Disclaimer: We don't need to tell you this, but you know, it's just here. We don't own 'Phantom of the Opera', though we would like to. That belongs to Gaston Leroux and the rest of the wonderful (or not so wonderful… * coughcoughFORSYTHEcoughcough*…) geniuses who have brought this story to life. Don't bother suing us; we don't make a penny off this.
Summary: A phic exploring the possibility of another person sharing Erik's face.
A Story of Love by Lady Death & L'Ange de FolieA/N: Ooh! Thank you to everyone who reviewed! It really encourages us! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!
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ONE WEEK LATER:
PARIS
Is there even a point to life anymore…? I didn't think so…I could kill myself and end this torture, you know… so easily… so simple… All I would have to do would be to ingest the poison in this vial and it would be all over. What does it matter now? Christine is gone… What more do I have left to live for…?
In the bowels of the 5th cellar, under the Paris Opera House, Erik made a sound of disgust at his own thoughts. He immediately realized where his dangerous musings were carrying him and hastily turned away from that gloomy place in his mind. He violently shoved the vial into his pocket as a wave of consuming anger swept over him. He feared that the small thing would be shattered in his hands or thrown against the wall if it wasn't put out of sight quickly. He hissed softly and brooded.
Pull yourself together, Erik, he thought. Stop acting like a child; be an adult and shoulder your burden. Ride it out… Don't destroy yourself over a stupid girl…!
He nearly sobbed and fought growing nausea for a few moments, hunching over wretchedly on his divan.
No Christine, I don't mean that… I'm sorry…He took several, deep, cleansing breaths attempting to regain his composure.
It's time to move on. There is nothing you can do about anything now. Move on.
After several, long moments, he decided he was feeling relatively better and essentially functional - or at least as close as he would ever be. In an attempt to clear his mind, Erik rose from his present place and walked toward his imposing organ.
There was always music, always. It was always there to calm and comfort him. Always there to let him vent his emotion – which was exactly what he was going to do. Music was the safest way to let out his feelings – and the house was empty now, what did it matter? He sat down and began to ensconce himself in glorious, melancholy music.
Music. It never betrayed him. It was a soothing constant in life, perpetually waiting for him to return. It never shunned him; it never judged him by his face. Who could ask for a better companion when one had a visage like…
Best not think of that, now…Erik poured his soul into this session of playing. He just wanted to forget. He wanted to bury his grief deeply, if not for just for a short time. He lost himself completely in the notes, each phrase and measure whirling around him in a dizzying melee of beauty. All else seemed a trifle compared to his current state being, but somehow a small voice pierced through his sanctuary of sound.
"ERIK!" A yell shattered his solitude. "Erik, please, I know you're here!"
The man in question immediately stopped playing. Silence pervaded the cellars, hitting him like a sudden, horrendous migraine. The last notes of organ echoed eerily off the stone walls of the cellar.
"You must be here…" the voice said, much more softly now. Erik's sharp hearing picked out the voice as being feminine.
What was that?He stilled his breathing, listening intently.
"ERIK!"
There it was again! He thought. It sounds almost as if someone were calling my name…
He hesitantly brushed it aside, suddenly becoming aware of his stomach twisting in knots. He shook his head and placed his hands on the keys of the organ, attempting to recapture the musical passion he had just danced to.
"I really must get some fresh air," Erik uneasily rationalized with himself. "I'm starting to hear things."
As he tenderly stroked the keys, he heard the voice again, louder this time, familiar and unmistakable. "Erik! I have to speak with you!"
Christine! His mind immediately made the connection between voice and face. What on earth is she doing here?
After a moment, a thought hit him straight on that made his whole being quiver.
Could she have changed her mind? …Please… Let her have changed her mind! Erik silently pleaded. The moment that concept was conceived he threw it aside.
But… why would she come back? The memory of asking Christine to return after he died hopped promptly into his thoughts, and he furrowed his brow. He most certainly wasn't dead, and since that happy little event hadn't quite occurred yet, she would have no reason to return, then…
"It's certainly not to visit you," Erik whispered contemptuously to himself.
He chewed on his lip as he attempted to dam the flood of sorrow and shame that was almost succeeding to overflow. It had only been two months since… since Christine left, and yet he was still aggravated with the way that the mere thought of her or of what had happened could reduce him to such an emotional state. He gnawed harder.
He held his head in his hands, feeling too dejected and devastated to avoid touching his naked, unmasked face. He absentmindedly brushed his fingers over his malformed lips and let out a ragged sigh. Hot tears began welling up in his eyes and he furiously scrubbed away the salty droplets with angry fists.
"ERIK!" Christine shouted again, sounding less confident than before.
But…but what if…What if she… but what if she truly has a reason?
Erik continued to rest at the organ, focusing on staunching the flow of tears.
What if…?
A hundred uncontrollable, unwelcome
thoughts whirled through his mind, almost making him lightheaded. He slowly
stood up, trying to calm his suddenly bout of shaking.
Better see what she wants, at least… Can't leave her standing out in the
cold…
Erik instinctively picked up his mask and dispassionately tied it to his face.
Unexpectedly, he bolted toward the door, barely managing to equip himself with his lasso, hat and cloak as he ran out.
* * *
Erik rowed swiftly and silently across the lake. The inky black waters rippled gently as his boat glided through.
Could she have truly returned to me? Or is it something else? He wondered, his heart pounding furiously in his chest. He gasped softly as he realized how fast his pulse was racing. It was a wonder Christine couldn't hear it from the other side of the lake.
Erik reached the other side of the lake in what seemed to take less than a heartbeat. He decided it was due to being lost in thought. He glanced up from the water and up at the ever approaching dock. His heart leaped as he saw a familiar cloaked figure standing restlessly on the bank. However, as he drifted closer, that said heart plummeted painfully down as he saw a glint of gold on one of her fingers. All hopes were dashed as he got even closer and that gold glint was indeed a ring… one that certainly wasn't his. An underlining feeling of nausea returned as he furthered his inspection and realized that that was most definitely a wedding ring.
His original thoughts returned, filling him with grief and confusion.
If Christine is married, why did she bother coming back?
* * *
"Erik, please!" she shouted one last time. She listened hard in the dark, cavernous expanse but could hear no response from across the lake: no door opening, no reply, and no materialization of Erik. Even the sound of his organ across the lake again would be a welcome sound. It made the gloom so much more bearable. She had never really come down here by herself. Erik was always there with her, guiding her steps and talking with her. Right now, the silence was terrifying her.
Is he dead? She thought grimly to herself. But she threw aside that notion quickly. No, he's not dead. You heard him playing several moments ago… It was sensible enough. But thinking about that made her heart pound. What if he's had another one of his attacks? There's no one to care for him! She felt a quiet panic that was steadily growing. Please let him be all right…
Should I just leave him alone then? Christine thought a few moments later, her heart pounding. Maybe he doesn't want to talk to me…
"You're going to ruin your voice if you keep shouting like that, my dear."
Christine nearly screamed from the sudden break of silence and tension. She instantly recognized that familiar, beautiful, yet now strangely weary voice. She whirled around, suddenly becoming more fearful in his presence that she was in his absence.
She took a deep breath or two to steady her nerves. "Oh, you are here! I was getting worried." She tried not to wring the fabric of her cloak with her hands, to betray her mix of emotion.
"Why?" Erik asked dully, docking his boat.
She paused for a moment, watching him at his task. "Well, when you didn't answer I-I thought that something might have happened to you."
"I'm perfectly fine," Erik said curtly, deliberately testing the knot to the boat's rope. He straightened up.
He doesn't look 'perfectly fine,' Christine observed. He's so thin… You'd think he hasn't eaten since I last saw him…
She quickly averted her eyes, suddenly remembering why she had made the journey down here in the first place.
"Erik, I need help…" Christine asked timidly.
"Why come to me then?" Erik asked, sounding rather harsh. "Can't your precious comte do anything? He always seemed to be anxious to help you, if I recall correctly."
"Raoul tried! We both did! But there is nothing we can do!" Christine cried. She glanced down at her feet, hoping that her mentor would not see the tears she was trying to fight back.
He took a slow, uncertain step forward. She heard his voice soften while his entire demeanor changed. "Has someone hurt you?"
"Not me…" she paused briefly before relating to him what had happened one week prior in detail; the events that had led to her return to his subterranean home. She purposely excluded any fine points involving her life with Raoul. That would only cause him unnecessary pain…
After her story had drawn to a close, Christine waited in silence for Erik's reaction. She watched the black-cloaked figure carefully, but it looked as if he hadn't moved even an inch during her narrative. When he did nothing to break the silence, she continued to speak.
"Raoul went back there the next evening and offered to buy the boy from Aldo-" she noticed Erik's hands clench tightly. "-But he refused."
Christine decided she had said enough on the subject. She continued to wait for a response of some sort from Erik.
"Are you all right?" she asked in concern, realizing that Erik was breathing in deep, ragged gasps. She took a cautious step forward and laid a hand gently on his shoulder, hoping perhaps to offer him some comfort. Erik started violently at her touch and stepped back with all the agility of a cat. He finally raised his gaze from the damp stone floor and focused his burning, golden eyes onto hers.
"And so you came to me for help," Erik asked bitterly. "What do you expect me to do, Madame?"
Erik turned away from her and stared into the water.
* * *
So my appearance is not as unique as I previously thought… And the boy is locked in a cage of all things! How dare they? Well, I daresay that can do things like that; they did it to me after all… But you simply can't leave him there, Erik! You are worse than they are if you do nothing!
Erik growled under his breath.
I wonder how long he's been in that cage…
He felt a surge of hatred for Aldo, remembering his own "master", his own cage.
Perhaps if anyone had helped me to get away from Javert earlier on, I wouldn't have killed him… Perhaps I might have never killed anyone…
A different perspective in his thoughts surfaced.
There you are. You have the power to help him. Don't let him grow up to become cold and cynical like yourself. You're not happy, are you? You've never been happy…Let him have a chance. He should have the chance you never got…!
He tried to push away the bitter recollections of his wasted youth, but new uncontrolled thoughts forced their way into his mind.
No, Erik. Leave the boy there. He's not of your concern. If you suffered, he should suffer as well. It's only fair. Survival of the fittest, you might say. Don't go up into the light. You promised you'd never leave your sanctuary again and you meant it. You promised yourself. Are you going to break that promise? You're safe here, here in the darkness. Just listen to reason! Just listen to yourself! Have you ever been wrong?
Erik shook his head angrily. He looked back at his former student. "What time does the next train leave?"
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A/N: Like it? Hate it? Leave a review…!
Hopefully Erik doesn't sound too out of character… He's not necessarily
the easiest character to write, but we're trying…