madame, was able to find our way down here, so that we could take care of you. However, unfortunately, you fell into a fever brought on by your wound and the subsequent loss of blood that you suffered, and we spent a few harrowing hours. You shouldn't have worried us so, my friend."
I swung my head to face him, narrowing my eyes a little.
"If that is the price I must pay…"
But then I suddenly felt very tired and very weak all over again, and I let my head fall back against the pillows as I closed my eyes, shutting out everything beyond them.
"I must thank you, however reluctantly, Daroga…although I don't quite know if I should really be thanking you or berating you for coming here."
He smiled at me in his completely irking way and turned to leave.
"The fact that you said those words is enough for me, my friend."
He had made his exit before I could respond and the door closed silently behind him, the handle making a soft click in the silence that had filled the room. I turned to Mme. Giry then, irritably. "Why did we let him come here?"
"I'm sorry, Erik," she said. "But he said that he was the only way you'd survive – that if I tried to save you myself, I would fail."
I sighed, giving in to this. I really didn't feel like arguing, for once.
"Where is Christine?"
She was silent for a moment, and then she replied, "At the Paris abode of the de Chagny family – Raoul's house in town."
"Ah, not too hard to find then." I said, lightly, and she finally looked up then, alarm written on her face. I groaned inwardly, knowing what was coming next.
"Erik, no! Please, try to think about this. I know how you feel about her – you've been in love with her ever since you laid eyes on her," It was true; I wouldn't deny her words, "but try to consider – the de Chagny family is very powerful. If you—"
"And I am powerful as well, dearest guardian of mine." I replied, narrowing my eyes and hearing my voice become cold, hard, and steely.
The mere thought of Christine in the clutches of that stupid, that worthless and utterly senseless boy, who was fool enough to think that she loved him made my every sense smart with the insult of the whole situation. With the pain of the thought of losing her. I shook my head, refusing to give in to that thought and become sorrow's unwilling captive. I loved Christine, and I always would, until the day I died. I didn't expect her to return that love; in fact, I intended to never tell her of it. She could know of my past and anything else that she might wonder about, but I would never reveal my love, for it was hopeless. But I would never give her up to an idiot like Raoul either. That much I knew.
Then I continued, my tone like ice.
"I am the Phantom of the Opera, and no one will stand between me and that which I desire. If Raoul thinks that he can drive me out of Christine's life by killing me, he's about to learn that I'm more of an undead, haunting spirit than he thought."
She closed her eyes slowly, and I knew that she had realized that pleading with me, reasoning with me even, would never work to change my mind. It wouldn't – she was wise to give up before she had even truly started.
"Then what will you do?" she asked.
I shrugged.
"What will I do? Make every effort, pull out all the stops and cross every boundary that I can in order to bring her back. I won't give her up. I've already told her that I'll always be there, to guide her and teach her. As soon as I'm well, I'm going to find her…somehow."
We were silent for a few moments longer, and then I tried to sit up. A pain in my left shoulder flared up violently and I winced.
"Um…oh. Ow. I hadn't felt that before." I commented, biting the inside of my lip as my mother moved to help me. I couldn't believe the damage that that boy had been able to inflict on me. I should have seen it coming. So that's it – I'm an idiot, I thought.
"Erik, take off your shirt. I'll need to change the dressing on your wound."
I obeyed as she stood and went to retrieve some gauze and some other items from the table that stood beside my bed. When she turned back around, I had just finished lifting my white silk nightshirt over my head. She took it and placed it at the foot of the bed, then tore off some gauze as I once again attempted to make myself comfortable.
"What does darling little Meg think that you've been doing every night now since the 'Il Muto' disaster?" I inquired. I had never known my guardian's daughter, who had been born long after I had left France – had I been blessed with a normal face, I might have known her all of her life as her mother had known me. My mother might not have hated me as she had. Ah, my life.
"Meg has gone to live with Christine. Raoul saw that she was so distraught after what he had done that he felt compelled by decency—"
"As if he could have such a thing." I muttered, under my breath. "Ow! Do you think that you could pull on that bloody thing a bit harder, perhaps?" She was just finishing the last touches on my new bandage.
"He felt compelled by decency," she repeated, "To lighten her grief by inviting her best friend, the only person whom he thought could bring her solace, to come and live with her. Now you see that I'm practically torn between you two – you, who have practically become my son over these long years, and my own blood daughter. Christine has loved Meg as her sister and best friend for all of her life, but now she has someone else in her life – you."
"Flattered as I am that you consider me a sort of son to you, I won't have you disillusioning yourself about what I am to Christine. She will never know of how I feel about her. I won't tell her. Even if she can say that she can stand my face, and even if she likes to be here, with me, I can't ask her to love me. I can't expect that. Look at me."
"I do, Erik." she said, and stood, eyeing me closely, looking over her work. "It'll be at least another two days before you can get out of bed and move around again. Then nothing – not even I – will be able to stop you."
"Two days?" I complained, wondering what on earth I was going to do with myself, stuck in my room for that long. "How can you be so cruel?"
"In order to be kind," she said.
"And I suppose that I should be polite and say, 'Merci beaucoup and I owe you for saving my life, Aunt Antoinette dearest, and just be done with it?"
She smiled, wryly.
"But of course, Monsieur Erik."
I groaned, rolling my eyes begrudgingly.
"This is going to be a long two days."
She then left the room, and I gingerly turned back over and sank gratefully into the mound of pillows that were behind me. I glanced at my room.
It was silent – silent and cold as a grave. That is what it would be, one day, when my life no longer meant anything as far as time was concerned. The entire lair would be one gigantic tomb, and perhaps someday, somewhere far off in the distant future, someone would come along and discover it, and say, "This was where the Phantom of the Opera lived…and died." I really couldn't hope for anything more.
I wanted Christine back. I wanted her so badly.
She had already begun to do things – to change me in ways that I hadn't thought possible. How long had I believed that I could never endure human touch, the contact of another sentient being's hand? And how long had it taken for me to totally give in and even desire her touch? It was just one of the many ways that she had effected me.
I would bring her back.
There was no stopping it.
* * * * * *
Author's note: The end of Act I. Act II coming soon!