Chapter 2
Monkey in Persian robes
Author's note: This will be a short chapter, but I promise to make up for it.
To mairzy: My first ever review! Thank you very much for your thoughts.
Disclaimer: If I owned the Phantom of the Opera, then I would be too busy with the finer things in life to write!
And now, on with the story…
Erik woke. No, that was too simple to describe it. He pulled against a tide that was pressing him down; it was difficult to even open his eyes. He felt like someone was sitting on his shoulder, telling him to give in to the sleep that his body so desperately needed. Erik was too stubborn to allow his body to dictate what he did. He had gone days without food and sleep; when he was caught up in his musical compositions he couldn't let petty things like nourishment and sleep bother him. He realized that he no idea where he was. All that he was aware of was the pain that was pressing against him with every breath. All of a sudden, he regretted wanting to die. Why had he tempted fate? Now faced with the ultimate, he found himself frightened.
He tried to rise from the floor a little, to survey his surroundings. Even this small movement caused him agony. Finally, the dream and the haze around him lifted, and he remembered what had happened. He looked around and saw that he was still located in the small room that he had hidden in when the mob had first arrived. Well there's some good news, they didn't find me, Erik thought sarcastically. He leaned his hand against the wall, and slowly rose from his sitting position. His hand found the wound that the bullet had made, and found that it was still bleeding. Maybe I haven't been out that long, Erik thought. He leaned against the wall and took several deep breaths. It hurt to move, to breathe, to think. He strained his ears toward the curtain, trying to catch any sound that might indicate that the mob was still there. All he heard was silence. Blessed, wonderful, comforting silence. Erik emerged from the curtain, swaying a little. He had a thought, and glanced down at the floor of the hidden room. It was covered with blood. His blood. Erik himself had spilled blood against men before, but had never had his hands covered with his own. It was a sickening feeling, facing one's mortality.
Did he deserve this? How many people had he killed? Christine… he had frightened her away when he had killed Buquet. Erik had no remorse for killing the womanizer. Buquet loved to drink, and it was only a matter of time before the drinking and the womanizing combined…and even though Erik was the Phantom of the Opera, he felt that he owed it to the people who worked and lived in his opera house a certain amount of protection. He would never have allowed Buquet to rape a member of his opera house, and when Buquet started tailing him during Ill Muto, he had seized the opportunity. Piangi was a different story. By that time, the only thing that Erik had cared about was getting on stage to perform his duet with Christine. It was for them, and them alone! No one could stand in his way! Oh how now, at the end of things, he regretted his actions. He loved Christine, more than his life, more than his music. When he had killed Buquet, she ran to him, the Vicomte de Chagny. How he hated that meddling boy! The Vicomte comforted her, eased her fears and eased her away from him, her Angel!
Without Christine, Erik knew that his life was nothing. As he thought this, he felt himself grow weaker. Erik tried to ease back to the floor, but found that the floor rushed up to meet him. He felt a crunch, and then felt an explosion of pain that almost put him back into the velvet night of unconsciousness. Erik had landed on top of the broken glass from the mirror, and he felt that something might have been broken when he fell. Well, no matter, Erik thought, I am about to die anyway. His world was whirling about him, and his thoughts centered on one thing: he wanted to hear his music box one more time before he died. If Erik could hear the tune, he could die in peace. He crawled slowly toward where he had left it. Everything was mixed up, strewn around haphazardly. Erik smiled a little while crawling on the floor, as if his whole situation was cosmically funny. Did I expect the nice friendly mob to leave everything in perfect order for the scary Phantom? Erik thought to himself. He still continued slowly on, ignoring the pain as best he could. He looked at his desk, and he almost cried with grief. All his music was strewn about, crumpled and some even burned from overturned candles. And worst of all, his monkey…was no where to be seen. Ah well, that's lovely, Erik said dreamily as his body took over his mind and blackness met his eyes.