A/N: Sorry it's taken so long to update! This chapter is, however, a particularly long one; and I'm afraid that poor Erik is about to have his heart broken. Also, I'd just like to emphasise the fact that this is about, hmm, ten years before Christine 'happened' to Erik. The timing will have a great deal of effect in later chapters. But firstly, my responses to my (wonderful) reviewers:
"moi": Well… here you go, then…
Countess Vladislaus Draqu: Thanks!
Countess Alana: I'm afraid I'm not that great at speedy updates, lol!
Softiful: Thankyou kindly! Well, here's the storm!
geckogirl: Thanks!
Well, on with the story…
Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom, but I do own Ellisa, her father, and the conductor. Enjoy!
Chapter Six
Shortly after the performance of Romeo and Juliet -which both Erik and his young protégéé (as he liked to think of her, at least) attended -there was the annual Midsummer's Bal Masque – masked ball. Erik was usually in attendance at these events, for the simple reason that it was the one night of the year when he could appear in public without drawing suspicious looks because of his mask. Also, it was a prime opportunity for him to generally wreak havoc among the patrons of the Opera, a thing he took great delight in doing.
But now he had another reason to attend – he could take Ellisa with him, and appear for once as a normal man, with a child to care for. The idea gave him more than a small amount of pleasure.
And so he planned and dreamed ahead, even going to the extent of venturing out to purchase a dress and mask for Ellisa, showing his childishness in that he never imagined the consequences of his actions. He never thought for a moment that he could possibly be putting his happiness – his happinessrooted inhaving Ellisa with him – at risk by taking her out, in displaying her to those who cared for her the most. He thought, selfishly and childishly, that he was the only person who could ever possibly care, who could ever possibly love this little fragment of humanity, this little child.
He never thought that by taking Ellisa to the masked ball he would be taking the risk of having her torn from him…
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On the morning of the eve of the Bal Masque, the elderly conductor was becoming more than a little anxious, for he, in his optimism (or rather, refusal to think the worst for fear of the truth it might hold), had yet to inform young Ellisa's father of her disappearance… and the wretched, adoring father, thinking all was safe and well with his only child, was planning to come to the Bal Masque to see the girl, to ensure her safety…
And yet the conductor could do nothing except sit, and wait, and worry, and thank whatever strange god presided over life for the fact that the girl's mother would not be attending – she was, Ellisa's father had said in his latest letter, ill – for he did not think he could bear tobreak to herthe news that he had lost the child she had mothered and loved.
Opera Ghost. The image of that red scrawl which passed as signature at the bottom of that note came to haunt him in his nightmares, and yet it was also the cause for his greatest hope. Surely this ghost, this mysterious shade, would not send such a letter if Ellisa were not safe?
The conductor shook his head sadly. He was a down-to-earth man, with no time for ghosts, literate or otherwise. He was, in this case, completely out of his depth.
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On the night of the Bal Masque, Ellisa awoke from her afternoon sleep to find Erik standing over her, his eyes distant, and dressed in the fine clothes she ordinarily connected to the genteel of the city. He wore a white silken shirt, a deep red waistcoat embroidered with fine gold thread, a plain yet strangely elegant black dress coat, and a fine cloak, heavy, rich, and embroidered with the most beautiful colours Ellisa had ever seen. His mask was different though… black, instead of white, and shining in its newness.
He was smiling.
"So," he murmured, "were they pleasant dreams?" He always greeted her like this, for he knew that her dreams were pleasant, for at each midday meal (he kept this up for her benefit only; he rarely ate) he would slip into her water a drop of a concoction that encouraged both sleep and stirred the sweeter dreams in the drinkers mind. He did this for several reasons, the prime among them being that, however fond he was of the girl, he still coveted his privacy and time alone. When one has got used to loneliness in life, it can become as familiar and soothing as human company, andcan behard to give up. Also, he felt instinctively that it could not be healthy for such a child to spend all her time in darkness, and so gave her the will to dream so that, for a while, her mind could be filled with the lighter things that children often dream of.
"Yes." She said quietly, her small body stretching like a cat's, before adding, as a childish afterthought, "Thankyou." At this, Erik allowed himself a private smile that did not reach his face, for he was as yet unused to such shows of emotion.
"I brought you this." Erik said simply, holding out the dress he had bought or Ellisa. Her eyes widened in joy and amazement as she took it in her tiny hands. It was, in truth, ridiculously fancy, the sort of dress every little girl dreams of and begs their mother for, but never gets.
It was long, with petticoats that would give at least some illusion of shape to a child's thin body. It was of pastel pink, and had long sleeves which ended with wide cuffs, braided with coloured pearls. The collar, high and, in Ellisa's eyes, most 'grown-up', was braided similarly.
"Oh!" She whispered, her eyes bright, her face uplifted. Erik could not resist a small, self-congratulatory smile. He had chosen the dress himself, with the assistance of a female shop assistant. He had claimed the dress was to be for his 'daughter' and had taken a great deal of pleasure in doing so. The fact that he was, mysteriously, wearing a mask mattered little to the assistant once she had seen the wad of notes sticking up from his breast pocket. He had also been, unknowingly to them,'assisted' in his choice by the reactions of other children walking past the shop window.
"Do you… like it?" He asked hesitantly, despite the fact that the look of joy on her face was answer enough.
She looked up at him, and grinned. He laughed, and turned to the door.
"You had best hurry up and put it on, then!" He said, with an uncharacteristic gaiety, and with that, turned from the room, and left.
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The ballroom was a seething mass of colour and lights. Ellisa hung onto Erik's hand, fearful of becoming enveloped by that mass of bodies, never to be seen again, and Erik too held on, for love of the sensation of being needed, of being one person's anchorof comfortamidst the whirling storm of the dance floor.
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Across the floor from them, there stood the conductor, anxious and afeared in the presence of Ellisa's father, whom he had managed to delay in seeing his daughter for a time, but who was quickly becoming worried.
"Where is Ellisa?" He asked furiously of the conductor, who bit his lip and turned away from the force of the man's anger… and saw Ellisa. For a moment, he passed it off as the desperate product of his over-wrought mind, but then he looked again. It was her!
"Ellisa!" He called out, and then drew back as he saw the man beside her, and the look upon the half of his face not concealed by a mask… it was a look of pure rage and fear, the sort of fear a caged animal will give you when it knows you are going to take all from it, its freedom, its young.
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The masked man reacted quickly as he heard the conductor, as he knew him to be, calling Ellisa's name, but not quick enough, for as soon Ellisa realised who was calling her, she ripped her hand from his and rushed across the room towards him…
…no, not towards the conductor… to the man beside him. Erik's mind flashed with realisation, and his heart flamed with jealousy. In three quick strides, his cloak billowing behind him, he crossed the dance floor to where Ellisa was now being embraced by her father. Her father who had abandoned her… the man after whom Ellisa had adoringly named him.
"Greetings." He said coldly, inclining his head just enough to show acknowledgement but not respect, his eyes sweeping over the man before him.
But damn him, the man was handsome. Standing at a height equal to his own, the masked man – he could not bear to think of himself as Erik in the presence of the man after whom he had been given that name – felt a surge of jealousy for the other's effortless good looks, and Ellisa's clear adulation of him.
The man's hair was dark, and pulled back into a short, hurried ponytail at the nape of his neck. The mask he wore, the man noticed, was simple and garish; obviously cheaply made, and he felt a slightflame of incredibly childish satisfaction in the fact that his own mask was of the finest satin and gleaming in its newness.
The other man bowed back, uncertain yet still unaware of anything greatly amiss.
"Greetings." He responded, his eyes raking the lean figure of the man in the mask. Though he could not quite place it, Ellisa's father sensed that there was something more to this man than met the eye… he wore his mask with a ease, a comfort that gave one the idea that he had worn it all his life; unlike the others at the Bal Masque, he did not fiddle with his mask, or giggle uncomfortably at the strange sensation of hiding one's face from the world. "And who, sir, might you be?" At this, the man smirked.
"I, good sir," he said, his eyes, his strange, haunting amber eyes gleaming, "am O.G."
At this, the conductor immediately stiffened, and when he spoke it was with the quiet fear of a man facing that which he cannot describe, yet knows to be dangerous.
"O.G… stay away, you devilish magician!" Ellisa's father turned in surprise at his accomplice's sudden outburst, but 'O.G', as he called himself, seemed quite unsuprised; in fact, he almost seemed pleased.
"My dear man!" Ellisa's father exclaimed, laughing uneasily. "What has come over you!" The conductor, however, could not be swayed.
"This man – " he began, fuming like a madman, and pointing accusingly at the mysterious figure before them all, " – took your daughter, Ellisa – kidnapped her, sent letters of the most threatening nature detailing what he would do should we attempt to find her – and then! Then he has the gall to parade before us, here, to attempt to ruin the merriment of this ball! Well, it shall not be tolerated, I say!" He turned, almost foaming at the mouth in his fury, towards the silent crowds who had now gathered around. Ellisa looked on in silent shock and horror, not fully comprehending the situation, yet understanding in her own childish way that it could not turn out well – for any of them.
It took a long moment for the crowds to realise what was happening; but when they did, whispers began to fill the room with their hissing malevolence. Somehow, the word spread between the residents of the Opera that this man in the dark mask was the Phantom; the mysterious figure who had haunted them for too long. And when they realised the implications of what the conductor was saying, they rose in rage, carrying the rest of the crowd – the unknowing bystanders – with them.
The subject of the crowds' fury realised what was happening even before they did, and reacted immediately. First, he looked piercingly into Ellisa's eyes, and said simply, so quietly that he himself was not even sure she heard -perhaps he did not entirelywant her to -
"Never forget." And with that, he whirled to face the advancing mass of masks and cloaks. With a rising sense of – not exactly panic, nor fear – annoyance, he realised that he was surrounded on all sides. He smirked. No matter. The 'Phantom' always had one more trick up his sleeve.
He moved, ever so slightly, to his right, so that he was standing directly over a black square of the chessboard-chequered ballroom floor. Then, with a swish of his cloak, and an unnoticed placing of pressure on the corner of the square, he vanished.
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Breathless, the man – Erik, the Phantom, 'O.G', whatever one wished to label him – continued to run through the labyrinth of his underground home, choking back a sob as he recalled, in horrifying clarity, every detail of that which had just occurred.
Ellisa's face as he had turned from her. The hatred and desire to harm in the eyes of the slowly advancing crowd. The sight of Ellisa, safe and happy in her father's arms –
He stopped, and closed his eyes in pain, not pain of the mortal body, but of the immortal soul. This scar, which marred deeper than the deformities of his flesh, would remain with him, he knew, for all eternity.
And right now he was bleeding from it, and knew that he had to, soon, balm it and bandage it in the only way he knew how; through his music.
Which was how and why, that night,he came to be – tears streaming silently down his face – before the magnificent organ that would never be heard by other human ears, composing feverishly, playing with a darkness which seemed foolishly alien to him. He had, whilst Ellisa had been with him, added lighter, far more delighted shades to his Don Juan Triumphant, but now that she was gone, the music, like his life, was darker for the memory of it.
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A/N: Please review, tell me what you think; how would you like this to continue? All suggestions welcome!