Only two reviews? Well, I guess Erik is going to be lonely in the closet tonight! Muhahahaha!
Erik: Oh,why me?
It's called fate, Erik...
Paige Turner3: Thanks for the compliments, and thanks for reviewing! You've spared Erik a few minutes of my... um... attentions... Muhahahaha!
Erik: Thank you!
Dahna: Glad you like the French songs. If you really want to hear Erik sing in French, you actually can on the new Phantom of the Opera DVD. I don't know if you have that movie or if you have it on DVD, but if you do you can just go into Languages and select French. The guy who sings French for the Phantom has a really sexy voice, though who can compare to Gerard Butler? Anyhoo... Fear not, I fully intend on completing this story (I'll let you in on a secret... I've already finished writing it! Hee hee) Hey, Erik! I think Dahna likes you!
Erik: Better her than you!
Oh, that was hardly complementary... You need to take a few lessons from some of my readers...
Well, here's your chapter! The most anticipated event since yesterday!
Erik: Someone review after this... please... I think I'm allergic to the authoress... (Crawls into closet and curls up in the foetal position).
P.S. - Yes, I'm aware of how I spelt "foetal". Or "fetal". It's how it's spelt in Canada. Yes, I'm Canadian. After this, Erik and I are going to have a game of hockey.
Erik: In your dreams, eh!
You know, French guys should never try to use "eh" in their dialogue. You don't say it right.
Erik: Go hail a beaver!
OK, I'm going to cut this author's note short... Enjoy this chapter while I give Erik a firm talking-to...
XxXxX
Marie-Eve ran until she could run no more. Then she collapsed and cried until she could cry no more.
"Oh, Angel!" she wept, as the morning sun began to rise over Paris. "Angel of Music! Help me!"
But there was no angel there to comfort her. Only the cold wind passing through the streets responded to her cries.
Marie-Eve wandered aimlessly through the streets. It was still quite early, and no one was out. She felt so alone. She raised her head and looked forlornly down an old back-alley. The streets would soon be bustling with people, she knew. She didn't want to be around when they came out. They would all ask the universal question – "Hi little girl, where's your mama and papa?"
With a resigned sigh, she made her way down the alley. At least there were no vagrants or street vipers… She didn't want anything to do with them either.
Marie-Eve found an old empty crate turned over on its side. She crawled inside and curled up.
"I suppose this will be my home now," she said sadly. "I have nowhere else to go."
Marie-Eve buried her face in her hands and began to cry again. Why hadn't Papa come back? He was an Angel after all! Shouldn't he have been able to… sense she was in trouble or something? Shouldn't he have known that she needed him?
Marie-Eve's quiet sobs flowed from her little body. She was so sorrowful and so lonely that she didn't even notice when two men drew close to her little hovel. She was oblivious to them until she was within one man's clutches.
"Hey, look at this!" the man holding her said to his companion. "Look what I found!"
"Let go of me!" Marie-Eve cried.
"What's your name, little girl?"
"Let go!"
"Aw… Didn't your mama teach you better manners than that?"
"Let me go! Angel! Help me! Help!"
"I think she's a runaway," the first man said to his friend. "Let's bring her back with us. The boss might think of a use for her!"
Marie-Eve found herself being flung onto the back of a horse. The men rode swiftly away. She had been gagged and her hands bound. Tears flowed down her face as she was whisked away to some place far from where she had been found. Some time later, Marie-Eve saw something in the distance.
Tents…
It looked like a fair…
There were many workers milling around, preparing for the arrival of their customers. By the dark colour of their skin, Marie-Eve guessed that they were gypsies.
Marie-Eve was hauled roughly off of the horse. The men who had taken her dragged her over to a large man in a red suit, who was currently barking orders at some poor worker.
"Hey, boss! Look at this!" one of the men cried to him.
The big man cast a dull glance at Marie-Eve. "Now, where did you get that from?"
"She was alone on the streets… We thought you could use her…"
"The last thing I need is another stray!" the big man snapped. "Can she do anything?"
The first man stuttered. "Uh… well, um…"
The large man rolled his eyes. "You brought her all the way here and you don't even know if she's useful?"
The second man spoke up. "She must be able to do something…" He looked down at Marie-Eve. He untied her hands and removed the gag, but kept a firm hold on her just in case she tried to run. "Well? Tell us, dear… Are you good at anything?"
"Well, uh…" Marie-Eve began nervously, her jaw aching a bit from the gag. "I… I was taking music lessons from a great teacher… He was teaching me to sing…"
"A great teacher, you say?" the large man said. "Who?"
"I… I don't know his name…"
The big man looked her up and down, sizing her up. "Well, come on then… Let's hear you sing…"
Marie-Eve took in a deep breath. She was afraid of these men. She had been taken against her will. But where else could she go?
"Maybe if I stay here," she thought, "I could be taken care of… At least they will let me sing!"
She took a breath, standing with her feet apart and her shoulders back, just as Papa had taught her. Then she opened her mouth and a sweet melody poured out.
"Passe le point de non-retour. Nos mains se cherchent. Le grand moment arrive: enfin l'étreinte! Passe les liens du cœur, de sang. Pourquoi te battre? Abandonne aux excès l'ultime enceinte. Vers quels enfer affluerons-nous? Parviendrons-nous jusqu'à sa porte? Quel grand brasier est là pour nous seuls? Passe le point de non-retour. Plus rien à craindre. Les sans triomphent et le cœur reste sourde au bord du point de non-retour…"
Her voice rang clearly, so lovely that everyone within earshot stopped to listen.
It was a song that Papa said he had written. It was full of passion and longing. Marie-Eve sometimes thought the music sounded somewhat… regretful. As though Papa had written it for some long-lost love. She began to wonder if angels could fall in love.
When the last notes of the song rose and died way, the man in the red suit paused for a moment.
"What's your name?" he finally asked.
"Marie-Eve."
"Marie-Eve… You're just a child… But I've only heard one other person with a voice like yours!" He lowered his voice. "And believe me… So far I like you more than I like him…" He beamed at her. "My name is Monsieur Robert Boisvert. I think I have just the place for you."
"Where?" Marie-Eve asked eagerly, her fears momentarily forgotten. "I'll do anything!"
"How would you like to be… The Angel of Harmony?"
Marie-Eve thought for a moment. "How about… The Angel of Music?"
Boisvert clapped his hands together. "Even better! You'll have your own tent. You'll perform in a cage… for your own safety of course. You get all kinds of characters at the fair. If we didn't take precautions, anyone could just whisk you away against your will!"
"Sort of like how I ended up here," Marie-Eve recalled silently.
"When do I start?" she asked.
"Today! Let me show you to your tent."
Boisvert led her across the grounds to a large tent in the centre of all the activity. He pulled her inside. The place was dimly lit… A few lanterns pierced the darkness of the room. There were two cages in there. One had a man inside, apparently asleep. His back was to them.
"You're in luck!" Boisvert informed her. "We have a spare cage!"
"Excuse me… who's that?" Marie-Eve asked, pointing to the man.
"Oh, don't worry about him. He's our Phantom of the Opera. A singer as well. Don't talk to him. He's known for random violent outbursts."
The Phantom opened one yellow eye. Feigning unconsciousness, he kept his back to the two, his sensitive ears clinging to the sweet voice of the little girl who had just entered his domain.
What was she doing here?
Impossible! She should be at home with her family by now… How had this happened?
Boisvert helped Marie-Eve into the cage beside the Phantom's. He locked the padlock and stepped back.
"You'll be marvellous! I can see it now… the Angel and the Phantom!" Boisvert laughed to himself and walked out.
Marie-Eve sighed and sat down on the hard floor of her cage, suddenly feeling more alone than ever before.
"I hope you know that you just sold your soul…" came a voice from the other cage.
Marie-Eve jumped. "Wha… What do you mean?"
"Boisvert never keeps his promises. He'll exploit you, profit from you, and you'll get nothing in return."
"Well, if that's true, I could just leave."
The Phantom laughed. "That would be difficult, considering you just allowed him to lock you up!"
"Then I won't sing."
"If you disobey him, you will be punished," the Phantom said darkly. "I've already tried that!" He sat up with his back to her. In the dim light, she saw that his back was torn and bloody. Purple bruises peeked through dried blood.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
"I am called the Phantom of the Opera… Didn't you know?" he asked coldly.
"I know what Monsieur Boisvert called you… But what is your name?"
The Phantom sighed. "At birth, I was given the name 'Erik.'"
Marie-Eve closed her eyes. His voice sounded so familiar, but she couldn't place him.
Erik, however, had recognized her immediately. How could Christine let Marie-Eve fall into the hands of one such as Boisvert?
He couldn't tell her who he was… No, that was out of the question… And he prayed to God that she wouldn't recognize him…
"Erik, why do you keep your back to me?" Marie-Eve asked.
"Because if you saw my face you would scream," he said sadly.
"I'm not afraid."
"You will be, my child."
"But it's just your face! What could be so bad about it?"
"I'm warning you, child…" Erik's short temper was wearing thin.
"It's only polite to look at someone when they're speaking to you!"
"Listen, child!" Erik snapped, inadvertently turning to face her. "Enough people stare at me for hours each and every day! The last thing I need is –" Erik broke off, realizing what he just done.
Marie-Eve said absolutely nothing. She just stared. Erik was overcome by the torrent of emotions reflection back at him in those pretty little eyes… Surprise, awe, pity…
Fear.
Erik saw her shrink back, those little hands trembling. She was terrified…
Of him…
Erik groaned. His face was dreadful enough on a good day. But his terrible deformities combined with the injuries on his face and the rest of his body made him appear so monstrous… Not even Christine could gaze at him without weeping!
Erik had frightened his own daughter… And he had frightened her badly…
Breaking down, he turned away from her, sobbing. Would he ever see anything in those lovely eyes again besides fear?
Marie-Eve felt terrible. She couldn't help the way she had reacted. It was just… a shock…
"Please, Erik!" she begged. "Don't be upset! I was just… just…" Marie-Eve struggled to find the words that would make him feel better.
"Just afraid," Erik finished for her. "Or disgusted… Or appalled… That's all anyone feels when they look at me!" Erik hid his face in his hands, feeling exceptionally wretched.
"No! I'm not afraid!" Marie-Eve protested. "Nor am I disgusted! You're not scary at all! You're just a man!"
Just a man? Erik wasn't sure how he should take that. As a compliment?
"I pray, child," Erik said miserably, "don't mock me."
"I'm not mocking you!" Marie-Eve cried indignantly. "I'm being honest! You're a man, is all. You're not any scarier than any other man!"
Erik raised his face and dared to look into her eyes once more. Those eyes were pleading… begging him to forgive her. But there was no more fear left in them.
"Erik… Please?" she reached through the bars that separated their cages. Her little hand stretched as far as it would go. Erik hesitated, then slowly took her hand in his own. It felt so soft and warm. He felt a little embarrassed, knowing how rough and cold his own hand must have felt to her. But she did not pull away. She just smiled at him. They sat like that for a long time.
"Mesdames and messieurs!" Boisvert bellowed outside the tent.
"Here we go again," Erik muttered, releasing her hand. He looked at her. "I hate morning audiences… They're mostly rich people who have nothing better to do in the early hours. They think they're so much better than everyone else. Basically, the only reason they're here is so they can gossip about the odd things they've seen over afternoon tea. They can be rather rude. Especially the men!" Erik looked thoroughly disgusted by the very thought of rich folks poking their heads in and gawking at him.
Marie-Eve supposed that being locked up and stared at made him feel less than human. He, no doubt, despised these people and only wished to be left alone.
Who could blame him, really?
"Yesterday," Boisvert continued, "you came to see the monster! The demon! The Phantom of the Opera! The hideous creature with the voice of an angel!"
They could hear the crowd murmur with the memory of it. Marie-Eve hated the way Boisvert referred to Erik. No wonder the poor man hadn't wanted her to see him! To be born with such a terrible deformity – on the most visible part of his body, no less! – and to be mocked and exploited for it must have traumatized his pitiful soul… Why, after being called a demon each and every day, Marie-Eve supposed that Erik might have actually begun believing it himself!
"Today I introduce to you a new wonder! A true angel! The Angel of Music! She has lost her wings and cannot return to Heaven. Such a lovely voice she has! She favoured me with a simple short aria this morning! Fifteen francs! See the monster from the pit of Hell and the angel who gives the gift of music! Be the first to see them both together for the first time in history!"
In seconds, paying customers swarmed the tent. Marie-Eve saw that Erik was correct – most of them looked well to-do. They drew back in disgust at the sight of Erik's face, but were drawn to the image of Marie-Eve. It was an odd contrast indeed. Marie-Eve's lovely face made Erik look even more fierce, while his rough features made her look so very delicate.
Boisvert appeared in the crowd. "Sing, my Angel!" he cried to Marie-Eve.
Marie-Eve gulped and opened her mouth. No words came out.
"Sing my Angel of Music!" Boisvert shrilled.
Marie-Eve was paralyzed with fear. She couldn't sing. The crowd began to respond angrily.
Then Erik crept up to the bars that separated their cages. "Chante pour moi…" he whispered.
Almost involuntarily, words shot out of Marie-Eve's mouth. "Hush-a-bye, mon ange. You'll be alright. Hush-a-bye, mon ange. Sleep through the night. Let me caress you, let nighttime possess you. Hush-a-bye, mon ange. You'll be alright. Angels sing for you, they come and implore you, 'Don't be afraid, for you'll be alright.' Hush-a-bye, mon ange. You'll be alright. I'm right here watching you through the night…"
The crowd had been silent as she sang. Then a man near the front of the crowd called, "Bring the Angel out!"
That got a whole gang of men chanting, "Bring out the Angel! Bring her out!"
Boisvert smiled his horrible smile and began moving towards Marie-Eve's cage with the key to the padlock in his hand.
"Please, Monsieur," Marie-Eve said quietly, shrinking back. "Don't…"
"Is the Angel feeling shy?" Boisvert said loudly, making the whole crowd laugh. Then in a low voice, "You are mine now… And you'll do what I tell you!"
"Leave her alone!" Erik yelled, grasping the bars of his cage.
"Silence, monster!" Boisvert shouted at him. He inserted the key into the lock and opened the gate of Marie-Eve's cage. He grabbed her roughly by the wrist and threw her towards the men who had called for her.
The men descended on the young child like coyotes. Their hands were all over her. She screamed.
"Stop it!" Erik bellowed. "Leave her alone!"
At the sound of Erik's voice, many of the men did stop. But a few still kept a hold on the girl, feeling secure with the knowledge that Erik was locked up and couldn't touch them. One young man smiled darkly as he reached up Marie-Eve's dress.
"Enough!" Erik screamed, scaring some people so badly that they fled the tent in terror. Erik had a sudden flashback of that night ten years ago when he had been alone with Christine in her dressing room. He had forced himself upon her that night. What poetic justice it was that he now had to witness the same terrible crime against his own daughter… and he was helpless to stop it!
"Not this time!" Erik roared. With inhuman strength he ran at the gate to his cage, slamming his shoulder into it so hard that it buckled under the force. He stepped back and ran into it again. And again. Finally, the old padlock broke under his strength and the gate swung open.
Erik leapt to the ground and grabbed the throat of the man who had had his hands on Marie-Eve.
"How dare you touch her!" Erik growled. He tightened his grip on the man's neck, cutting off his air supply. Erik raised the man off the ground and held him in the air. His toes were suspended several feet off the floor as Erik began choking the life from him.
Boisvert was panicking. He swung his cane as hard as he could at the back of Erik's skull. Erik dropped like a stone, his grip on the other man's neck relaxing as he fell. The man choked, gasping for breath as he fled the grounds.
Boisvert had some damage control to do. He turned to what was left of his audience, forcing calm into his voice.
"The presentation will be cut short today," he said. "I sincerely apologize. This has just been a terrible… accident…"
XxXxX
Cooleos! Erik kicks butt!
Erik: That'll teach 'em to mess around with my kid!
But you know Erik, if no one reviews this chapter, I get you all to myself in that dark closet!
Erik: Someone stop her... Please, stop her! (Runs to his closet) Review! Review! Review!
Oh, Erik, I'm starting to get the impression that you don't like me... That's not nice... Look, I'm pouting now...
Erik: You are insane!
Why, thank you! I'm so glad you noticed!
Erik: (groans) Someone review and spare me this living Hell!
Oh, and in case some of you are wondering, when Erik said "Chante pour moi" he was saying "Sing for me." And I know someone's going to ask this later so I'll answer it now... Marie-Eve was singing Point of No Return in French. Here's the translation:
ME:Past the point of no return. Our hands are tied. The great moment has arrived: the pressure is on! Pass the bonds of mind and blood. Why resist? Give up the bonds of the enclosure. Towards which Hell will we flow? Will we arrive at the door? What large blazing inferno is there only for us? Past the point of no return. Nothing more to fear. Without triumph, the mind remains deaf at the edge of the point of no return...
Nice little song... You know, the French versions, once translated, have so many sexual undertones! Wierd!
Review please!