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 Folie
A/N: Er, sorry about lack of updates – if you're all still there. You all know
the problems that prevent uploading: school, homework, extracurricular
activites, and Fanfiction.net itself down… Anyway! Here's the next chapter!
Enjoy it! It's a little interlude from
what semblance of plot there currently is, but it'll pick up in the next
chapter or so…
* * *
Raoul tossed and turned in his bed. Though it was nearly midnight, the comte was unable to close his eyes for one moment. Sleep was an unthinkable activity while that… that… madman was in his house…!
No one watching him, he could be
doing anything! He could be pilfering the family fortune, making expensive
paintings disappear or… something! The thought of what Erik was doing
plagued him to no end.
At least Christine is here beside me, Raoul thought, suddenly feeling extremely protective of his
wife.
Christine…
He'd probably wake her with all his fidgeting! He couldn't do that… This was the only decent sleep that Christine had gotten since that disastrous trip to the fair. He remembered that he didn't get much sleep either. She had always been climbing in and out of bed, pacing the room and sighing. Many times, Raoul had asked Christine what was on her mind, and it was always either Erik or that boy at the fair. It made him feel a little jealous. They were safely married and she was still thinking about that man under the opera…
Well, that didn't matter now… She was sleeping quietly and that was all that mattered. If she starting sleeping on a consistent basis again, Christine and their child would be right as rain.
At length, Raoul slipped silently out of bed, pulled on a robe and snuck quietly out of the room. He quietly paced house, cautiously trying not to wake the servants. As he walked by his door for nearly the seventh time, Raoul decided that he needed something to better occupy his time. So, as quietly as he could, the young comte crept up the stairs and into the attic of the immensely large manor.
Raoul wasn't sure what motivated him to climb up into the attic and find his old violin. His mind was reflecting back to the days when he and Christine were children; when they'd listen to Daddy Daae tell them stories about fairies and when Raoul took violin lessons from the old musician. The violin was the only thing he had at the moment that could help relive those memories. He recognized this as a way to clear his mind and perhaps find sleep and searched for the instrument with more vigor. Besides, it would be interesting to see if he had retained any of the knowledge he had learned.
He decided that if he found himself to be any good, perhaps he'd play for Christine… once Erik had left. Just thinking about him brought an involuntary shiver up his spine and he shuddered as the shadows in the attic danced menacingly in the candlelight.
Stop thinking about him, Raoul scolded himself, as he looked through dusty trunks.
As he located the trunk that contained the item he had been looking for, Raoul glanced over his shoulder and warily stepped toward the trunk in question - suddenly aware of every last shadow in the room. He gasped quietly as he thought he noticed them advancing on him.
Stop being silly, Raoul, he thought nervously.
He straightened up and bravely walked toward the trunk. He gently lifted the case out of its resting place and brushed the dust off the top.
There's nothing to be afraid of in this house…
…Except the man downstairs…
Raoul forced all thoughts of Erik
from his mind and replaced them with the effort of trying to remember how to
hold the instrument.
* * *
Between the unbearably bright moonlight (it was a full moon), the sounds of insects, and his uncontrollable thoughts, Erik found himself completely unable to sleep. Oh, the bed was comfortable enough, it was infinitely more relaxing than sleeping in that coffin, but it was just… everything else. Years and years of sleeping below ground had conditioned him to the blackness… the silence… Really… Had Erik not been so unbelievably tired, he would have found the situation utterly amusing. But instead, the emotion of the day was catching up to him and he wanted nothing more than to sleep…
But rest he could not find. His mind continued to cycle through bothering thoughts and ideas. When he had seen Raoul and Christine together when he first entered the manor, he couldn't help but feel as if he had been punched in the stomach. It had been the first time he had seen the two in the same room since… the incident. Even though he was the one who sent them both off, Erik still felt saddened over their marriage. When he thought of the two, his mind moved onto the next batch of thoughts: why he dragged himself from his sanctuary to this… place.
That boy… that boy in that cage… he was probably still there, huddled in the darkness. Erik frowned to himself. What was he going to do when they found him? That child would be scarred for life, no doubt about it, and he didn't want another 'little Erik' running around. The world couldn't handle that… But suppose he's not, what then? Did Christine expect him to make everything all better? True, he was usually good - excellent, even - in most situations, but this…this was different. It was almost too private a thing to discuss. It was almost like reliving his childhood.
The thought of his childhood and past suddenly made him extremely tired, more than before. He didn't want to start thinking about that. It hurt to think about it and he did not want to start, especially before bed… that always induced nightmares. Christine would probably hear him, come find him, and ask questions he didn't want to answer.
Finally, ready to do anything to sleep, Erik dragged himself out of the bed, closed the drapes on the windows and crawled into the darkest place he could think of in the room: the closet. He curled up in a corner, yawned, and pulled his cloak around himself. He viciously cleared his mind and replaced it with a soft, quiet, relaxing Beethoven piece of music.
Suddenly, everything felt more like home and he couldn't fight his drooping eyelids.
* * *
Some time later, Erik's eyes shot open irritably as
he heard a long, faint, whining shriek coming from somewhere above him. He
groaned in annoyance and pulled anything he could over his head to block out
that grating sound that made his hair stand on end. It didn't work and
the noise sure wasn't stopping. After a few moments, he noticed that he
recognized a butchered, distorted tune in the screeches… Erik shuddered
painfully. That wasn't music. That was the sound of an abused instrument screaming
for deliverance.
With a muttered oath, Erik rose from his resting place and climbed out of
the closet and into the large room Christine provided for him. He turned
reluctantly away from his sleeping area and pulled on something to make himself
look a little more dignified. After his mask was in place, he stalked out of
his room and followed that shrill, agonized cry of a string instrument.
After several long moments of searching and sharp, twisting pain on his ears, he was convinced that the creator of such racket should be drawn and quartered. Before Erik's mind could devise any more ways of torture, he found the attic door and the source of the sound.
As he opened the door, the shrieking became louder. He resisted the urge to cover his ears. He took great pains to stay silent as he walked up the narrow stairway.
It won't matter, Erik convinced himself. That infernal noise is so loud up here…
As he neared the top of the staircase, the screeching became almost unbearable and Erik felt he would pass out from the abuse to his senses.
When he reached the top, he was completely unprepared for the sight of the Comte de Chagny kneeling in the dust, clutching an equally dusty violin.
* * *
Raoul nearly jumped out of his skin has he heard a burst of laughter behind him.
"What in God's name are you doing?"
Raoul's face flushed red and many other interesting colors as he recognized the
voice. What was he doing up here in the middle of the night? Raoul shuddered
and laid the violin down on the floor.
He stood and turned to face the man in the doorway. Erik golden eyes blazed in the darkness and Raoul had to suppress a shiver. He decided that Erik was much more terrifying in the dark. Those eyes didn't look like they belonged to anything mortal… He looked like some demon from the abyss. Raoul tried not to shiver again.
"I might ask you the same question, Monsieur," he asked, trying to sound cold and distant. Instead of sounding intimidating and in control, Raoul's voice came out as a nervous squeak, not unlike the sounds his violin had made seconds before. Taking a breath and regaining his composure, he added, "Do you always lurk in people's attics at night?"
Erik laughed chillingly and stepped into the dim lighting.
"I have no reason to lurk in attics, Monsieur le Comte, nor do I have any interest in it."
Erik took a small step forward and
Raoul couldn't help but take a step back. Raoul noticed those golden eyes
flicker down to the abandoned violin.
"What?" Raoul demanded and nearly scrambled backwards as Erik continued
to move forward.
What is he doing? Raoul thought, panicked. I told Christine he was dangerous, but did she listen?
Raoul nearly sighed in relief when the Opera Ghost stopped moving, but tensed again when Erik reached down to pick up the old violin.
"Such a beautiful instrument…" he heard Erik murmur softly. Raoul watched in fascination as those long fingers gently brushed dust off the dull wooden finish and bring the violin into a playing position. He brought the bow up to play and clucked his tongue disapprovingly at the first note.
"Monsieur, this violin is horribly out of tune," Erik said in a patronizing sort of way. Before Raoul could make any excuses, complain, or say a word, Erik took a seat on the nearest trunk and began to tune the instrument.
Raoul did nothing but watch in awe as Erik quickly, efficiently, yet very lovingly attended to the violin. The moment he was finished, he played a brief, simple melody. The silence hung in the air.
Erik glanced up at Raoul briefly. "Your control of the bow, by the way, Monsieur, is atrocious."
Raoul attempted to glare at such blatant rudeness, but couldn't bring himself to. From just the very little he had seen tonight, knew he was in the presence of a master violinist and should hold his tongue.
"You should play on the edge of your bow," Erik continued and illustrated his point with a quick note. "And don't apply so much pressure… You should play gently until your notes sound better…" Erik's voice drifted off and he slowly began to weave notes together into a haunting, sobering melody. As Erik played, Raoul noticed his strength seem to disappear. He silently sat on the floor and stared up at the older man with wide eyes and an open mouth, his attention utterly fixed. Had Raoul not been so enthralled, he would have noticed an eerie, twisted similarity between this current scene and the scenes that played out long ago with Daddy Daae.
It wasn't long before the haunting melody subtly changed to a soothing lullaby and then slowly disappeared into nothing. Raoul had long fallen asleep, weariness finally catching up to him, coaxed by the music.
As the violin played its last notes,
Erik yawned. After caressing the old violin once more, he laid both bow and
instrument down next to the slumbering young man. He stood, stretched out his
tired limbs, and slowly but silently, trod down the stairs and back to his
closet.
* * *
A/N: Like it? Hate it? Leave a review and we'll love you forever! We hope no one was bored; we enjoy getting Raoul and Erik to interact together without constantly trying to kill each other… And…. The formatting? Er, we're trying…