Night Visitor

The passageways beneath the Opera House were dark, but the man had excellent night vision and easily traveled down the narrow paths toward his destination. He finally came upon a large open area, one corner of which was illuminated by a single candle. The man stopped short of entering the room, and stood observing the silent figure which sat at the organ.

     Erik was hunched over the keys as if preparing to play, but his hands were folded neatly in his lap and his head was bowed. The organ seemed to be the only item in the room that had escaped major damage. The man in the shadows never made a noise, but suddenly Erik's spine stiffened slightly, and he quickly stood from the bench, turning to face the dark area where the man stood. "Who is there?" Erik demanded.

     A form disengaged itself from the darkness and approached Erik, raising his hands slightly to show he was unarmed. "I intend you no harm, monsieur," he said in heavily accented French. "I merely want to talk to you."

     "I wish to talk to no one," Erik told him. "It would be best for you if you left now!"

     "Nonsense," the man replied. "I traveled quite a distance to see you, my friend, and I cannot leave until I've had my say." He pulled a watch from his pocket, noting the time. "Besides, it is nearly dawn, and I am, shall we say, allergic to sunlight…"

     Erik ran a hand over his sparse hair-he hadn't bothered to find another wig-there was no one left to hide his appearance from now. "Your allergies do not concern me. You are not welcome here, and unless you wish to meet the fate of other unwelcome visitors, you will go now."

     The threat did not alarm the man. "I am sorry about your living quarters," he motioned to the shambles around him. "If I could have been here in time, I would have stopped them."

     Erik's anger was growing. "I will give you one last chance…"

     "Erik, Erik… I am not one of your cowardly Opera managers, whom you may manipulate at your every whim. I will stay until you hear me out."
     "How did you know my name? Not even… Christine… knew my name…" Erik whispered.

     "That is unimportant. I want to make you an offer."
     "An offer?!" Erik's eyes flashed angrily, and in spite of himself, the man took a step backwards. "The last time someone made me an offer, monsieur, I ended up in a cage!"

     "I know, I know, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. You may choose to accept or deny what I offer to you, with no consequences that you will not be made aware of." He watched as Erik took a deep breath, calming himself. "Well," the man continued. "Aren't you even slightly interested?"
     "Not particularly," Erik responded. "But I suppose I must hear you out, since you will not leave otherwise, and I have seen too much death and bloodshed these last days…"

     The man smiled slightly and stepped closer to the Opera Ghost. "I have come, Erik, to offer you… immortality."

     "Immortality?"
     "Yes, eternal life…"
     "I know what the word means!" Erik exploded. "What kind of fool do you take me for? Living down here these many years may have made me mad, but certainly not stupid."

     The man sighed; Erik's temper was truly as bad as he had been led to believe. "I was not implying you were," he said through clenched teeth. "If you would control yourself for five minutes, I will explain everything."
     Erik raised his eyebrow in surprise-no one had ever spoken to the Phantom of the Opera that way before. The man was obviously demented, with his promises of eternal life. What harm would it do to hear him out before forcing him to leave, or killing him? "Forgive me," he said in a dangerously sweet tone of voice. "Pray continue."

     The man nodded. "Immortality," he said. "Not without its price, of course. But think of the things you could accomplish. Your music, your architecture. To outlive those who have tried so hard to destroy you; perhaps even take vengeance on them in ways you could not now."

     "If I were foolish enough to believe you actually could deliver on that offer, what in God's name makes you think I would WANT to live forever? I have waited on death for many years now; I would gladly welcome it with open arms tonight."
     "Why?"   
     "WHY?! For one who seems to know so much about me, you are quite ignorant!" Erik tore off the mask and gestured to the deformed side of his face. "Would you wish this on anyone, monsieur? For even a few years? Why do you wish to torment me with this face for an eternity?"

     The man pursed his lips and paced around the room. "Has it never occurred to you that science and medicine will, perhaps even in the very near future, advance to such a degree that  your deformity could be repaired? You would look like a normal man, as you have so desperately wanted to for all your life."

     Erik was silent a few moments, then he sighed. "Repairing my face would only fix the problems on the surface. Perhaps I have other wounds that will never heal… and time will not make them any better, nor help me forget…"

     "Ah, yes. Miss Daae." Erik's head jerked up at the mention of her name, but he showed no other reaction. "Have you seen the lovely lady since you sent her away?"
     "Of course not!" Erik replaced the mask with shaking hands. "I meant for her to be free from me, and I will keep that vow."
     "She will never be free of you," the man said pointedly. "What do you think she is doing at this moment?"
     Erik's hands clenched into fists. "She is with her Vicomte; living in the sunlight, perhaps planning her wedding…" his voice broke.

     The man put his hand on Erik's shoulder. "What if I told you she never went with de Chagny; that she is at this moment living alone in her apartment. She has refused requests to return to the Opera, despite many pleadings on the parts of Messrs. Firmin and Andre. Her only thoughts are of you, but she is afraid to return to you, fearing your rejection."
     "No," Erik moaned. "I won't believe it."

     "Go and see for yourself. Then perhaps you'll believe everything I've told you." The man walked toward Erik's room and opened the door, pleased to see it had escaped the wrath of the mob. "Would you mind if I borrowed your coffin?"

     He smiled widely, and Erik noticed, for the first time, that the man's canine teeth were rather larger than normal… A sudden suspicion entered his mind, but he pushed it aside. "Be my guest," he murmured. He had decided to break his self-imposed exile and would go see Christine.

~~~

     Erik hurried through the pre-dawn darkness, wanting to finish his business above ground before the light of day brought forth the inhabitants of Paris. He stopped a few houses away from Christine's abode, having sudden doubts of the wisdom of going through with his hasty decision to see her. A light in a window beckoned him, and he edged toward it, peering cautiously around the dainty lace curtains. She was there, dozing in a chair, a forgotten cup of tea on the small table beside her. Erik leaned his head gently against the window, drinking in her beauty. But as he stared, he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. Was she ill? The thought frightened him beyond belief. Then she moved slightly, and awoke.

     Erik pulled back in surprise as she looked directly at the window, her eyes widening. He whirled and ran, heedless of the direction. Behind him, he heard the door open, and her voice calling. "Angel? Angel!" He rounded a corner, his cloak billowing behind him as evidence of his presence. "Angel!" she cried once again. "Please don't leave me!" But the dark figure was gone.