Oh, God. I've hit a dead end. I'm afraid this and the next chapter might take some time to update. Oh well, better late than never.
Ch. 5: The Return
Madame Giry peered out the grimy windows of her carriage with concealed delight. The tiny suitcase in her lap filled with papers written about her life in Paris was the only proof that she had actually lived here before, that and her thick French accent.
Those two fools who ran the opera Populaire had forced her into a carriage, sending her away on a vacation without a choice. They had stated that she was overworked, but she had seen right through that weak alibi. She knew for a fact that they and almost everybody else feared her partnership with the fearsome opera ghost. It had been two months since she had been home, and she felt elation when the spires of the opera house appeared over the Parisian skyline.
Without another word, the he cabdriver, she stuffed a twenty-franc note in his hand. As the man clattered away behind his lame horse, he muttered an indecipherable curse about not being able to make a decent living anywhere in this damn city. Mme Giry made her way up the grand marble staircase much as a queen would, throwing her usual dirty looks at the golden nude statues. Before she could set her things down on the tiled floor, two men came bolting out a side office and sent her careening onto her bottom. It was the managers, worked up into a state of frenzy.
" Mademoiselle Giry!" Firmin cried, upsetting his stout companion's balance. She raised her thin eyebrow. They had never referred to her as " mademoiselle" before. Something very drastic must have been unfolding.
" Madame Giry! We desperately need your help! Your friend, the phantom, is apparently having some sort of a nervous breakdown. He's taking out his frustration on our tour guests!"
She inwardly rolled her eyes. How utterly predictable of Erik, taking out his rage on others.
As they led her to the scene of the haunt, an arm grasped hers and pulled her into a shadowy room she had not known existed. Firmin and Andre continued their rushed pace, oblivious to her absence.
Before she could say anything, a gloved hand clapped over her mouth, rendering her dumb. Two green eyes peered at her in the gloom. " Erik!" she hissed, snatching herself from his hold. " What the hell do you think your doing? And what's all this rubbish about your emotional meltdown?"
The masked man plopped himself heavily onto a dusty wooden bench. " Cecile, I have a really big problem." His words were garbled, as though he feared to speak them to her. " Cecile, Christine's pregnant and it's all my doing."
A/N: pardon the pun in that last statement.
Mme Giry let out a huge sigh that sounded suspiciously like a curse. " Well, I would consider that a big problem. What do you propose I do about it? And how did this happen anyway?"
Erik shot her his worst look. " You had little Meg. You know exactly how this came about. And would I be telling you this in such a manner if I knew what to do?" His eyes were narrowed, his voice now having an edge of bite to it. Cecile buried her face in her hands, and then turning to look him in the eye, flames now in them. Erik recoiled a bit. For such a small woman, she was frightening.
" You cannot do this to her and the Vicomte," she snapped, sticking her index finger in his face. " This baby could ruin both their lives. I will not allow you to do this to Christine." The woman furiously kicked a wooden sheep that stood nearby, while the phantom took a turn burying his face in his gloved hands.
" You realize that you will have to care for that baby, don't you?" At this, Erik jumped, eyes wide with fear. The elder Giry nodded, her arms crossed in content at his dilemma. He paced about the dusty room like an animal waiting for a natural disaster. " Yes," he muttered disconnectedly, " Yes. I will have to care for that child. It is my fault she is in this rut. But how, Cecile, am I supposed to take care of a baby? I can barely take care of myself!"
Cecile snorted. " Well, you are still my good friend, so I suppose it is my duty to teach you how." A Siamese cat had just wound past their legs, and she plucked it from the ground. " First lesson," she said slowly, holding the angered cat out at arm's length " is patience. You cannot yell at a child or force them to understand. Here." At this, Giry gave him the cat. For a minute, he just stared at it, and then the beast began to claw its way up his arm.
And so ended the first parenting lesson, Madame Giry leaving the room with tears of laughter in her eyes and Erik returning to his labyrinth with scratches all over his face and arms and curses on his tongue.