Father Once Spoke of an Angel
By: Stealiana
Chapter 10: The Lapse
Eric fell silent, sometimes barely keeping up with the shadow. He knew he should be rehearsing… he could picture the disdain on Adrian's face, when he finally did show up. But he was going to see Christine-! All else paled in comparison.
As the pair wound their way down through the basements, Eric thought he could hear a voice wafting through the echoing corridors. When he stopped to listen, the shadow admonished him, a sliver on contempt in his voice.
"You've heard arpeggios before, keep moving." Eric jogged to catch up, grateful the darkness hid his embarrassment. Of course he had heard arpeggios, but they never sounded quite like this. The lilting of her voice and the delicate way she sung the pitches made it sound like a crystal wind chime, tinkling in the breeze.
He snapped back to reality as his foot stepped into the water. He turned to the boat, where the Ghost was waiting.
"She does have a wonderful voice." It was not a question, although the Ghost's tone seemed to beg for a response.
"…Has she always sounded like that?" Eric asked, slightly taken aback.
"Yes… although her skills required some cultivating." The Ghost turned to him, a strange light burning in his eyes. "Now do you see, the power I have that those foolish managers have refused to recognize? The genius behind my work?" Eric nodded, unsure of what else to do. The Ghost turned after that outburst, keeping the remainder of his dark musings to himself.
The voice grew stronger and stronger as the two neared the underground layer. The arpeggios ceased, and she began singing a song slowly, the words clear enough to be understood.
"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Say the word and I will follow you. Share each day with me, each night, each morning. Say you love me… Love me, that's all I ask of you."
The Ghost had strangely frozen at the sound of the song, and then, without warning, he darted towards his dwelling. Eric watched, entranced by the beauty of Christine's voice, and surprised by the sudden reaction of the Ghost. He finally gathered enough wits about him to disembark and tie the boat up.
"Anywhere you go let me go too! Love me, that's all I ask of y-" He heard the door slam open. Her voice ended in a squeak, and Eric's heartbeat quickened as he heard the Ghost shouting.
"HOW DARE YOU? THE INSOLENCE! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! NO ONE LOOKS THROUGH MY MUSIC AND SINGS THESE SONGS WITHOUT MY PERMISSION! NO ONE! GET OUT!" There was a tiny cry and a loud crack. At the sound, Eric broke into a run. He skidded to a halt in the open doorway, crying out.
"Christine!"
She had her back to the wall; the piano bench lay on its side, cracked open. Sheets upon sheets of music had scattered to the ground, and in the middle was the Phantom. He loomed tall, his black eveningwear ominously glaring in the well-lit room. His silk mask covered his face, but not his rage.
"I SAID GET OUT!" He turned to Eric. "BOTH OF YOU, GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!" Eric beckoned Christine over, and she inched toward him timidly. When the Ghost did not move, she broke into a run, throwing her arms around Eric and burying her tear-stained face in his brand new jacket. He drew her outside and closed the door, leading her to the wall. They sat down and she cried into his jacket as he silently stroked her hair.
"I- I didn't know he would get so angry… I didn't mean to make him angry! It was such a beautiful song I couldn't help myself!"
"Shh, it's alright. I'll take care of it. Calm down…"
* * *
Eric had no idea how long he had been out there. In the underground passageways, there was no telling whether it was day or night, rainy or sunny. It was always the same dank, miserable, black corridors filled with rodents and lined with cold stone.
He was sore from sitting in the same position, but he did not want to move the sleeping girl. Her head was cradled in his arms, her tiny body pressing against his side as she huddled for warmth and security. The whole passageway had been deathly quiet for hours. He strained every now and again to see if he could hear the Ghost inside, but there had been no noise in so long; Eric was sure he had left.
Eric's senses pricked; he thought he heard a rustle of paper. The Ghost was still there. After awhile, a faint muttering grew in strength, until it was quite audible.
"Look at what you've done to me, Daaé! If you could see me now… you wouldn't want to see me, though, would you? You never did. You never, never did. Look at what you've done to me. I turned on children… mere children! I could have killed her, you know. She's such a fragile thing. A glass vase holding so much talent that she might crack. Just like you. Just like you, Daaé. But you ran away. And now I chased them away. What have I done? What did you make me do? If it wasn't for you, you and your foolish, IGNORANT Raoul… I detest that name; it leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. If it wasn't for you and Raoul… they would have stayed. If you had not sung this song for him, if you had not taken my soul and crushed it-!"
There was a moment of silence, then the sound of the bench being righted. A simple delicate melody was drawn out of the piano keys.
"I gave you my music, made your song take wing, and now, how you've repaid me, denied me and betrayed me…" The melody halted, the last note dangling, unfinished.
An eerie quiet settled in once again. Above the lapping water, Eric heard a strange muffled sound, much like tiny gasps of air. He gently leaned Christine against the side of the building and cracked open the door. Through the tiny slit he saw the Ghost hunched over the piano keys, his mask on the bench beside him. After a moment, Eric closed the door and returned to Christine, letting the Ghost cry in peace.
* * *
Erik shook himself, picking his mask off the bench. He felt tired, exhaustion unlike anything he had experienced in a long while. He carefully put the mask over his disfigured face, and placed the remaining sheet music back in the piano bench. It was night by now, he was quite sure rehearsal had ended a long while back. He would talk to the managers. Eric had no doubt returned, late, and it wouldn't have been the first time. The managers would lose patience if he did not instruct them to be lenient.
Erik looked about the room, now immaculately pristine. He could hear echoes of his rage still reverberating in his mind, the small blonde girl pushed up against the wall, her blue eyes staring into his. Begging for mercy. He shuddered, unconsciously surprised that his harsh actions bothered him.
He opened the door, quietly humming the final piece of Don Juan Triumphant, still displeased with the ending he had chosen. He stopped when he saw the two children huddled by the door. Eric looked up, his eyes meeting the holes in the silken mask.
"Why are you still here?" Erik demanded. He hadn't meant the words to come out that way, but they had.
The boy looked away for a moment, as if genuinely pondering how to respond. When he looked back at Erik, there was a hint of steeled anger in his expression.
"Well, Monsieur, I cannot understand why you would ask such a question. Why should you care what happens to us? You took us in against your will, and now you are rid of us. Where we stay is none of your concern." A hint of scorn had crept into the boy's voice and a sneer tugged at his upper lip. Erik scowled.
"I was surprised you were not gone by now."
"Did you mean to betray us?"
"What?"
"Did you want to abandon Christine just as Daaé abandoned you?" The boy hissed. Erik's jaw involuntarily dropped. There was no way the boy could know about Daaé; he would have been so young. Then how did he know?
"Monsieur Opera Ghost, with all due respect," the boy began, "the only reason I agreed to this was because Christine was sick. She was going to die just like Jacques! But, you have a way with music that…" Eric shrugged. "I cannot describe it, but I do not think anyone else could have made Christine such an angel."
"Angel of Music…" Erik whispered, hearing Daaé's voice echo in his mind.
"What?"
"Nothing." Erik clipped his voice short. The boy paused for a minute before continuing.
"You made Christine such an angel - I cannot believe that you would just throw out the work you have done and send her back to the street! What did she do that was so horrible, anyway?!" Eric ended in indignation. Erik turned a little, unprepared for the blitz of questions from him.
"She… sang that song and broke my heart, that's what she did." He finally muttered stubbornly. Eric snorted.
"How was she supposed to know that song reminded you of your… Daaé?"
"Don't say that name again, or I swear I will kill you." Erik warned.
"Alright." Eric conceded. "But was it really fair for you to scare her like that? No, of course not!"
"I will not have you telling me how to act, you impudent little boy! What do you know about being alone, lost, broken?!"
"Plenty." The eleven-year-old clenched his fists. "I've been spit at on the streets, kicked against the walls of buildings, and they've thrown stones at me! I've wandered the alleys looking for whatever rotting scraps I can find so I will live to see the next day! I have had the only person who ever cared for me die, and I couldn't even bury him! I didn't know my mother; she was killed in a machine accident in one of those damned factories! I've had my fingers frozen stiff as I tried to keep Christine warm, sleeping in doorways to avoid the snow." A tear ran down his reddened face. "I know what it means to be hated! I know what it means to be alone! I know what it means to hurt!"
Erik stared at the lanky boy in disbelief. Maybe the boy did not know what he was, but Erik did. They had the same troubled look about them, the same tortured minds, the same name, even…
"Perhaps…" He stopped, watching the boy angrily wipe away the solitary tear. "Perhaps I made a mistake." Eric looked away, fighting back the retort he felt on the tip of his tongue. Erik continued. "I suppose… would you like to stay?" Eric sniffled back the drip he felt in his nose.
"You won't yell at us?"
"I can make no promises… but I can try."
"Will you promise that?"
"What?"
"Will you promise to try?"
"…Yes, I suppose I can promise that."