Disclaimer: Same holds as before…

Father Once Spoke of an Angel

By: Stealiana

Chapter 2: Reliving a Nightmare

"Firmin and Andrés send children to hunt me out, do they? Well, they will see soon enough it is best not to meddle with the affairs of the Opera Ghost!" The lantern light soaked into a man wearing a black swallowtail coat over a crisp white-buttoned shirt. A black satin mask in the light hid half his face, the rest cowering in the shadows. Where the glowing orbs had been were now black holes, bottomless pits of ebony. The frown on the lips of the being did not, and could not, equal the anger in which he spoke.

"Children! They send me children! Did they expect the hideous ghost to eat them?! Were they asking for another tragedy? Oh, I would hate to see another chandelier drop, but if the cables are frayed, the managers are at fault. Oh yes, the managers are the ones to blame. If children are eaten by the ghost in the cellars of the Opera House, well, the managers must be the ones who caused it…" In one adept sweep, he caught up the girl again, looking at her more carefully this time.

"Yes… yes, the managers are to blame." He snarled as he heard her whimper again. "Am I no better than the rodents that crawl the cellar?! Are you frightened yet, child?!" His voice was powerful, carrying itself through her entire being. She bit her lip to keep from crying. His voice was strained as he thundered,

"Answer me! Are you frightened yet?! Are you ready to go back to your mother? Your loving mother, who never tells you to leave and never come back?! Who cries when you are gone?! ANSWER ME!" His voice was high, stretched to the breaking point. His gloved fist was shaking, threatening an explosion of unpredictable violence.

Eric leapt over the barrels, stumbling slightly. He hit up against the side of the angry man, who lowered the girl and turned, surprised. The Opera Ghost extended a hand, his knuckles delivering a slap across Eric's jaw. The boy felt his mouth fill with blood, but he pulled on the girl, the slackened grip on her collar lenient enough for her escape. The man towered over them both, and it seemed that there were red pinpricks of light coming from the back of the mask where the eyes were supposed to be. Fearing that the Ghost would come after them, Eric took her hand and fled. He stumbled through the dark, his hands groping for the way they had come. The last words he heard were faint as they reverberated through the deserted tunnels.

"Is it not enough for me to be condemned to this hell for eternity? To perish alone? Oh God, oh God, let me die, let me be a corpse rotting in the cellars of the Opera House… for I am as good as dead without her…and yet, no corpse could be more repulsive than I!" A tormented cry penetrated all the stone walls, and it drove itself into Eric's ears like rusty nails. A hoarse sobbing escorted the pair of beggars to the exit of the underground passageway and was finally silenced as the padlock was snapped shut.

Once they were back on the Rue Scribe, Eric turned to her. His face, though bruised on the right side, was evidently beaming. He turned her hand palm up and placed something in it.

"5,000 francs!"

* * *

Erik finally picked himself up. He had slumped over, with his face in his hands. His hideous face. He had been forced to remove his mask, for the tears had overwhelmed him, running over and under that hated piece of clothing. He had not forgotten to extinguish the lantern beforehand. No, he never forgot that. He searched his pocket for a handkerchief. It was then he noticed it. His money was gone.

"The rats took it, did they." His legs felt heavy and his feet did not wish to move. He had no will to follow them and terrorize them further. Instead, he decided, he would finish the preparations tomorrow. He would see the Persian and make arrangements then. He would buy the necessary materials at some other time. Then he would be at peace. Now that she had left him, he had no will to live.

He turned back to his house. He had more arrangements that needed to be made. More preparations involving the final sealing of his dwelling, once she returned and left for the last time. She would need instructions. Yes, that's what he would do.

* * *

Erik turned the last corner. He preferred using the Rue Scribe entrance. He had several other exits, but this was the most convenient. He approached the gate and suddenly halted. There was a neatly wrapped package sitting on the inside of the locked bars, with a folded note on top. He looked about, but had not seen anyone nor heard anything throughout his silent travels. Slowly he knelt, and opened the paper. In sloppy print, the letter read:

'Monsieur Opera Ghost:

Our most humble apologies for the intrusion. Here's a cake we bought, to make amends. We hope you enjoy it.'

Erik tore the tiny paper in half and tossed it into the sluggish river. As he watched the current carry it away through the bars, he turned to leave. He was in no mood for practical jokes, nor humiliation by some disease infested street rat. The image of the two children fleeing from him was still fresh in his mind, and the memory of his final plans had done little to gloss over his anger. But it was the thought of the task he had come to complete which made him suddenly turn again. An irrational question surfaced in his mind, the curiosity too much to avoid. He peeled back the paper wrapping to reveal the cake inside. He reached out to break a piece off, but hesitated. He finally tasted it, still wary. It was nothing more than a simple honey cake, but to his palate it was far superior than anything he had ever tasted. Perhaps, perhaps he would wait to see the Persian. Yes, surely, the visit could wait.

* * *

3 years later

It had begun to rain.

A cold, driving rain, the kind that forced itself through the clothing, straight for the skin. It was only a matter of time before the temperature dropped enough for the rain to begin icing over. Eric was worried.

She had been coughing for several weeks now. It was becoming more and more frequent, more and more haggard. Each day it sounded like Jacques's cough had. He didn't like this.

He had no money to bring her to a doctor. The factory owners would let her into the infirmary, under the condition that she stayed to work if she became well. Eric had heard enough stories circulating of girls who had died from machinery accidents, not to mention what he had been told about his own mother. He knew how the foremen raped the young girls in the factories. It made him sick. He would die before she even saw the factories, he vowed. Nonetheless, he was worried.

The rain had changed to ice. Tiny flecks pelted his face as he made his way back to where she promised she would stay. His heart missed a beat when he saw her.

Her face was red, unnaturally red. Her lips were purple as she lay huddled against a cold stone building front. He hurried to her, encircling her in his own lanky arms, rubbing a hand up against hers, trying to warm them. He breathed on her fingers, trying to think of what else he could do. Her eyes were dark and filled with such a sadness he had never seen before. She seemed to know that the cold was sinking in, permanently. He blinked back the burning tears he felt coming, and gathered her malnourished body in his arms.

"I know you don't want to go, but we have no choice. I'm going to bring you somewhere warm… and… maybe someone can help us. I promise I'll take care of you." Her tiny blonde head leaned against his shoulder, her silence indicating her agreement. He briefly touched his pocket before he broke into a brisk walk, weaving his way through the almost empty streets.

He tried to shelter her from the sleet as best he could, but it wasn't until he started descending the stairs that the sky let up. The tall walls protected them from the wind, which was better than before. When he reached the entrance, he gently put her down and pulled out the key. She opened her eyes, taking a moment to recollect where they were. Her eyes widened in fear as she saw the gate and the key. She moaned slightly, starting to get up. Eric had already unlocked the door, though, and he scooped her into his arms.

"Come on, it'll be warmer inside. I promise, everything will be just fine." He began to make his way down through the darkness, each step revisiting the silent exploration he had made with her so long ago. He had taken the lantern again, slipping the chain around his wrist. It grated against his skin, but he had no free hands to carry it with.

He walked until he found the cellar with odd bits and pieces of cloth. Most were old tapestries which had been used in some production of the Opera. Eric carefully brushed them as clean as he could, making a tiny bed in the corner of a raised platform. He wrapped her up in them and sat next to her, holding her upright.

"You can't sleep until you've warmed up a little," he insisted. Jacques had gotten angry with him once for sleeping while he was cold. He never explained why, but he said that if Eric had fallen asleep, he wouldn't have woken up again. Eric didn't want to run the risk that this was the same kind of situation. He watched her eyes droop closed, her breathing slowing.

"No, no, you can't sleep just yet!" Eric shook her gently, forcing a moan out of her followed by a cough. She looked at him pitifully.

"Please, Eric, I just want to rest a little…"

"No, no… not until you're warm." He put the back of his hand against her cheek, his concern evident. "I know. We'll sing, and then you can sleep, alright?" Her eyes lit up, and she nodded. He smiled. "I'll start…"

His voice started out timidly, not wanting to break the silence. But she joined him, their voices weaving in and out to create an angelic sound as they sang a lullaby. Eric put his hand against her cheek and smiled, nodding to her as he kept singing. She fell asleep leaning against him, and he smiled, softly petting her hair as he ended the song.

He had just finished tucking her in when he stopped. He suddenly felt as though he was being watched. He turned slowly, afraid of what he might find. His heart paused in his chest and he felt a lump in his throat.

It was the Opera Ghost.

***Friendly reminder to r/r