Chapter Twenty-three
"Well, we did warn him… does this seem familiar to you?" Firmin sighed, his eyes sweeping over the empty stage in a mix of recollection and fear. "Yes, sadly it does, but we didn't charge into things in the way he is… we knew better than that, didn't we?" Andre shrugged helplessly, pulling from his pocket a kerchief to wipe his brow. Across from them in box five on the opposite tier, Jonathan sat in brooding silence. "He's a crazed man Firmin, have you heard the rumors of the supervision he hired during his engagement arrangements?" Firman nodded in silent agreement, "Not that this is going to surprise you, but once again all this fuss is over a girl!" behind them a lone figure entered the box, swiftly drawing the curtains shut. Out went the light.
"Oh damn it all! Why did you close the curtains? The performance is going to start soon!" both men looked at each other in the sudden realization that neither at present had access to the curtains.
"…That, "Girl", is my wife. Hello, old fools."
At the signal, Giry walked out onto the stage, her demeanor poised. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I am sorry to inform you that, due to recent complications, some of the roles have been handed to their understudies. The female lead will be played by Meg Giry." In his seat Jonathan buried his nails in the fabric of his chair. "Also, allow me to assure you all that the role of Don Juan will be played by our tenor, signore Perongine, and not any unexpected guests." The audience chuckled good naturedly, Giry bowed and vanished from the stage without so much as a thank you.
The lights dimmed, the curtain opened, and the first act began. Raoul entered the box Andre and Firmin were sitting in; both men's expressions were frozen with fear. Erik rose and walked past the viscount with a small nod. "Dear God… Andre, its happening again… how can you let this happen again? Monsieur Viscount?" Raoul took the seat beside them, his face a mask to cover his raging emotions. The audience gave an audible gasp as the actors on the stage began to move. For the sight that greeted their eyes was an eerie one, almost macabre in the dim light. Grotesquely masked figures moving in sway to music only they seemed to hear, and those in the audience who had read the playbill marveled at this unmentioned scene.
Seeing the entire cast wearing masks, Jonathan rose to his feet, the nails of his fingers digging into his palms.
Then they heard it. Present amid the haunting scene, floating through the silent room, pouring out from balconies and corners, even from the chandelier itself, that maddening laughter! The ghost's laughter, the only sound, it shook throughout the great theater, echoing all the way down to its murky depths.
Jonathan
(I… knew he would come… The fool came! No doubt thinking he's won our little game! This is the second time he has attacked me with masked aid, and I will make sure, for you, my family, that he will never haunt another soul! Tonight, the "Phantom" will draw his last breath. I will personally rip his laughter free from his throat. Hold in my hands this vermin's life… Did he think I would let him take your lives without cost? Does he even now believe I will let him further corrupt the woman I own?
Yes that was a cruel trick, adding insult to injury. To steal the trophy I had won. No, not this time phantom… not now… not yet, we all die but it will be your turn this night… I will not loose, I will not.
…And finally, I'll wipe my history clean, take the stain that your existence bled from the fabric of my life. Free my father's shame; avenge my mother's heart, my sister's death!)
"I knew you would come, I'm prepared for you Demon! I will see that you receive full payment for the crimes you've committed against me and mine." The cast continues to act oblivious to the Phantom's presence, (Oh, when this is ended, I will make them all pay… where are you monster? Yes… I see you now… there you are… come to me fool, I'm waiting…)
Raoul watched stunned, his mouth agape as Erik appeared out of a shadow and tackled the manager within his own box, a sound came from the two, inhuman and full, a roar. Violently they went for each others throats, Jonathan pulled away and drew back a hand, something shone… Erik roared again, challenging, and sprung. They met with a thud, the glimmer disappeared, it reappeared duller, and Erik's form faltered for a moment before giving a hard shove. They crashed into the boxes draw curtain, ripping it free from its tethers with a snap and clatter. Entwined within the fabric the two forms grappled for supremacy, they leaned forward, hitting the boxes railing hard before falling backwards down into the shadows, vanishing from sight. A banging and sickening thuds, they reemerged a moment later at the foot of the stairs leading to the box seats.
…Both lay still.
Sprawled on the floor between the audience and the stage, the curtained bundle did not stir. Audience members screeched and drew back, husbands stood before their wives, some approached the limp forms tied in the cloth. Making a dash for the exits, the former managers were stopped by the masked ushers. For a moment the room was caught in utter panic, and then a shot went of. The deafening crack cut through the hysteria, and all fell still… Many sat as their legs gave out, and more huddled with each other in terrified silence.
Then, shakily, one figure pulled himself free from the mangled velvet. The audience drew back as the Phantom rose to his full height, and the curtain fell away to reveal the still form lying prone on the ground.
The ghost ignored them, his eyes golden fire and feral. Those on the stage had stopped their moving. Now they watched in silence as the cloth was ripped free. Jonathan lay still, his body resting on its side. Silently the ghost bent over, placing his hand against the side of the manager's quiet throat. Before Raoul could or any of the cast could shout a warning Jonathan's hidden hand emerged, and drove something threw the curtain and into the ghost shoulder. Instantly Erik leapt back, his hand moving to cover the wound, his breath coming in soft snarls, "…You die this night Count Emorenth…"
A laugh, then another, Jonathan's head rose to meet the Phantom's burning glare, oh but there is fire In his eyes as well, a glazed look in his burning eyes! "Oh no, not me friend, never me, tonight the curtain falls on you and your opera, tonight I will take your life, Erik Dieudonne!" For a moment the fire in the Phantom's eyes died, and he drew back from the fight. "…How did you come across that name…" Once again a laugh crept from the recedes of Jonathan's throat. "Oh? I did a little digging in my family's history! You see before I was born, my father traveled all over France, and in his little "Journeys", he stopped in many small villages. One of these, was your home village, my 'friend'." A small grin eased its way over his face. "Don't you see! You fool! My father took your mother to him on the night he passed through!" The fire returned to Erik's eyes a dark sound came from the back of his throat. You're nothing more that my fathers bastard! A shame he carried with him till his death!"
"You lie! There's no proof!" Face to face they glared each other down." Isn't there? …my father was tortured by his shame; he wanted to wipe out your existence from the world, to ease his mind of anyone learning his little, "secret". So he went back to your town, and he cut your name free from the town's record book. Your papers, your name, I've seen them all." Pain, a deep pain rose in Erik's soul, pushing against walls that had never been threatened before.
"… That… that can't be true… I was told by my mother…" The Count reached down, lifting his dagger from where it had been flung. "Oh? What's wrong? Did you think it was just your face that made her loath you? Poor Bastard, what could you expect? She never wanted you! But don't worry…" his fist tightened on the weapon." I will do you this brotherly kindness, and put you out of your misery, and out of my opera house!"
Erik raised his head, and Jonathans grip slackened as the hate in his enemy's eyes pulled the strength right out of him.
"How many times… must I tell you… that this is my Opera House!" His roar tore threw the auditorium, instantly all present recoiled from the figure in there midst whose eyes were filled with hellfire. The audience cried out in there seats, but the cast that had been positioned in their midst fought to calm them. A small laugh escaped the Phantom's form, and the audience strained to hear what he said, but the only place it was audible was in Jonathan's, left, ear. "You know, I've never had the opportunity to kill my brother before?"
Panic slipped over the line of Jonathans calm, cutting through his blazing eyes. Desperately he searched the theater for a friendly face, but all that he saw staring back at him were those horrible masks… he pulled back, his eyes turned blank and empty. "What… do you think this will frighten me? You won't kill in front of this many people. It's not your style." The smile on the Phantom's face never wavered, "If you were unaware of this, that is exactly what I did the last time my Opera was preformed. Besides, in your case, I'll make an exception." Jonathan's eyes glimmered. "And you think the entire cast will let you do this!" Erik stepped back amongst the actors, all of whom raised their weapons into firing sights. Terror swept threw the audience once more, most jumped up to flee, "Dear god!"
"There going to kill each other!"
"Oh my God my God my God!"
"Don't run! Don't Run! Nothing will happen to you if you keep calm!"
"Stay calm everyone! Move to the exits! Don't Panic!"
And under her breath Giry whispered half a prayer and half a plea… "Not ice, not ice, oh please not ice…"
"Silence, all of you!"
Jonathan turned to lunge; the feel of a pistol at the side of his head froze him in mid step. Several members of the light crew seized him, pulling him to the floor, forcing him to lay there in front of Erik's form. Still, all on stage kept their pistols at the ready.
"So this is it, you're going to have them shoot me." From the folds of Erik's cape emerged the Punjab lasso. "…No. I told you Jonathan, it was to be a fight to the death. Just us now, exactly what you said you wanted. You have the chance to defend yourself against me, but I will not speak for the others… should you win, they will probably still kill you." For the first time, Jonathan looked deep into Erik's eyes, what he saw within those golden orbs… killed the last spark of spirit inside him. These eyes were no longer surprised, of angry, they weren't even enraged. Those eyes were the eyes one sees at the other side of the grave, eyes of ice, dead eyes.
"…And, if I now refuse to fight?" The Punjab lasso leapt through the air, tightening around his throat and choking of his air. The audience fled, crashing and screaming, shattering the doors until all the seats were empty.
From off the stage Diana watched with her brother beside her, pain burning in her eyes. Behind them Kirsty rocked herself back and forth. Daroga watched from above, tears running down his face, Giry prayed as she had not since she was a chorus girl herself. And in his box Raoul drew his pistol.
A gunshot shattered the air and the noose split in two, dropping Jonathan to the floor in a gasping heap. Erik's eyes narrowed, rose to meet Raoul's . "Do you intend… to try to stop me?" All stood frozen as the viscount nodded. "Erik, listen, You must not do this. Please Erik! Listen to me." Erik drew his dagger, "You have nothing to say that I wish to hear."
"Then listen to me Phantom! You must not do this thing!" Giry moved forward cautiously. "Is it worth it O.G.? Let him live with his shame!" Peter let go of his sister and tried to reach out to his brother-in-law, Erik snarled, pushing him away. "I cannot believe, after what you have shown me, that you will do this. We are family now Erik, let me help you."
"My friend, let this man live, you promised me you would not kill again! Do it for yourself! Spare him!" Daroga moved forward, placing his hand on Erik's shoulder. "…Release me Nadir. Move, aside..." Daroga stood firm.
"Erik…"
Diana moved from the wings, standing in front of him, separating him from Jonathan who still lay heaving on the floor.
"Let him live, for God's sake let him live! Look at me Erik! It doesn't matter who he is, or what he and his family have done, to you, or to me! He is human!" A smile spread on the Phantom's face, but it did not reach his eyes. "Ah, I see."
He moved over her, looking down with eyes that showed no light in them at all, and she felt herself tremble. "You call him human, to save his life… it makes no difference. I don't see him as a human, and he sees me in no better light. Stand aside." Her eyes flashed, moving forward she pulled him into her arms. "I won't let you kill him Erik. I will melt your 'ice' with my fire! You are not a monster!" She pulled him close, whispering feverishly into his ear. "You are not a dispenser of judgment! You are not, the Phantom of the Opera! You are a man, Erik Dieudonne, my husband! And I won't let you!"
With a sharp pull she took the dagger from his hand and pulled him to her swell. "…you must be the man I know, for the son I carry. Be here for him …for us, Erik." Watched his eyes, watched the warmth seep back into them, slowly, until she knew them again, and sighed as she felt him return her embrace. "And if you love me, then never scare me like this again. Erik! You're hurt!"
He winced, the fold of his cape came free revealing the gashes to Diana's eyes, they widened, then flashed as she broke away from him and glared down at Jonathan with loathing. "You… you are the monster Jonathan… you can touch me with your fist if you think I wasn't dealt me my fair share of pain! But how dare you! Raise your hand to him! I… I could never feel anything for you, but disgust." His eyes met hers, blank eyes; Peter quickly stepped between them, recognizing the face that had nearly fed him to the fire. "How… how can you say that… don't you see it was." A chuckle formed deep in his throat. "It was all for you…" Diana drew back, her eyes frightened. Behind her Erik's form seemed to waver, his hands clenched at his sides. "Leave… Leave him Diana, do what you asked of me."
Jonathan snarled low in his throat, "Pity? Who do you think you are to pity me! You disgusting worm! You are nothing! You have always been nothing! She doesn't love you for you, she loves your music! Murderer!"
Every gun in the room was aimed; Jonathan glared over from a distance with rage. Slowly, Diana crossed the space between them, Tears in three pairs of eyes, one, who knew the desperation of love so well, the other, who had never felt a hate like this before, and the last… "…I'm sorry Jonathan…"
No one stopped Jonathan as he grabbed the pistol from Meg's grasp, and none were quick enough to stop him from setting it and firing the thunderous shot
The booms echoes, the cast's screams, swirling into a
Whirlwind of color and sound before fading into the…
Darkness...