A new disclaimer to make allegratetree happy: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera the book, musical or any of the movies. I do not own the lyrics from the musical used in this fanfiction. I also do not own the lyrics in this fanfiction from Faust. However, the original lyrics are mine, they are copyrighted to me.
A/N: Thanks to allegratetree and Baby-Vixen for your reviews!
Chapter Nine
"The Night"
Rehearsals for Faust seemed to fly by but Erik had not come to Claire at all since that one night (curse that night!). But before Claire new what had happened she was back stage awaiting her cue on the final Dress Rehearsal. The costumes had been fitted, made and now graced the bodies of the performers, the hairpieces had been attached, the makeup applied, and all the props stood ready as did the performers. The rehearsal went without a hitch, well, close to anyway. There had been a bit of a fiasco over the shifting of scenes one and two of act two, the lights were having a few difficulties, the orchestra was off time in places and the leading soprano seemed very preoccupied (who wouldn't be in Claire's position?). But they made it through Final Dress in time to change out of their costumes and eat dinner before getting in costume again for opening night.
Dinner was spent in a wild storm of nervous silence broken only by a few prayers from Amelie to the Virgin Mary to spare them from their impending doom. After dinner people hurried about doing nothing in particular just trying to stay busy. The corps de Ballet stretched and the chorus warmed up their voices. They had a good half-hour before they needed to get back in costume. Madam Giry went around wishing everyone the best of luck.
Claire simply walked about her dressing room unable to keep still. Her stomach felt as though it were attacking itself and trimmers ran rampant allover her body. She rang her hands until they ached and then she resorted to biting her fingernails. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a knock came to the door. "Come in." She said shakily.
The door opened and none other then the Comte de Gabriel walked in shyly.
Claire curtsied trying to keep steady as the trimmers were still stabbing at her. "Good evening, Comte."
The Comte bowed. "I hope I am not intruding."
"Of course not." Said Claire trying to remember her manners while her insides tangled and twisted.
"I know you haven't much time—L'Opera of course!—so I will try and get to the point." The Comte was sweating heavily. "I know of what happened between you and your father but I want you to know that is of no importance to me." He wiped his forehead. "So, from my heart not your father's, I wanted to properly ask…ask you for your hand in…marriage." It seemed the last word took a great deal of effort for him to get out. "And know that if you say yes you will have a lifetime of security." He added seemingly wanting to help his case.
Claire stood there for a moment slightly stunned. "My dear Comte," She cleared her throat. "I…must decline your offer." The words had hardly left her lips before she felt a hand strike her across the face, the force of the blow sending her to the floor. She tried to pick herself up but she was in moments pinned to the ground by the Comte. His eyes looked as though they were burning.
"You filthy, worthless, wench!" He spat.
"Get off of me!" Cried Claire trying in vain to break from his strong grip.
"I offer you everything and that's all you can say to me?" The Comte seemed insane, mad with anger and betrayal. How could someone so shy and polite turn so ugly in seconds?
"What has happened to you?" Asked Claire almost pleading. "Please, stop!" Tears welling in her eyes as she felt the Comte tearing at her dress. "Someone help me!" She screamed.
"No one will help you." Snarled the Comte.
"Help! Please! Anyone!" Cried Claire hardly knowing what she was screaming as her tears began to spill. "Help! Erik, help!" And then a rush of air and the Comte was no longer atop her. Claire sat and looked about and then nearly screamed again. Erik was there and he had the Comte in a chokehold!
"How dare you?" Said Erik in a deathly whisper. "How dare you lay a finger on her?" He tightened his hold, a strangled noise coming from the Comte.
"No, Erik, stop!" Cried Claire running to him. "Let him go."
Erik looked at her for a long moment and then finally released his hold on the Comte.
The Comte immediately ran for the door but Erik stopped him.
"Don't ever come back here again." Spat Erik.
The Comte tore from the room.
"Are you hurt?" Asked Erik laying a hand on Claire's cheek where she had been struck.
"No, I…I'm fine." She felt her cheeks growing warm. "Thank you for saving me."
Erik did not reply but simply looked at her for a long moment. "You should get into costume."
Oh, that's right! She had completely forgotten about the performance!
"Will you be alright on your own?" Asked Erik softly.
"I'll be just fine. Thank you."
With that Erik disappeared.
The Call Boy had just given the fifteen minute call; Claire sat in her dressing room applying more makeup to her left cheek to cover the bruise forming there. Her insides were squeezing themselves causing her shortness of breath and her costume clung tightly to her making it even harder to breathe. Ten minute call. Claire put on more lipstick and began to warm up her voice. Five minute call. She checked her hair in the mirror again while doing scales. Places call! One last look in the mirror and Claire was gone from the room heading backstage.
Backstage practice bars had been leaned up for the corpse de Ballet; they were already crowding them doing warm up combinations.
Claire found herself amidst a sea of chorus girls all of which were either giggling nervously, making sure they had warmed up their voices right, or checking their props. The noise of the crowd flitted to the backstage as the corps de Ballet, chorus, and Principal Singers and Dancers all began filtering into their places in the wings. The whining of the orchestra warming their instruments began calling the crowd and backstage to silence.
Claire closed her eyes, biting her lower lip. This was it; this was the moment in which she would either rise to stardom or fall back to the gutter of her old mundane life.
Finally all fell silent…then…an explosion of sound as the orchestra began the Overture. There was a rush of movement as the chorus and corps de Ballet went to their places on stage behind the still closed curtain. Then the curtain slowly opened and the stage lights flashed on. It had begun; there was no crying uncle now.
Two scenes later as the Ballet raged Claire still stood in her wing awaiting her cue. The fluttering feeling in her stomach had turned to what felt like a war waging inside her. She felt as though she would faint at any given moment but then,
"And here she comes!"
That was her cue! Claire walked out on stage faking an air of confidence. She walked center stage (trying not to notice the countless eyes in the audience on her), did her turn, and went off stage left. Even after being on stage the unsettling feeling had not left her stomach though she was very glad to be done with her first and only entrance in act one.
The curtain opened on act two, it was the kermess scene. The girl playing Siebel (Jean Maurier) entered and then it was Claire's turn. And she sang (trying to keep her voice level through her trimmers) as 'Siebel' offered her 'his' arm,
"No, my lord, not a lady I, nor yet a beautyAnd do not need an arm to help me on my way."
And then Claire exited. Once off stage she took a deep breath but her insides still refused to stop their onslaughts against themselves. But there was no time, she had to change costumes and that always took more time then it should. So she rushed to the costume rack and grabbed her costume for act three.
The curtain opened on the final act. Claire stood in her wing, her stomach fairing worse then before for this was the act in which she got to either shine or fail. She entered into the scene, Margarita's garden. 'Siebel' was singing 'his' lovesick song of flowers. Then it was Claire's turn; she looked quickly to the seemly empty Box Five before she began to sing.
"I wish I could but know who was he
That addresses me
If he was noble, or, at least, what his name is…"
And then she felt it, her stomach stilled, and her voice became strong again. She knew Erik was watching her now, guiding her from the shadows.
From that moment on Claire's voice was full, and confident and so was she. When the curtain closed Claire felt as though she had no soul left, she had given it all away in that one performance—in that one act. Then the curtain opened for Curtain Call. The corps de Ballet ran out on stage and took their bow, then lined the back of the stage; the chorus did the same. Then it was the Principal Dancers and then the Singers' turn. When Claire finally came out for her bow, a miracle happened. The crowd—the whole crowd!—stood and cheered as she shyly bowed. Roses were thrown on stage as she took another bow. Claire could not believe it! She felt a warm tingling feeling traveling through her as the whole cast took its last bow. Then the curtain closed for the last time that night.
As Claire hurried back to her dressing room she heard Erik's voice whisper,
"Brava, Brava, Bravissima!"
When Claire entered her dressing room she found it quite empty. She had hoped that Erik would have been there, waiting for her. She turned up the dimming lights bringing her small dressing room into complete focus. The room was still empty. Claire sighed. She began battling her way out of her much too tight costume; she would have to have a word with the seamstress about it. She final got the blasted thing off and went to the small wardrobe in the room (she had already hung up the dress she was going to wear to the Masquerade inside it). The dress she was to wear was her mother's, it was a pale pink and it was trimmed with thick lace. She made sure her corset was good and tight before squeezing into the form-fitting dress. Claire sat back down at her makeup table and began to peal and wash away the thick, clingy stage makeup (except on her left cheek where she left it to cover the ugly bruise). Once it was all off she replaced it with some rouge and pale lipstick. She then took down her hair (which had been in a bun for act three) letting it cascade down her back. She quickly brushed out the tangles and then picked up the Masquerade mask she had picked out to wear that night off the table. It was white and covered with pink beads that matched her dress; beads also hung from its edges in long strands. Claire placed the mask on her face pulling the band behind her head to hold it there. She gave herself one last look in the mirror and then made to leave her dressing room when she noticed that a red rose, a red rose tied with black silk, lay on the inside of the threshold of her dressing room door. How did it get there? She had not heard anyone enter or leave. Claire picked up the flower gently and looked at it. It was exactly like the flower she had found at her mother's grave those many months ago! And that was when she thought she first heard… "Erik." Whispered Claire running her fingers along the red petals of the rose. She opened the door but instead of heading to the Ballroom she went to the dorms, once inside her room she placed the rose carefully down on her pillow.
"A token from a lover?"
Claire turned around to face Amelie (she knew she hadn't been in the room before and she hadn't heard her enter either). "No, I do not have a lover, thank you." Answered Claire curtly.
"Oh, well," Said Amelie. "It's just normally lovers who give red roses." Either Claire's eyes needed attending to or Amelie looked a bit worried.
"I must be going." Said Claire heading for the door.
"Ah, yes, the Masquerade." Amelie sounded a bit distant now.
Claire left the room and finally headed to the Ballroom.
To say that this Masquerade was magnificent would have been an understatement. Everywhere the eye looked was color, faces adorned by fancy masks, whirling dresses as couples danced, and above all…there was music! This Masquerade not only marked the reopening of L'Opera Populaire but it was a way to honor the old days in which parties like this were thrown every month. Claire found herself lost in a sea of masks and movement. She had never, in all her life, been to an event such as this! She did not know what to do first, find a partner and dance, or sing with the music. So she decided to just take in the site before doing anything.
"You sang like an angel tonight, my dear."
Claire turned and gasped. There, standing right there, was (and she knew him without a doubt different mask or no) Erik! He was wearing a black and red dress suit with a black mask. "Erik," whispered Claire. "Do you think it quite safe for you to be here? Someone might recognize you as the 'Opera Ghost'"
"So you've figured that out, my dear? It does not matter. If anyone, and I doubt they will, does recognize me we'd be all the safer." Erik grinned.
"You really do like being feared by them, don't you?" said Claire grinning back at him. She was glad that things seemed normal between them again after the…incident of the mask. Though she couldn't quite call this 'normal' for normal to her was talking to Erik about music and only music.
But before Erik could answer her teasing question a strange commotion came over the Ballroom. Someone was shouting "Where is she! Where is she!" and pushing their way through the crowd. And once Claire saw whom the person was she nearly screamed. It was the Comte! But he was not along, he was pushing a wheelchair in front of him and in the wheelchair was…her father! Claire gasped, she turned around to plead Erik for help but he was not there!
"Claire!" It was father's aged voice calling her, he sounded furious.
"What is going on here?" Mademoiselle Giry had also pushed her way through the crowd. Seeing the scene before her she changed her tone slightly, "Vicomte, you are upsetting de dancers." She completely ignored the Comte de Gabriel. "Now if Miss Daaé wouldn't mind please take this some place else."
Claire knew that even if she ran now she would eventually have to face her father. So she made up her mind as she flung her mask to the floor. "Follow me, father." She led her father and the Comte from the Ballroom through a maze of hallways until they came to her dressing room. She closed the door behind them but did not turn to look at her father and the Comte (especially the Comte).
"The Comte has told me," Father's voice was shaking with rage. "That you keep the company of the Phantom of the Opera, known as Erik, and that the Phantom tried to take his life—!"
Claire finally spun round. "And did your dear Comte tell you why Erik nearly killed him? The Comte tried to force himself on me, father! And Erik saved me! He saved me." She was breathing heavily her anger boiling. A thick silence filled the air.
"I thought I made myself clear," Said an angry, booming voice from the walls. "That you, Comte, should not come near this lady!" Erik appeared in a shadowy corner.
"You!" Roared the Comte and Claire's father.
Erik walked forward ignoring the Comte and instead addressing father. "Why, my dear Vicomte, no 'hello'? No 'how are you'? Where are your prized manners, Vicomte?"
Father, even in his old age, glared at Erik with a passion. "Why couldn't you be happy to just haunt Christine to her death? Why do you now curse my daughter as well? Leave my family alone!"
Claire felt something twist in her stomach. She knew she was on the edge of knowing the truth. And yet she felt great anger towards her father, she did not want Erik to leave her so why did her father?
Erik advanced on father. "You old fool." He snarled. "I did not cause Christine's death!"
"I loved her!" cried father.
"No, you locked her away, you smothered her." Spat Erik. "Why else does a wife leave her husband?"
Claire felt like an outsider in this heated argument and yet she was very much a part of it. She was also shocked at the revelations as to her mother that this was causing her.
The Comte, himself, had begun to shrink away from the two enraged men.
"How dare you?" Cried father straining his aged voice. "She loved me! She chose me!"
"Oh, yes," Sneered Erik. "She loved you so much that she did not even take your last name. You only put it on her grave to stay face!" Erik came closer to father as if to strike him.
Suddenly fearing for her father Claire ran to Erik throwing her arms around him to hold him back. "Stop it, both of you!" She cried.
Erik suddenly softened; he ran a hand through Claire's hair lovingly.
"Let her go, you monster! Do not touch her!" Ordered father his voice straining beyond its aged limits. He gasped to catch his breath.
The Comte now ran forward and tried to pry Claire from Erik's arms.
Claire only clung tighter as Erik pushed the Comte away. "Foolish boy!" He spat at the Comte before addressing father again. "Your daughter is quite capable of making her own choice towards me."
"You monster." Gasped father still trying to breathe normally.
"He is not a monster!" Cried Claire freeing herself from Erik's arms and advancing on her father. "He is a man."
"No, Claire," Said father knowingly. "He is a monster, the worst kind. He uses the innocence of young women to seduce them into thinking they love him. He twists their trust and sympathy for him making them forget his distortion."
"You're the monster, father," Whispered Claire. "To judge a man for his face and to doubt the validity of a woman's heart. Twisting something beautiful into something ugly." Her vision blurred over with tears as she continued. "You are nothing more then a jealous old man, father." She pointed to the door. "Please, leave me."
Father looked stunned. "What? You dare to order your father to leave?"
"Yes, I dare." Tears were now streaming down Claire's checks.
The Comte came up behind father's wheelchair and pushed it out of the room. Father's protests could be heard even after the door closed behind him.
Claire collapsed to the floor in tears.
The room was suddenly filled with a strange sweet song; Erik's song.
Claire felt Erik's arms around her. "Erik," sobbed Claire. "You loved her." That was all she could say over and over until what she wanted and needed to say finally spilled forth. "I did not know it at the time but Vianne Giry told me so. I am a stupid, stupid girl!" She felt Erik's arms tighten around her."No, just a lonely one. Why stupid?"
"Because I thought…somehow without knowing it, I thought you loved me. But it is only my mother that you see in me that you love not me." She felt a wave of cold wash over her as Erik's arms pulled away from her. He was going to leave her; she knew it. This was the end. But instead she felt herself being helped to her feet from behind and then turned around. She was looking Erik straight in the eyes. Oh, those eyes that burned! Burned with an emotion she could not read. Then she felt a warm hand caressing her check, Erik's hand. On instinct she leaned into the touch closing her eyes. She felt his hand move to her chin tilting her face up slightly. Her eyes flew open as she felt a pair of warm lips on hers. He was kissing her! She didn't know what she was supposed to do but luckily instinct took over once again as she shyly moved her lips against his. Her eyes fluttered closed again as Erik's arms came around her and pulled her closer to him. As their bodies came against each other Claire felt Erik's tongue playing across her bottom lip. She had stopped thinking by now and was acting purely on instinct. She opened her mouth and her own tongue began its dance with Erik's. The innocence of the kiss had died quickly turning to passion almost to the point of violence. Claire moaned into Erik's mouth as she felt his hands caressing her and then beginning to untie the laces that held her dress together in the back. Her own hands were roaming over Erik vest.
Suddenly the door to the dressing room burst open and Amelie came in. "Claire—oh…"
Claire gave a start and quickly pulled away from Erik. There was no possible way to make the situation look innocent.
Amelie looked to the floor. "Sorry to have bothered you." She left the room quickly and shut the door with a snap.
Claire went to turn back to Erik but he had gone.