Thank you everyone who reviewed! I love your reviews so much. They help, they really do.
Queen of Hearts: As to your question about Erik, in the book he made no butts about threatening anyone and I am basing it more from his personality in the book. Remember he killed Raoul's brother, and in a way took delight in how he frightened all the ballerina girls. He also used to torture people professionally in Persia before he lived in Paris. That is just my interpretation of him, but he didn't really do anything too bad to Linette, just threatened her. He probley did it to more than one person, guy or girl, to keep their mouths shut.
LittleViperPhanYep, I said the same thing. How magnificent Erik could be reduced to a street whore is beyond my comprehension. It is the 1989 version, I don't know who directed it or played Erik. All remember was Erik screwing some hooker and Raoul dying! Oh and by the end, if you have never read the book, most people hate Erik. It is like Erik gone slasher. The movie focuses more on the gory deaths of everyone instead of the love story. But hey, Raoul was killed (mad phantom chicken dance). But it is better than the 1998 one where Erik was raised by rats.
GAKDragonMCP: Thanks for pointing out my mistake. Actually in Leroux's version, Christine's father is name Charles but you are right. In "Phantom" by Susan Kay, Erik's father is named Charles. But for the sake of Leroux, I hope I don't offend you or anyone else, I am keeping it Charles. Don't worry, Linette will have a thing or two to say in the future.
Disclaimer: I don't own nuttin…zip…zilch…nada. All is property people with insane gifts for writing, music and movies. I am just a poor high school student who is in love with Erik.
Warnings: Slight sexual references and Raoul acting like an arse. When dose Raoul not act like an arse? Some foul language ahead, but nothing too bad.
Again, I hate Raoul. Sorry if I offend all you Raoul lovers, I don't mean to. I am insanely biased in that aspect…poor little rich boy versus the insanely gifted and wonderful but cruelly cursed genius and discriminated man. Yes, I am biased, thehhehe. Well, at least I freely admit it. I have a secret fantasy to Punjab Raoul. There I said it!
Note: Leroux said that Erik had "golden/yellow" eyes, so I am keeping it that way.
Enjoy this chapter….
MXIXVXIXM
Christine left the Opera house as quickly as her dainty feet could run. She was extremely thankful the hotel was only a few blocks away. How was she going to explain it to Raoul should Erik make his presence known? It was painfully obvious that the little girl, Linette, had an encounter with him, one that she dared not to bring about. Yet at the same time she could not help but thank the Gods that Erik was still alive. Her Angel of Music still graced the Earth with his presence. She did love him, Christine could never deny that. He held a part of her heart that was his and his alone. And yet a small sector of it belonged to Raoul at the same time. Trying her best to keep her composer Christine slowed her pace slightly and poised herself as a woman of high class was supposed to look. A glitter of gold caught her eyes and Christine again put off her ring that Erik had given her. Raoul would explode in a rage of wild jealousy if he saw that his wife still had it. The ring would confirm what Raoul already knew, that a part of Christine still loved the mysterious phantom that had so nearly killed both them and destroyed the entire Opera Populaire. She was thankful her black mantle had several hidden pockets on the interior where her ring was safely concealed along with the rose.
Raoul greeted Christine lovingly when she entered the hotel room. Sitting next to him was one of his business associates. The pair was obviously deeply engrossed with a conversation about the gross profit and budget for their company in the following year. Not wanting to disturb her husband or become bored with the same tireless and dull money affairs, Christine took a seat on the tiny wooden balcony her hotel room provided. Two stories below her a group of laughing teenagers strolled by, too caught up in their own affairs to notice Christine looking down upon them. The young woman recognized Linette and Papillon among them, chatting idly to each other. A pair of smug looking boys joined them and made several shrewd jokes to the young girls, who blushed like two giggling virgins. Christine remembered how it was to feel so innocent and so estranged to a boy's advances. Of course she was not so foolhardy to welcome their perverse gestures; Erik would have had a thing or three, as well as a Punjab Lasso, to say about it.
Slowly but steadily so as not to attract any unwanted attention, she drew forth the rose from the back of her cloak and fingered the ebony ribbon fondly. Christine inhaled deeply the sweet scent that smelled so much of Erik. Raoul, like every other man alive, flattered Christine with flowers but he never used roses; she figured it was due to the rose was Erik's flower choice. Instead, Raoul would send her bouquets of lilies, snap dragons, petunias and pansies, but never a red rose. On a rare occasion he would use a white or yellow rose with the thorns already pre-plucked; never once had he used a red rose, much less with the thorns still on, as Erik did. Christine gasped as her finger was pricked and drew forth a tiny drop of blood against her skin of winter cream. A silent tear crept down the right side of her visage. It was not for the pain of her newly pricked finger, but for the pain at leaving Erik.
Christine snapped back into reality as the sound of leather boots was heard. She tucked away her rose and turned to face her husband with a smile. Raoul's blue eyes twinkled in the sun as he pecked Christine on the check. "I am sorry to have bored you with my business. It was unavoidable," he apologized. She smiled fondly at her husband and kissed him softly on the lips, accepting his apology. "Are you not cold?" Raoul asked concerned.
"No dear, I am fine," Christine responded. "I cannot wait until tonight! You will never believe what their new production is," she exclaimed as a child.
"What is that?" Raoul asked cheerily, taking a seat next to his beloved wife.
"Lazarus Resurrected! It was my favorite play as a child, as I am quite sure you know," Christine grinned excitedly. She knew it was best not to bring about the subject of Erik in Raoul's presence. She did not wish to argue with him on a night of joy, and there was no doubt that Raoul would order the entire police squad of Paris to guard the hotel and room she slept in, out of fear from Erik. Or rather jealousy.
"How could I forget," Raoul laughed. "I cannot even begin to count the dozens to times you begged your father to dazzle you with its song on his violin," he finished.
Christine's smile faded somewhat. She had to tell him what box they would be seated in. It would be better for Raoul to know then than right before the curtain rose. "And the irony gets even bigger," she said.
"How is that?" Raoul grinned.
"Our seats are in Box 5," Christine said as fast as she could.
Just as Christine predicted, Raoul's expression when from mildly happy to drearier than a cold rainy day in winter. "Box 5?" he repeated.
"It was the only box left. Please before you say anything I talked with the new managers," Christine pleaded. She would be lying to her husband but she didn't really care. It was her first chance in nearly two years to see her beloved home again and even catch a glance that Erik was indeed alive. Christine mustered the saddest pair of doe eyes that her face allotted. Raoul clearly made no sign of talking so Christine said slowly, "They have steadily made repairs and had operated the Populaire for nearly six months. Nothing suspicious has ever happened. Both were told by Messieurs Andre and Firmin about its past history," Christine said, choosing her words very carefully. "There has been no letters…nothing…not even the merest mention of the initials O.G." she finished desperately.
Raoul said nothing to his wife's response. What if that…that…foul hideous…thing, for he could find it in his soul to name Erik a man, still lurked in the shadows. He did not to lose Christine at the hands of that vile creature. She had chosen him and it would stay that way. In the two years of the marriage, Raoul had soon learned the true nature of his love for his wife. Although he did love her unconditionally and undyingly, it took not but two weeks for the revelation to hit Raoul that he did indeed love Christine, but more as a childhood sweetheart or a best friend, not in the passionate awe inspiring manor he believe himself feel. Raoul knew that Christine would always be connected to her Angel-no, Raoul thought bitterly, her demon no matter how hard he tried he could never sever the tie completely, but he would be damned if that deformed abomination would lay a hand on his wife. In fact he had been very hesitant to allow Christine to return to the Opera Populaire. In the back of his mind the thought always loomed that Erik was still alive and would continue to haunt them. It was the main factor as to why he forbade Christine to sing. He knew it caused her great pain, but Raoul would never allow his angel, his wife to be laid claim to by another man, much less the lowly excuse of a man that haunted the opera house. No, he would fight off the Almighty Lord himself to keep the Opera Ghost away from his Christine. She belonged to him. And although Raoul did love her, she belonged to him in his mind. Their marriage had been the unofficial seal. Christine would never look at another man the same way again…she would only look at him, her husband. Only his hands could travel the intricate curves of her body and hear her moan his name in pleasure. Never would he allow that gruesome carcass to even look at her with the flame of lust in his eyes. Raoul would make sure of that. Dead or alive, that bastard would never haunt his Christine's tracks ever again. Erik would never even utter a single note in her head ever again, much less sings songs to it.
The Vicomte looked at his wife's desperate face and he could not help but be moved at her pleading eyes. He knew how much it meant for her to see the show. Raoul knew he would have no choice but to comply if he wanted to stay in Christine's good favor. And if Erik did make his presence known, which Raoul doubted, he would be ready. "Don't fret over it my dearest. We shall go. Our night will not be spoiled on account of him," Raoul said, speaking Erik's pronoun as if it was a disease.
Christine felt anger in her chest rise, but she chose to ignore it. Erik was not a disease and she hated hearing him being called as such. Throughout the years rumors had been spreading like wildfire all through France, not just in Paris, about the mysterious and psychopathic murderer, the 'Phantom of the Opera'. Each and every time Christine heard Erik's name being spoken with disdain and disgust she was forced to swallow her anger. They knew nothing of him. Those idiot women who spoke of nothing except the latest and most scandalous gossip were just that. Often Christine paid no heed to their uneducated words but when Raoul spoke of him she worked hard to contain her feelings. Raoul knew of Erik's true genius and yet he still referred to him as nothing but a hideously deformed creature. It angered her to no end, but she had always found room in her mouth to bite her tongue.
XIX
Erik sat in his lair; the pearly white candles bathed his black form in warm candlelight. Darkness certainly did suite him more than the light of day. The dark never dared to betray his secret as the light revealed all too flippantly. His only sanctuary had been in the dark cover of the velvet sky of night, or the black veil of his mask over the marred visage that had cursed him his entire life. For the first time in two years Erik was shocked. It was strange that crazy estranged killer that was the Opera Ghost felt shocked and flabbergasted at the presence of a single young woman. Most would scoff at the mere idea. Upon his lap Ayesha sat curled up and purring contently as his hands stroked her soft fur.
Strangely the maddened mob that had invaded his home two years previous had left, for the most part, his small sanctuary in tact. It took him only a mere month to replace what had been lost, destroyed or stolen by the mundane fools who dared to invade his home. As always, his mighty organ was bolted to the wall and sustained no marks or signs of wear or age. Draperies of black and crimson lined the entire cave as did hundreds upon thousands of candles perched upon golden gothic style holders. Little trinkets and knick knacks were scattered here and there, none with any real significance. Shotgun to his organ, piles upon piles of sheet music in their supple leather bounds had been building up. At the very bottom was very opera that had consumed him for 20 years to finish: Don Juan Triumphant. A small boat dotted the glassy black lake where Erik would come and go at his own pace. Small swells of mist rose and fell around the boat's rim but Erik paid no heed.
In the two years of her absence, Erik had done nothing with his life save for dwell beneath the Opera Populaire drowning in his grief and sorrow. Christine had been the only thing sustaining his presence and what remained of his sanity. Erik could feel his grips on control of his mind slowly slip. He really had been dying-dying from his love of his Angel. Christine may have seen him as her Angel of Music but in truth that was how Erik saw her. She had been so insanely gifted with her voice that Erik believed her a godsend to save him from his sadness. And yet it had all ended the same way as his life had been; she left because of his hideousness and deformed face. Erik loved her more than anything on God's green Earth. She had been his heart and soul. Christine owned his soul in the palm of her perfectly formed hand and in the beautiful melodic voice she sung with such ease. That was why he hated her at the same time. She had torn his soul and heart out all in the same instant, while simultaneously filling his soul full of hope…hope for dying in the loving arms of a wife who cared not for his mutated face. For weeks he had wept out of weakness, hatred and love. He was Erik the torturer, Erik the Opera Ghost, the Phantom of the Opera, the murderer of so many people, the lover of trap-doors! However in that moment fate had proved to him that he was just as weak and foolhardy as every other pathetic soul that littered the world. It was not soon after that he tried suicide attempt, but only resulted in his failure and delving deeper into his sadness and grief. Ayesha had been Erik's only comfort and compassion. For many hours he would imagine that it instead of the tan feline, Ayesha would be the loving face of Christine. The cat's amber eyes would morph into the azure depths that were paler than the sky. Even more, Erik could feel his sanity slipping more to the brink of loss.
As the months went by, Erik thought of little else save for the cruel tortures of the world and insane gift it was to have a normal face in society. Bit by bit, his despair turned to hatred and Erik turned to his organ for release. He wrote and composed non-stop almost to the point of obsessive compulsion. Some of his songs were wrote in Christine's name and love, many more were requiems for Erik's own death which he had once sought to produce. Again he cursed and declared his love for Christine. It was in her kiss that had given him the briefest hint of hope that she would one day return to him. At the same time, it was her kiss that tore out his soul knowing that he could never experience their treasure again. But it was all worth it, Erik would always say. It had been his first kiss by a woman who had never once flinched in disgust at the sight of his visage. Even his mother could never find it in her soul to kiss her son.
After many months Erik had become submersed in his anger. The only being he found any console in was Ayesha. Nadir had vanished shortly after Christine and the Vicomte, believing him dead. Dark and kind silence bounced off the walls of his cavern lair. Never before had he felt more alone, abandoned and angry. For hours at a time he would pound his ivory organ keys in blind rage, frightening away even Ayesha, who would cower in the shadows. It went on that way for nearly a year until one day instead of the shrill screams of outrage and despair, Erik heard whispering above his lair. Curios as to what fools would be daft enough to enter the Opera Populaire, Erik ventured out into cold unfeeling day for the first time in nearly 18 months. It was eerily strange how much the same the world seemed. Hiding again, under the dark veil of his cloak and mask, Erik soon found out that his Opera had again been purchased by another pair of bumbling idiots.
It had been by mere accident that the spoiled little brat of the new manager had stumbled upon Ayesha. Erik had been ransacking the old dormitories of any evidence of his existence when he heard the stupid child cooing his cat. Consumed almost entirely, he had done everything to make sure the dumfounded progeny kept her tongue wisely immobile about his presence. The very last thing he needed was to deal with another angry mob tearing at his home like lunatics. And then she showed her angelic visage again. Never in his wildest dreams did Erik dare to even venture a mere suggestion that Christine would ever be caught dead or alive in the Opera Populaire again.
His heart skipped three beats at the sight of Christine. She was his Angel of Music and indeed, the Angel of his life. Her voice fluttered with the wings of God's right hand angels. Erik felt his soul being torn apart again at the sound of her voice; his heart yearned for the love that she had forsaken him and given that stupid little rich boy, the Vicomte de Chagny. He knew it was against his better judgment to toy with her the way he did, but Erik could not resist. 2 years of sorrow, depravation and love boiled through his veins. The rose he left her lovely hands to caress fondly was left just for her. He half expected Christine to shriek in fright at the bud's sight but instead his Angel had stroked it fondly and spoke his name with a betraying tear down her face. He had not clearly heard what she spoke silently into the flower and rejoiced in his silent hovel that Christine had not tore at the flower out of hate and fear.
At the same time when Erik had caught sight of Christine he knew automatically that her presence and aurora had changed. In the old days, Christine would bounce around happily singing the tune of her Angel of Music, phrasing his name and magnificent notes. Her skin glowed and radiated happiness and love. The pale cerulean depths of her eyes knew no bound as they would glance up excitedly at the sound of his, Erik's, voice. When he had seen her, Christine no longer was the vibrant and jubilant youth she once was, but instead held herself like a silenced woman of society. Bitter anger and hatred rose in Erik's throat. It was that Vicomte whelp who had done this to her. He had taken away her love for life and musical. Erik would have eaten Ayesha alive if her voiced had graced a single note on the staff in the two years of her marriage. Christine's voice no longer had the flare of life and passion that was needed by a Prima Donna--the flare she had once possessed before the days of that damned Vicomte boy who flattered her with only petty words and broken promises.
Once again, Erik could feel his heart pounding in his throat. She would be back that evening and sitting in his old box. With a smile, not a smirk or coy in nature, Erik went to his organ and began playing lead solo soprano line he had composed just for Christine for act 3 of Don Juan Triumphant before it had been swallowed whole by flames.
XIX
It was dusk and the sun had just begun to kiss the horizon lines of the mountains to the west. The sky was a beautiful kamikaze of reds, oranges, golds, yellows, and even dark violet. Christine had always loved twilight most. It was a time when day and night fought their battle ending in a draw each and every time with their respective colors blending perfectly within; it was chaos and harmony all in the same instant. Gazing excitedly at the clock on the wall, Christine let a smile of happiness grace her perfectly rounded face. Raoul was in the process of dressing for the opera. Christine already was dressed and ready to head out on their venture. She chose to wear a satin plum-colored dress. It was low-cut, exposing the tops of her breasts but not too much to be lewd or indecent. Her corset accentuated nicely the flair of her hips as well as the dark purple hoop skirt she wore. White lace trimmings graced the sleeves, adding a delicate womanly touch. Her mahogany curly locks were secured in a lose knot on the back of her cranium. Green silk ribbon wove in and out between her hair, adding a very wood-like effect. Because of the low neck line, Christine decided on a tear drop shaped diamond on a golden chain so fine it blended in with her skin. Tiny dangling diamonds fell from her earlobes. The dress had no sleeves but instead two thin strips of satin that clung to the slope of her shoulders. Black silk gloves that traveled up to her elbows were on each arm. "You look beautiful," Raoul said, emerging from the small dressing room their hotel room provided.
Raoul was dressed in the traditional black silk suit and jacket. He wore a pale gold waistcoat beneath that was accented with intricate stitching. Smooth, slick and shiny boots were presented on both of his feet and a grin was plastered on his face. Raoul's blonde locks were slicked back and tied off at his neckline. "Shall we go?" he added suggestively, but pointing towards the door.
Christine pretended to grin, but said nothing at her husband's…boldness. She could not deny that sex had been a big fact in their marriage, yet had she had failed to produce an heir. But after so many failed attempts, more tries than Christine and the decency to count, she had quickly tired of their nightly romps and plays. The pressure for her to produce a child had become ever more bearing, putting her in a more reclusive mood and taking away all the joys of their physical love making. It often felt like she was only having sex with him to fulfill his needs and her obligations of a child. She no longer felt the initial joy she had once held. It seemed like more of an obligation than pleasure.
Taking her husband's hand in her own Christine smiled and quickly pulled him to the door. "Let us be on our way," she said.
MXIXVXIXM
END CHAPTER.
I tried to get this out as soon as I could. No doubt I will feel the consequences tomorrow due to how late I stayed up trying to finish this chapter. But it was well worth it. I love writing in Erik's POV. He is just so amazing and deep. I hope I didn't make Raoul too much of an ass and kept him, as well as the others, in character.
Since no one responded to my question: whether or not to include Nadir, I have decided to add him in. but our good friend will not play a big roll as he dose in so many other stories. Again, no offence to Nadir fans. I actually like Nadir a lot, but there really isn't much of a roll he can play in the direction this is heading in. Oh, and his eyes will be jade as they are in Leroux's original work.
More reviews makes more chapters come out quicker. If you have any suggestions or questions please let me know. Reviews, ideas and even constructive critisim are loved by me. All flames will be read, laughed at, and deleted. If they are funny enough, I will post them for everyone to make fun of. You have been warned.
I remain your obedient author,
E.M.