Demons of the Past
Ch. 16: The Morning After Surprises
Author's note: The first part may surprise some, butall of ya'll are pretty savvy, so you'll forgive me for treading off the beaten path for a small bit. I know that I said last chapter that I would skip ahead, but I lied. I'm sorry, but I'm not ready for the twins quite yet…I used an aria from a Giuseppe Verdi opera entitled Il Trovatore. I liked the aria…English translation will be at the bottom so it doesn't ruin the effect I want. It is rather lovely…once again, I'm borrowing from the genius that is Verdi. I also should say that I am super pleased that everyone likes the idea of Raoul and Elisabeth…it does have an air of 'this should never happen but then it does', doesn't it? You all will just have to wait and see…
P.S.: To Lin: My friend, it is good to hear from you again! I am so glad to hear that your vacation is going well. I remind you to stay safe and enjoy yourself twice as much (enough for me to have fun too). I have made your suggested corrections in the chapters; I HATE typos…but I have a way of collecting them, I'd say. It means a lot to me that you like the direction I am taking my story; but I can promise you that there are still dark clouds on the horizon for our favorite couple…Thank you for your reviews, and I hope to talk to you again soon. Love and Hugs, Amber
Disclaimer: I really am running out of unique things to say, so I'll just speak plain: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera.
And now, on with the story…
Ferrand Reyer carefully put his old iron key into his front door. His house was just a mere ten minute walk from the Opera Populaire. Reyer lived in a well-to-do neighborhood, surrounded by beautiful homes and shops; riffraff were kept off the street by an alarming police presence. But when his wife died…and when he had suffered that first heart problem…Reyer began to feel how empty the house truly was. It was large; it had more than fit the needs of his family. Reyer had three children... but only one son remained among the living. Reyer's only daughter had died in a fire that had claimed not only her life, but that of her husband…and Reyer's only grandson. The loss had hit his wife hard…but when they lost their oldest boy to tuberculosis, his poor wife wouldn't leave the house for a year. She never fully recovered…and truth be told, neither had Reyer. The loss of his children was indescribable; no parent should see their own children put in the ground before them. After his oldest son had died, Reyer threw himself into his work. His wife had begged him to cut back; going so far as to suggest retirement. Bah. He could not retire; no, he loved his job. Music was his life, had always been his life. She had needed him to be there for her…but Reyer had not been strong enough to help her. He could not face his own pain... the guilt that perhaps something could have been done to prevent the death of his children. With his wife dead…Reyer had been consumed by his music, and his pain. He worked furiously now, regardless of age. Most of his income went to the outrageous sums he was forced to pay to the herbalist. Sometimes Reyer wondered if the old witch wasn't just giving him compacted sugar for heart medicine, but he had no choice. The night was black around him, and as a result, Reyer kept glancing over his shoulder to keep a close watch on the people around him. There were very few…but one could never be too careful. Reyer shuffled into his home as fast as his age-deteriorated bones would let him and locked the door securely behind him. He followed his tradition of setting his scores down and making himself a stiff drink. Reyer cradled the drink before collapsing into a large armchair.
Reyer thought about the opera…and the young man who had replaced the tenor Romanao…He had known something was different about Maestro Massenet, but he could never precisely place it. Up until today Reyer had never so much as met him face to face; Massenet's instructions had always come from Stefan. Reyer had practiced Massenet's music diligently, feeling the vague, almost unattainable feeling of déjà vu. The music was something he had never played before…he had never heard anything like it. But when that masked man had approached him and introduced himself as 'Erik Massenet', Reyer began to untangle the deep thoughts swirling in his head. Everything fell into place, however, when Reyer heard him sing on the stage. The opera…Don Juan…the hypnotic, melodious tenor…the strange man in a mask…it all pointed to one thing…Erik Massenet was the Opera Ghost; the Phantom of the Opera.
Reyer swirled his drink as he contemplated his discovery. Massenet was married to Christine Daae…that was part of the puzzle as well. Was she forced to marry him? But then why was the Vicomte so accepting? Reyer knew without a doubt that the Vicomte knew exactly who Massenet was…the question was why had he not turned Massenet in? He had killed…he had kept the whole of the Opera House in terror for years…and yet, what of the times when Reyer had struggled so hard against a particular piece, knowing something was wrong…Reyer would purposefully leave it out on the main conductor's stand; the next morning there would be a small correction, written in blood red ink. Reyer had always respected the Opera Ghost because of his obvious genius when it came to music…a point that was proven when Reyer had been forced to rehearse Don Juan. Massenet certainly did not act like the Opera Ghost now…and Reyer was sure that Miss Daae was truly in love with him. Could such a person find redemption?
Reyer's faith told him that redemption was possible for all those who repent and truly try to atone for their misdeeds…but didn't his faith also teach tolerance? All men and women were children of God…all created in His supreme image. And yet, Massenet had hidden himself from the world, finding no acceptance or tolerance. Reyer had seen Massenet's face when young Daae removed his mask at the peak of his passion play for her…and it was horrible. Reyer could only imagine the pain and torment a child would have to endure with such a face, but a life as an adult…Reyer would imagine that drowning the child when it was born would have been a better fate than to let it suffer the world's indignation and fear.
Reyer sighed as he took a long sip from his liquor. There was no denying that Massenet was a musical genius; his compositions spoke more truth than words. Reyer himself had long ago composed…but after the death of his wife he found his inspiration lacking. Reyer coughed, a deep chest rattling cough that had begun to escalate ever so slightly. He was nearing his seventy fifth year of life…his wife had not lived to see fifty. His fault…it had been his fault she had died. Reyer felt the familiar guilt rise through him. He had been so busy at the Opera Populaire…he never noticed how much trouble she was having getting around. She tried to tell him…the maid tried to tell him…but he could not be bothered, not with music to perform. Reyer had returned one night to find his wife crumpled on the floor by the stairs…she had fallen…the doctor had said that death was instantaneous. She had broken her neck, and Reyer played her funeral requiem as they lowered her to the ground. The guilt was nothing compared to the pain of knowing that had he been there…had he helped her…she would still be with him. Redemption was not possible for one such as him…especially since he had pushed his only family away. His only remaining son…the baby of the family. He had loved his mother deeply…and he blamed his father adamantly for her death. Reyer closed his eyes as he remembered their last meeting…it had been in the very room he sat now. Reyer's son had yelled, screamed, kicked, lashed out; the torment in his eyes were enough to know that to his only son, only family, Reyer was as dead as his mother was. He had not spoken to Reyer since. It was ironic enough that he followed in his father's footsteps…he himself was a composer, conductor…Reyer had not seen him in over twenty years. How could redemption exist for one such as him? Reyer had killed his family…then pushed the only remaining member away. Redemption…Reyer didn't want it; nor did he think he deserved it.
Reyer finished the alcohol. Maybe there was redemption for Massenet. Maybe he had found the peace that had been denied him. Reyer would not tell a soul of the Opera Ghost's presence among them…for he truly was gone. The black and angry spirit was gone; and besides…Reyer did not want to ruin Massenet's chance for a new beginning. Reyer would show him compassion and understanding…
Suddenly inspired for the first time since his wife's death, he opened the lid of an old desk in the back of the room. Dust coated the outside, indicating the obvious disuse of the desk, but Reyer ignored it. He sat in the straight backed chair and began to pen a few notes and phrases down on the page. It was not an opera…but it was enough. He would show Massenet the tolerance and acceptance that could be found in the world…and maybe, through Reyer's deeds, he would find his own redemption. Reyer sealed the sheet music with a wax seal and addressed it to Massenet. He sat a moment longer, and finally decided to pen a letter to his son. Foolish pride would not be a reason any longer for their separation. Reyer poured all his feelings into the letter…as he did with his song. He feared he was not quite as eloquent in words as he was in musical notes, but the message came across clear enough. Reyer wanted his son back…he rose from the chair, feeling drained for the first time in his life; not tired, or weary, but drained of every bottled emotion. Reyer walked resignedly to his bedroom. He hummed the simple rhythm he had just created, hoping that Massenet would give it the justice that he knew it deserved. Massenet's pain…Reyer's pain…his departed wife's pain…his estranged son's pain…pain was pain; it was all the same. Reyer certainly knew pain, knew pity, knew loneliness, knew isolation…all he could hope for was that one day, he and his sweet wife would be reunited; his children would be waiting for him; he could play with his grandson again, teach him how to play the violin…Reyer wanted his family so bad…he could almost feel his wife's touch, or hear his daughter laugh, or feel the laughter welling inside him at one of his son's jokes. But did he deserve such joy and pleasure? Was his redemption enough? Reyer closed his eyes, hearing his wife's requiem playing softly in his ear. He drifted to sleep…never to open his eyes again.
Erik stepped out of his bedroom, fully clothed and with a bit of determination in each step. He left his sleeping wife in the bed. Erik had slept little during the night; partly because of his sickness, and partly because he was most anxious to speak with Stefan. Erik had to know the reaction of the man he still considered a friend. He may well think of me as a monster instead of a friend now, Erik thought sadly, as he made his way silently through the hallway. Most of the sickness had left him in the earlier parts of the morning; his medicine had indeed worked as it was suppose to. Erik still felt the leftover weakness, but he knew that the feeling would pass. A thought struck Erik blindly. As he neared the entrance to the Opera Populaire, he noticed that dawn was just now lighting up the sky. I still have time…Erik stepped out into the faint rays of morning, not bothering to pull his hood up. No one was around…but a small boy at the foot of the expansive stair case of the Opera House. Erik approached.
"My boy, do you have a Les Beaux-Arts Critiquent?"
The boy nodded and grabbed the paper with his grubby hands. "It'll be a franc, Sir."
Erik gave the boy several gold coins. The boy's face lit up, and he grumbled his thanks as he frantically pocketed the money. Erik took the paper and retreated into the safety of the Opera House as the sun rose higher in the sky. He walked toward Stefan's office, but he knew he would not be there yet. Erik backtracked a bit and headed for the main auditorium. He looked around at the lower level seats and he sat in a comfy chair in the middle of the first aisle. Erik opened the newspaper, scanning the many reviews and critiques that the paper was famous for. He quickly found what he was looking for.
'Opera Populaire strikes gold with new maestro: Rose et la Nuit an overwhelming success'
Erik could hardly believe his eyes as he read the article.
Rose et la Nuit tells the story of the God Apollo's love for a beautiful maiden named Amaranth. However, their love is foiled by Apollo's own twin sister Artemis, who ends the strange love affair by turning Amaranth into a solitary red rose. The opera is full of passion, romance, anger, and betrayal; in other words, everything an opera needs. The cast receives full marks from this reviewer, especially the tenor who played Apollo. It was very easy indeed to imagine a god singing to you with the heavenly voice the actor had. The opera was written by Erik Massenet, an up and coming young composer, whose brilliance has not been seen in centuries. Paris will have to keep an eye out for the Opera Populaire, and the Maestro Erik Massenet.
The article went on for two more pages, praising every singer and dancer. The last sentence was a plea for more of the same. Erik was relieved that his work had been so well received; it alleviated a huge pressure from his shoulders. Erik was just re-folding his newspaper when Stefan entered. He was clutching a paper as well.
"Erik! I am certainly glad to see you up and about…Have you seen the review in L'Epoque? I am in shock! Everyone loved the opera, Erik…and they loved you! Every review I have read has said something about your performance, though none of the papers know it was actually the maestro performing his own work…"
Erik smiled "And what about the compliments for your management? They say that the Opera Populaire has never looked or sounded better…and that is a credit to you, my friend."
Stefan took a seat next to Erik. "Yes, well…I think I would have run screaming from all this if it hadn't been for your letters in the first place…we really make a good team, Erik. And I am proud to be able to call you my friend." He placed a hand on Erik's shoulder. "Erik…I know that you probably want to talk about yesterday. I just wanted you to know that it doesn't matter to me…it never has. Actually, I feel a little relieved to finally see you without the mask. I can finally see who you are-and I swear to you on my mother's grave that I will reveal nothing. You can trust me, Erik."
Erik was touched. "I…I have never had quite that reaction before. There is a rather good reason why my face is kept hidden…I…cannot bear to see the looks of revulsion, or the looks of fear…but what is worse is the pity. I beg you, Stefan, don't pity me. For most of my life I have lived in despair and loneliness, wallowing in my own self pity. But now…for the first time in my life I feel as if I am a man, and not a monster. I need no pity now…only understanding. Thank you, Stefan. I am proud to call you friend as well."
There was a moment of silence as Stefan and Erik contemplated each other's words. The Opera Populaire was beginning to wake around them, albeit a bit grumbly from last night's great party. Erik rose from his seat.
"There is a matter that I would like to speak to you about…my sister, Elisabeth, wishes to try out for the chorus. Can that be arranged? I want nothing to do with the tryouts...make no mistake that I believe Elisabeth is perfectly capable, and I know that you have said that you would relinquish the hiring of singers to me…but I want no doubts in Elisabeth's or anyone else's mind that Elisabeth did not earn her place. She shall receive no special treatment, although I will be taking the time to teach her."
Stefan nodded. "I understand…when can she be prepared?"
"Give her a few days. She will be ready."
Stefan and Erik went into the Stefan's office to discuss the business aspect of the previous night. The take in from tickets had been substantial; Erik received a large sum as his share of the profits, but Stefan also insisted that Erik be paid for his opera and his performance. Erik was left with a lot more than the twenty thousand francs that he had once extorted from the previous managers of the Opera Populaire. This was wonderful news for Erik; he could now afford a house in Paris, closer to the Opera House. He explained his reasoning to Stefan.
"Music is my life…and as long as you'll have me, I will continue to be a patron and I will continue to write and produce operas. My wife wants to sing again…and I have no doubts that my sister will do well here as well. Our home is a good distance away; it is not reasonable to travel back and forth every day. With the twins on the way, I don't want to remain on the outskirts of Paris anymore. With the babies and Brian, we need to be closer to the city merely for safety reasons. I trust few doctors, Stefan, but I know that they have access to medicine and tools that I do not. So for the sake of my family and for the sake of convenience, I need to find a house suitable here in Paris. I don't suppose you know of such?"
Stefan shook his head. "No, Erik…but then again, I haven't exactly looked. I can help you, certainly…how does it feel to be home after being away for months? I know you missed your wife terribly…"
Erik reclined back into his chair, his hands wrapping themselves around the back of his head. "It was unbearable…I am glad that I made it back in time for the opera, Stefan…and I am sorry that you had to make the arrangements on your own. Next time, you won't be able to keep me away…"
"Well, what do we do with our little problem concerning a new tenor? I certainly do not want to rehire Romanao…we could post an ad in the paper, I suppose."
Erik closed his eyes, imaging the horrible screeching that he would have to endure as tryouts were held…there was a knock on the office door.
"Excuse me, Monsieur Javere?" A young man stood in the door, clutching a trumpet in his hands. "I hate to bother you, Sir, but M. Reyer hasn't shown up for practice…and he is over an hour late. I have been in the orchestra for a little over two years now, and I have not known M. Reyer to be tardy for any rehearsal…let alone not show up at all. I am concerned, Monsieur…and so is everyone else in the orchestra."
Stefan nodded his head, a puzzled expression on his face. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, young man. Go to the orchestra and tell them they are dismissed until three o'clock…we will get to the bottom of this, my good man. Have no fear."
The trumpet player bowed quickly and left the doorway. Erik frowned.
"I have known Reyer for a lot longer than two years…and I can tell you that the man would rather cut his own foot off than be late to practice…he lives for his music. Stefan, do you have a home address?"
Stefan was already shuffling through his filing cabinet. "I have records for all the employees here at the Opera House…but I have done no recent ones; these records belong to my predecessors. I must say, they were rather disorganized."
After a long moment of searching, and a few curses for the previous managers, Stefan found Reyer's file. "Here it is…he lives nearby, Erik…only about a ten minute walk. Should I send someone to check on him?"
Erik wanted to go himself…but he also knew that being exposed in the full daylight was not something he needed to do. He nodded resignedly.
"Send a man you trust, Stefan. I will be in one of the practice rooms…send word to me there when we know the problem."
Stefan inclined his head, and Erik rose from his seat. "I will see you shortly, my friend." Erik strode out of the room. Stefan sat heavily into his chair a moment and buried his face in his hands. I hope that we do not find what I fear we will, he thought mournfully.
"Do re mi fa so la ti do! Do ti la so fa mi re do!"
"Again, Elisabeth, but this time fill your lungs with as much air as you can, then release through your diaphragm…no no no!"
Erik stopped his piano playing. He turned to Elisabeth crossly. "You do not have the correct breath support…nor the correct posture! Stand straight!" Elisabeth raised her slouched shoulders. "Now, raise your chin a hair…that's right. Pretend that you're sticking your nose up at me…that's good!" Elisabeth laughed a little, breaking Erik's cantankerous mood. "Ok, my dear, now breathe in and hiss the air out as long as you can…no!" Erik's bad mood returned sharply.
Erik rose from his bench and positioned Elisabeth correctly. "The key to the voice is the air…without the right breath, you can't support your note. Now, I know it may seem silly, but hiss out as long as you can…I will press forward on your chest a bit…right above your stomach." Erik placed a hand across Elisabeth's middle. "Now, deep breath…and hiss." Elisabeth hissed air from her lungs. It started out strong and loud, but as Elisabeth lost air and support, the hiss began to die. At the last moment, Erik pressed hard across Elisabeth's chest. Suddenly, the hiss was loud and strong again. Erik stopped her, pleased.
"Do you see? You can do it…it's just a matter of concentrating. What are you doing?"
Elisabeth had settled herself into a chair and was taking a long sip of water. "I'm resting a moment, Erik…and I'm thirsty."
Erik shook his head angrily. "Either you're here to rehearse, or you leave. There is no breaks…this is important!"
"I know Erik! I'm trying…but I'm not going to learn everything in one lesson! I have much to learn, I know…but you're going so fast!"
A sigh escaped Erik. "I just want you to be ready, Elisabeth…I want you to make your audition. You have the talent…but it's almost as if you have no emotion, no passion…why?"
Elisabeth bowed her head. "I don't know…I guess I can't put myself in other's places…like if I'm singing about love, I just don't know the feeling of being in love…so how can I sing about it?"
"Just because you have never felt the love between a man and woman does not mean that you do not know love…you love Brian, don't you? It may not be a romantic love, but love is something that is powerful in its essence. Love is something that everyone has-it is an integral part in life. I had my music for the longest time when I had no other company…it was my sole love. But passion is something that every person must have to exist…otherwise there is no will to live. You just have to learn to put that into your voice."
Elisabeth listened closely to his words. "I understand…I think. It's just so hard…and I…I…"
Erik leaned forward and prompted, "Yes?"
"I'm frightened. What if I croak? What if I get to the audition, and I fail horribly?"
"You mustn't think that way, Elisabeth. All you can do is your best. If you go in and try, then you always run the risk of failure…but if you go in and do, will then, you will always succeed in your own eyes…and mine as well."
Elisabeth smiled. "Thank you, Erik."
Erik shrugged. "Besides, I have confidence in you. I wouldn't be wasting my time on someone who I didn't think could achieve greatness…after all, you are my sister. Of course you are destined for great things!"
Elisabeth laughed. "Arrogant, aren't we?"
"I only speak the truth, my dear…only the truth. Have you decided on a tryout piece?"
"No…"
Erik sighed wearily. "I cannot pick something for you…but I can hand you this stack of musical choices…and indicate that the top one is a really good song for you…perfect range, style…but of course, it is your decision." He passed her a small stack of scores. Elisabeth eyed the song carefully. She looked over the words…looked over the notes…it was in Italian, but that was no problem…Elisabeth could speak Italian fluently; she had learned from a man in her village…he gave her lessons in return for warm bread. The only problem was that the song was all about love: a love so powerful that the maiden Leonora was willing to die for her lover…could Elisabeth do this? She thought back to Erik's earlier words…and her confidence grew. She flashed Erik a brilliant smile.
"Monsieur Massenet, I believe that I will be singing 'Di Tale Amor' from Il Trovatore by the great Giuseppe Verdi. I believe that you have heard of him?"
Erik raised his eyebrow. She was so rambunctious…but she caught on quickly. "Once or twice…I take it you like the song?"
In response, Elisabeth began to sing:
Di tale amor che dirsi mal puo dalla parola,
D' amor che intendo io sola,
Il cor s' inebrio!
Il mio destino compiersi non puo che a lui dappresso…
S' io non vivro per esso, per esso io moriro!
Elisabeth exhaled lightly as she finished the song. She glanced at Erik expectantly.
"Well? Do you think I can do it?"
"Are you willing to work? Are you willing to do your best? I can guarantee you that if youpractice this song, you will impress the judges immensely. And I will help you…"
"Monsieur Massenet?" A girl stood in the open doorway of the practice room. "Please excuse the interruption, but Monsieur Javere requests your presence immediately. It is an urgent matter, Sir…it cannot wait."
Erik turned to Elisabeth. "My dear, that's all the time we have for today…but we will practice together again soon. Work on it yourself; I expect it to be ten times better the next time…"
Erik turned to follow the girl. "Is he in his office?"
The girl shook her head. "No, Monsieur…he is Madam Massenet's room…he told me to escort you there."
Erik felt the fear freeze his heart. "Is something wrong with Christine?"
"No, no, Monsieur…nothing is wrong with your wife. I do not know the details, Sir…I just obey."
They walked in silence the rest of the way. When they reached their destination, the girl curtsied before hurrying off. Erik flung open the door to his room to find Christine sobbing in Stefan's arms. She glanced up when Erik entered the room, and she flung herself upon him, crying harder. Erik was bewildered; he held his wife close, stroking her hair gently as she sobbed. He glanced at Stefan questioningly before turning his attention back to his wife.
"Christine…Christine, it's all right…I'm here, love. What's wrong, Angel…are you all right?"
Christine pulled away slightly to look at Erik sadly, her big brown eyes filled with sorrow and tears. "M. Reyer…he's dead, Erik…they found him in his home…he died in his sleep…" Christine burst into tears again, and Erik hugged her tightly.
"It's all right, Christine…death is a part of life…there is beauty in all things…see the beauty in Reyer's life, not death, Christine. Don't mourn his passing…celebrate his life."
At Erik's calming words, Christine composed herself. She sat herself in a chair, still clinging to Erik's hand. Erik was staring at Stefan, a hard look in his eyes.
"Why did you see fit to personally deliver such horrible news to my wife? I do not think that this is appropriate, my friend…I do not appreciate this behavior at all."
Stefan cleared his throat. "You see, Erik-"
"Stefan isn't to blame in the slightest, Erik…I was present when the messenger came with the news…I demanded to know, and Stefan was good enough to escort me here to tell me the news."
Erik was not convinced. "I would have rather been the first to know…"
Stefan bowed his head. "I am sorry, my friend…I have never had to be the bearer of bad news…and this is such heartbreaking news."
Erik sighed, low and soft. "Have you broken it to the Opera House staff? They will be distraught; Reyer has been a fixture at this opera house for as long as I can remember."
Stefan shook his head. "I will gather everyone at three o' clock…there's more, Erik."
"What?"
"The messenger I sent found two letters on Reyer's desk, ready to be sent. One was to Reyer's only son…luckily it had an address on it; we can get in touch with him. The second…was for you, Erik. Here, I have it with me." Stefan handed Erik a sealed envelope. "I will take my leave. I'm sorry, my friend…" Stefan hurriedly left the room, leaving Erik and Christine alone. She glared at him.
"Why did you get upset with Stefan? The news would have been the same coming from you as it would be coming from him…Erik? What's wrong?"
Erik had essentially ignored Christine; he was opening the letter Stefan gave him. His eyes narrowed tightly, and he walked stiffly to the desk. He spread the letter out on the surface. The envelope had enclosed a letter to Erik and a piece of sheet music. Finally hearing Christine's question, he addressed her:
"He knew. He knew that I was the Phantom of the Opera."
"What? How do you know?"
Erik handed Christine the letter as he studied the music. Christine read the note.
O.G.:
I write this to you in hopes that you will be able to compose what I cannot. You always had a knack for finding the perfect notes to express exactly my own thoughts and feelings; I am hoping that you will find them again. This is my requiem, Maestro…and I wish it to be completed by you. I have always respected your genius…and feared your madness. You once held the Opera Populaire in a strong grasp of fear; now you do so again, only that you hold them in adoration and respect through the music that you create. I congratulate you on your opera tonight; and I honor your performance as well. You need not worry about other's recognizing you…I know your music far too well, Monsieur Phantom. Take pride in that you have made an old man's dream a reality…my whole life I have been waiting to hear the music that I heard tonight. I hope that you find peace and solace in your music…it has been my only comfort for too long. Please, complete my requiem…as one composer to another.
Your obedient servant,
F.R.
Christine handed Erik back the note, tears in her eyes. Erik stared at the paper for a long moment, absorbing Reyer's last words to him completely. He turned his attention to the composition. It was for a violin; and it was indeed half finished.
"Let's gather Elisabeth and Brian, Angel. I have work to do."
The sky was a brilliant blue as Raoul made his way to the Opera Populaire. The friendly fall air added a bit of a chill compared to the muggy days of summer that were being left behind, and Raoul pulled his cloak closer to his body. He really should have been at the Opera House earlier, but found that after the enjoyable party last night that crawling out of bed at six a.m. was out of the question. Raoul glanced at his watch. Three forty five p.m. Well, perhaps he was much later than he thought…but he did partake in some most excellent wine last night…and it had left him with a brilliant headache. The dull pain was slowly fading now, and Raoul could think clearly. Not that he particularly wanted to think clearly. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw blue green ones…piercing, laughing eyes that mocked his heart with every breath. Raoul shook his head to rid himself of Elisabeth's beautiful eyes. He would be patient…he would be the gentleman…and then, perhaps, he would earn Elisabeth's respect…and maybe even her love. Raoul entered the stable and jumped from his horse. He was shocked to see a small group emerge from the opera house.
"Stefan! Erik…where are you going? I was hoping to talk to you about yesterday's great triumph!"
Erik looked at him with distaste. "You and your 'great triumphs'…if you wanted to know how much money you were going to get from my opera, then you should have been at the meeting we held…at seven this morning! Now, if you will step aside…"
Stefan looked apologetic. "I would stay and fill you in, but I have business to discuss with Erik…he has invited me to his home."
Raoul brightened. "Well, then…I'll just come with you."
"No, I think not, dear Vicomte. I will not have you in my home." Erik was infuriated; how dare this man invite himself to his only refuge?
Christine moved silently forward and touched her husband's arm. He leaned down and allowed her to whisper in his ear. Erik's facial expressions changed rapidly from anger, to disbelief, and finally to a stony acceptance.
"My wife reminds me that you have not seen the house since we moved in…and she has also reminded me of your part in our 'moving in' in the first place. I always repay my debts, Vicomte…allow me to extend the invitation for you to join us." Erik sounded as though he had just been informed that he must swallow a glass full of nails. Elisabeth hid behind her hand, trying desperately to hide the giggles that were threatening to expose her. Raoul smiled broadly.
"I accept, of course, Erik." He leaned in closer to him. Raoul spoke only for Erik's ears. "I bet that hurt to say, Phantom." Erik physically balled his fists, his knuckles turning white in the effort not to slam the Vicomte to the ground. To Erik's surprise, Christine slapped Raoul across the arm.
"You will not bait him, Raoul…I will not be responsible for the consequences. Please, can't you two act like gentlemen? For God's sake, you act like spoiled children." Erik and Raoul both looked at Christine in surprise. She merely inclined her head. "I'm sure that you both understand me plainly…I don't want to hear it! I hate the arguing…just stop! And Stefan! You're as bad as them! You are supposed to be older…and you're their manager! Grow a backbone and quit accepting their arguing! I will accept it no longer!" She pushed past them both and entered the waiting carriage. Elisabeth shrugged at Erik, and joined Christine with Brian. That left Raoul, Erik, and Stefan out in the silence of the still day.
"Hormones, most probably…bloody hormones running rampant," Erik murmured, more to himself than the benefit of his companions. He raised an eyebrow at Stefan and Raoul, who where looking at Erik with dumbfounded looks.
"Why are you staring at me? She yelled at me too…and I have to ride in the carriage with her. Shall we, gentlemen?" Erik gestured to Raoul's and Stefan's horses. Obediently, they mounted their steeds. Erik braced himself a moment longer before stepping into the carriage, fully prepared to face his wife's unexpected wrath.
Raoul, Stefan, and Erik sat together in Erik's second story office. Raoul had just finished with a recitation of the various well-to-do members of society who had loved the gala. Erik was trying in vain to hide his displeasure.
"I do not care if the rich and pompous people of Paris liked my opera…it matters not if the audience member is fabulously wealthy or a comfortable merchant. Such things might matter to one such as yourself, Vicomte, but the idle thoughts of pleasing the upper class are beneath me."
Raoul tilted his head. "You may say that you don't care that the affluent see your opera, but I promise you that their influence will be felt. A select group of elite saw your performance last night; they in turn report their like or dislike as it were to the main group; they talk at parties, teas, luncheons…and if the rich in Paris liked your opera, then we can expect good sales for the rest of the run. I know the game well, Erik…"
"Of course you do, Vicomte…you are the 'affluent' as you so delicately put it…but I do see your point. People will not pay to see the opera if it has bad reviews."
Stefan interceded. "At the rate that we are going, we will sell out the remaining shows…but we have two devastating problems. We are short two key people on our staff: a suitable tenor, and a new conductor. It pains me to think of replacing Reyer so soon, but we have no choice. 'The show must go on', so to speak. What do we do?"
Raoul leaned forward a bit. "Personally, I think that Erik should remain the principal tenor for the remainder of the show; he knows the part well and there is no denying the fact that the audience simply adored him. We can put an ad for a new tenor, as you have already suggested, Stefan, but if Erik finishes the run then we will not be so pressed for time…A new conductor poses a dire problem in itself. It is essential, but we have to find one before the next performance…which takes place a week from yesterday!"
Stefan turned to Erik. "Will you finish the show as Apollo, Erik?"
"Of course I will…the Vicomte's words speak truth. Our number one concern needs to be finding a new conductor…I will make it my number one priority."
Christine's voice floated through the open door of the office. "Gentlemen, dinner is served…"
Erik softened. "Well, perhaps my number two priority." Stefan and Raoul rose from their seats. Erik reached out and grabbed the Vicomte roughly by the arm. "I need a moment alone with the Vicomte, Stefan. We shall be down shortly." Stefan nodded briskly, then took his leave. Erik released Raoul and motioned for him to seat himself again.
"You have my word that I will keep this brief. It is quite simple: I do not like the attention you have doted upon my sister. I know not your intentions, but your actions are plain. You are smitten with her, but I remind you: she is not someone to be trifled with. I will protect her with my life, Vicomte…and I will not allow you to harm her, intentionally or not. If you are simply playing some kind of game, then consider this a warning. You would do well to remember that I do not make threats…I make promises. Do we understand one another, dear Vicomte?" Raoul looked closely at Erik, noticing the concern and worry mixed in with the anger in his blue green eyes…so much like his sister's.
"Erik…I know that you and I will probably never get along properly…but please know this: I would never hurt your sister. Elisabeth is an ingenious young woman, and yes, you could say that I am 'smitten' with her. The fact that she is your sister means only that I will have to try harder to win her affections. I will respect her…and I will respect you. You are her guardian…and I am in need of your blessings in regards to her. I will return for them when the time is right…and I hope that, if Elisabeth wills it, you will not deny me." Raoul looked Erik straight in the eye, so that he could see the truth there. Raoul cleared his throat. "If that is all?" Erik nodded blankly. Raoul rose from his seat. He gestured to the door. "After you, my host." Erik rose mechanically from his chair, his mind deep in his own thoughts. He hated to admit it, but the Vicomte had earned a little respect in his book tonight. Raoul and Erik now had an informal understanding…and Erik was surprised at how relieved he truly felt.
After dinner, Raoul and Stefan bid there goodbyes to Erik and his family. Christine tucked Brian into his bed; he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Elisabeth stayed in the kitchen, diligently cleaning up after the big meal. To no one's surprise, Erik immediately headed to the music room. Christine could hear the soft cry of Erik's violin…she peaked her head in slightly. Erik stopped and glanced up.
"Yes, love?"
Christine entered the room. "I just wanted to check on you…do you think you'll be here all night?"
Erik shrugged. "Reyer's funeral is tomorrow, Christine…and I want this requiem done. I will try not to disturbed you."
Christine took a seat next to him on the floor. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Erik pulled her close, giving her a warm hug.
"You could go to bed. Knowing that one of us will have some sleep will do me wonders tomorrow…besides, you need your rest. Think of the little ones…" Erik's hand traveled from caressing Christine's cheek to gently touching the bulge of her abdomen. He still loved the feel of the tiny infants kicking against his slender fingers. Christine kissed Erik lightly on the temple.
"It won't be long before our babies are here…have you thought about changing your office into a nursery?" At Erik's grimace, she laughed. "I guess not…"
"Actually, I think I'm going to purchase a house in Paris…it will be closer to the Opera Populaire, and it will be much more convenient for you to do the things proper for a lady…I want you to be the envy of other people, my dear. I can't just keep you all to myself (although that is exactly my intent)." Christine broke into a large grin.
"You want to move to Paris? Wonderful! That's jus-" Christine interrupted herself with a huge yawn. "Oh my goodness…I am so tired all of a sudden…and it will be terribly difficult to sleep without you with me…will you sing for me?"
Erik smiled. He escorted Christine up the stairs safely. Erik gently helped her into bed, pulling the covers over her head. He took her hand, and sang her to sleep.
When Christine's hand went slack in his own, Erik carefully retreated from the room. He was met on the stairs by Elisabeth.
"Good night, Erik…I wish you luck on your composition. I'm sure that it will be a fitting tribute to Maestro Reyer…please give my regards. I shall stay here with Brian…he does not need to be at a funeral; it wouldn't be proper."
"Thank you, Elisabeth, for volunteering to care for Brian…I heard you practicing in the garden, Elisabeth…it sounded lovely. Keep up the work, my dear, and you will have a celebrated position in the Opera Populaire in no time."
Elisabeth glowed with pleasure at his words. She hugged him quickly before continuing to her bedroom. Erik's mind was filled with pleasant thoughts: the feel of his wife's fingers entwined around his own, Elisabeth's blushing face, even little Brian's snores…and now he had to push those thoughts away. Erik entered his music room, prepared to enter a dark place to complete his work. He found that he was unable to completely submerge himself in despair and darkness…but he found the inspiration to give Reyer's final composition justice nonetheless.
Christine awakened the next morning as her husband appeared in the doorway, bleary and red eyed. He smiled at her slightly; Christine knew he must have finished the requiem…and was pleased with it. Erik sat at the edge of the bed as Christine moved her legs over. He really was a sight: his hair was sticking up everywhere, and he had a couple of day's growth of hair on his face. Christine reached out and touched his chin.
"This isn't something your'e keeping, is it?"
Erik moved his hand over hers, then pretended to contemplate. "Maybe…if I feel like it. How did you sleep?"
"Wonderfully. I take it the music came to you last night?"
"In the most unique way, I would imagine. It's raining outside…been raining since about three this morning."
Christine could hear the pitter patter of the raindrops hitting the roof and windows. "You love the rain, Angel…why would it bother you now?"
Erik rose from the bed and moved to the dresser. There was a large basin of water there, and he vigorously rubbed his face and hair with the water.
"I'm not too concerned…I should be glad for the cover of rain opposed to being in full sunlight…I just don't want the violin to get damaged."
Christine rose from the bed and hugged her husband from behind. "I'm sure everything will be fine, Erik…if not, then I have something for you. I have been meaning to give it to you for ages…but I just never got around to it." Erik watched her as she moved toward another dresser. Christine opened the last drawer and pulled out a battered old violin case.
"It was my father's…one of only a few things that he left for me. It has been far too long since I've heard music from my father's violin…will you take it, Erik, and play sweet music for me? I long to hear it so…" Christine's eyes filled with emotion, and Erik sensed that this was an important thing for her.
"What would you like to hear, my Angel?"
"The Resurrection of Lazarus…my father would play it when he was feeling sad; he would play for my mother in Heaven…and it seems to fit the mood for today, love. Please, play?"
Erik nodded slowly, taking the worn violin to his neck. He carefully checked it over, and found it, surprisingly, in tune. Christine sat at her vanity as Erik began to play the beautiful song…it seemed to be the epitome of sadness. He felt his body become controlled by the music, and he became aware of nothing but the silkiness of the bow hitting the strings slightly, delicately. When the song ended, he became painfully aware of his wife's cries…Erik carefully laid the violin to the side, and held Christine close. She sobbed a bit against his shoulder.
"It has been ages since I have visited my father…I shall do that today, after M. Reyer's funeral…will you come with me?"
"Of course, Christine. I will be there for you."
Erik walked calmly in the long line of people at Reyer's funeral. Christine clung to him tightly. The rain fell steadily upon them, but Erik held an umbrella high above Christine, to keep her dry. He himself was half soaked, but it was more important to him to keep Christine safe and warm. In Erik's other hand was his violin case. They finally reached the small tent that had been set up in order for the priest to say his prayers. The grave site was a little away from the tent. The priest began his words. All bowed their heads in remembrance of Reyer…all but Erik. Erik lifted his eyes to the Heavens, wondering if Reyer was truly among God now. He hoped for such. The priest ended his prayers, and Erik brought the violin up. The haunting melody of Reyer's requiem filled the air around the mourners, and all stopped to stare in amazement at the musician who brought the music to life. Unbeknownst to the rest of the group, a tall young man slipped in silently; he too was captured by the music. In his arms was a violin case…
Erik finished, the air around him filled with the last wavering note of the piece. Silence quickly followed. The somber group went forth into the rain once more to say their final goodbyes to a dear friend. Women threw roses of all colors into his grave. The priest nodded to Erik, and Erik began the traditional Catholic requiem. The young man who had joined them raised his violin as well. Suddenly, the sound of two haunting violins filled the air; the unknown man joined Erik not in a copy of the requiem, but in a duet. Erik's violin played the primary part, while the stranger played a secondary. Erik felt the surprise and astonishment fill him as the man came to stand beside him. This man can play very well, Erik thought, as he studied the man. Wait…this man…he bore a striking resemblance to Reyer! This was his son…Erik looked the man in the eyes, and nodded once. The man seemed to understand, because he immediately took over the primary part as Erik silenced his violin. Erik watched with the others as Reyer's son finished the Catholic requiem for his father.
After the service, all in attendance headed back to the Opera Populaire for a celebration of Reyer's life and works. His friends and colleagues gathered to talk of Reyer's love of music and life. Stefan and Erik sought out Reyer's son. He was in a corner of the Opera House auditorium; he spoke to no one, but had a faraway look in his eyes. Stefan approached with sympathy.
"M. Reyer, I am terribly sorry for your loss…I am Stefan Javere, the manager of the Opera Populaire…this is Erik Massenet, one of our patrons and our maestro as well…if there is anything I can do for you, please don't hesitate to ask." Reyer looked at Stefan in surprise.
"Please, call me Donovan…my father was Monsieur Reyer…it is so hard to believe that he's gone…" Donovan choked a bit, then turned his attention to Erik. "What was that you were playing at the funeral, Monsieur? Before the Catholic requiem…I must know!"
Erik regarded him carefully. The man was clearly distraught…but there was something else… "It was a composition of your father's, young Reyer. It was incomplete, and it was his wish that I finish it…if you would like it, I can arrange for it to be given to you."
"I would like that very much, Maestro…did you two know my father well?" Stefan spoke first.
"I was his employer for a short time…and I can honestly say that he was a very agreeable and dedicated man…but if you interrupted his rehearsals, there was Hell to pay!" To Erik's surprise, Donovan laughed.
"That sounds exactly like my father…I have not seen him in over twenty years, gentlemen…and now I am too late…" The grief seemed to be filling the man before them and Stefan spoke quietly.
"Donovan, have you been given your father's letter?" Donovan shook his head. Stefan continued. "He left a letter addressed to you…I left instructions for the letter to either be given to you in person or have it returned to his home…perhaps it would be wise for you to read it." Donovan nodded, but a pained look returned to his eyes.
"I have no one with me…would you two mind accompanying me? I promise I shall be brief…but I do not think that I can handle being alone right now." Erik started to protest softly, but Stefan elbowed him in the side.
"Of course we will accompany you, young Reyer."
The rain was still falling slightly as Stefan, Erik and Donovan made their way to the former home of Reyer. Erik couldn't help admiring the neighborhood and house as they approached. Donovan unlocked the door and waved the two men inside.
"This was my childhood home…I don't think my father could have sold it…it has many memories, Monsieurs…If I know my father, there is bourbon in the living room…if you will follow me?" Donovan led them through the entry hall and into a small side room facing the street. He poured three glasses, but spotted the letter on the desk. Donovan set his drink aside carelessly, letting some of the alcohol spill to the floor. Donovan read the note in silence, then turned to Stefan, tears in his eyes.
"I know that you do not know me, Monsieur…but please, allow me to take my father's position at the Opera Populaire. I have failed to make things right between us…the least that I can do is continue his life's work. I am a composer, a musician, a conductor…I can do the job. Perhaps through music I can gain the forgiveness and redemption I so desperately need."
Stefan glanced at Erik, who nodded slightly. Stefan went to Donovan and offered a hand. "My boy, we would be honored to have a Reyer as a part of the Populaire family…it has been so for a long time."
Donovan sank into a chair in relief. He took a long sip from his drink, then glanced around. "I shall have to sort through my father's things…and I have to sell this house!"
Erik suddenly smiled. "I think I can help you there, young Reyer."
Author's note 2: Of course, since I said that last chapter was my biggest yet, I had to go and top myself with this chapter! Bloody Hell! (to quote ron from hp) I hope that ya'll don't get too spoiled with these terribly long chapters…I don't know how long I can keep it up! Please give me some response to this chapter…I hope you liked my character interpretations. And coming next chapter…du.du.dun…the babies! Thanks for reading, and I hope that you enjoyed.
Translation of 'Di Tale Amor':
A love that can hardly be put into words,
a love that only I can understand,
such a love has filled my heart!
My destiny will be fulfilled only at his side…
I will live only for him, if not, I will die for him!