Eric hid within Celeste's apartment for four more days after that. Though in his heart he yearned to return to the catacombs beneath the Opera House and retrieve his few belongings- and his secret treasure- he knew he could not. Not with the police still searching the premises for any sign of the Phantom. When ever Celeste left, to perform on the streets, he would pace and fret, thinking and planning, and when his hostess returned he would ask her always if the guard around the Opera had lessened. Every day was a "No." untill the fifth day after his escape.
Early that morning, he awoke to the sounds of fists banging on the door. He started, fearing that the girl had at last led the police to his hideaway, but as he lay still, Celeste ran from her room, and then, waiting in front of the door, a voice shouted, "I know you'rer in there, beggar girl!"
Celeste, took a deep breath and then, grabbing the door handle, she threw open the door.
"I knew you were here," grunted the fat man who stood in the hall. His clothes were patched, and his shirt appeared brown, but it could mearly have been extremely filthy, like the rest of him. "Where's my rent?" he demanded from her.
"I don't have enough money yet, Gaston," Celeste said, her voice hard with contempt.
"With all that noise you make on the street, that is no surprise," Gaston said, poking his head in the door. Eric hid stayed still where he still lay, covered by the sheets, seeing all from a small hole in the fabric. Then Gaston continued, "You'd do better if you used that pretty face of yours." Suddenly the piggish face turned, and Eric knew the creten saw him. "Well, it seems you have," said the swine. "Perhaps I can be your next customer?"
"That is a sick friend," Celeste said, her voice filled with suppressed rage. She pushed him back out the door with a quick shove and said, "Take no worry, you'll have your money soon."
"I better," Gaston said, his eyes roaming over her, "Cause the only thing I like better than money is pretty girls."
Celeste's only response was slamming the door in his face, and locking it tight. It was then that Eric threw the sheet off and sat up.
"Thank you," he said, "I am a dead man if I am found."
"I did that for both our sakes," she replied, grabbing a chair and sitting in it. She put her elbows on herr knees, and her head in her hands, and started to cry. Eric's chest tightened at the sight of this por creature in such despair. He got up and grabbed the other chair, and sat across form her.
"Celeste?"
"I hate this palce!" she screamed, raising up and looking him, her eyes red and cheeks wet with tears, "Everyday I go out, and I play with my heart and soul, and those snobs walk by, sneering at my torn clothes and my dirty fingernails and my skin." She wipped her eyes, and her nose, on her long sleeve, "And yet no matter how hard I play, I get nothing! Even that walking mound of dog turds lords over me…" she wipped her eyes again, and looked back at Eric. He only started at her.
"I must look disgusting," she said, getting up and fidgetting her hands. "Well I'm sorry, but this is what I am… this is where I belong now."
"No," Eric said, getting up and taking her hand in his, "You belong on in London or Italy. You belong on the stage, you belong-" he smiled, as the thought finished formulating in his mind, "You belong in an opera's orchestra."
"You're mad," she said, trying to take her hand away, but he held fast. "Who would accet this," she said, gesturing to herself.
"With the best frocks and bath, you could rival any musician in all Europe," Eric said. He pulled her to the window, where the sun streamed in, and he said, "I told I am not rich, and that is true, for only the rich accuire all they desire. I am, however, wealthy. And with my wealth, you can strip of this beggar's life. And in return your success will be my redemption."
She looked at him quizzically.
"Flowering child, my starving artist,
You shall find your glory.
Hear my plan for your hopeful furure,
My plan for our second chances.
Come, my little starling
Whose song falls on deaf ears.
You shall be caged no longer,
For your hope is here!"
Break
As a rat squeaked by, and her shoes slqueched with each step, Celeste couldn't help but ask herself why she was here, under the burnt Opera Populare, walking in muck, following a man who was obviously deranged. Still, his voice echoed in her mind. With a voice like his she would have followed him anywhere, even Hell, if he wanted her to. And as she crunched on the glass, and exited the secret passage, into the scene she saw, she fered that she might have.
Before her was a mist covered underground lake. To the left, rising slightly up, were the remains of what could have been an elaborate play set. Candelabras lined the walls, some even seemed to sit in the middle of the water, and alcoves hid a sitting room, a dress maker's dummy (whoms face was the extreme likeness of a beautiful woman) and a bed framed in the shape of a large peacock, and curtains erved as door for these alcoves. The stairs and floor were covered in shattedered glass, like the entrance to the passage.
"Eric…" Celeste said, her heart sinking like a stone into water, "Why have you brought me here?"
"This was my home," Eric said. He climbed the stair, and looked around. He entered the sitting room. Celeste followed, but stayed on the stairs as she watched him pick a white half mask up form the table. Slowly, but with great familiarity, he put it on the scarred half of his face. Celeste's breath caught in her throat. What was he doing? What was he proving? It could not possible be true…
"Do you doubt me now, Celeste?" Eric asked her. He walked back to her, one terribly slow step after another. "D you understand now that you have helped, and followed, a living ghost?
Do you see? I am the Phantom of the Opera!"
"You're mad," she whispered.
"Will you run?" he asked her, his pace quickened, he stepped right up to her and loomed over her. "Will you escape and lead police to me? I am a killer, a kidnapper, a monster!"
She swallowed, and looked him in the eyes, before she ripped the ask form his face and said, "You might be a talented singer, you might be even be eccentric, but I refuse to believe that you are a murderer."
He laughed. His laughed echoed off the dripping walls. "What makes you so blind to what I am?"
"If you were the cold blooded demon rumors say the Phantom is, you would have killed me the morning you gave me your name."
He just looked at her. His mouth moved, trying to decide either to smile or snarl. He ended up smiling, and saying, "You live blinded, then, girl. Very well, keep the truth in darkness. Stay blind.
Close your eyes, for your eyes
will only tell the truth,
and the truth isn't
what you want to see.
In the dark it is easy
to pretend
That the truth is what it ought to be…"
Celeste's mind threatened to fog over like the lake, hearing him sing to her again. She closed her eyes and refused to give in to the fog. After her head was clear she looked up at him and said, "Fine. You are the Phantom."
"You condescende me, like I am a child?" he asked, his anger obviously forming.
"No, I humor you. And I am sick of quarreling." she said, crossing her arms. "Now, whatever you have come here for, get it. I still want a few hours to play on my corner."
He laughed again. "Very well, but my dear, your days of performing on the street will be over when we leave this place." he went into the room with the bed, and closed the curtain. She heard nthing at first, but after waiting twenty minutes, she heard stone scraping on stone, and a something heavy hit the floor. Then, as she held her breath, Eric emerged, throwing the curtain back, one arm carrying a chest.
"Forgive the delay," he said, stepping out and back into the sitting room, "I had to change." She had noticed. He dressed now in a clean white suit of only the finest make, and he had a simple black mask covering his face, and he carred a case in his hands. He set it down on the table, and beckoned her to come to him. With her fists balled up at her sides, she did.
"This," Eric said, gesturing to the suit case as if he were a showman, "Holds every cent I have saved for ten years. I had planned ot use it to fund my…" he hesitated, and when he spoke again, he almost lost the allure to his voice, 'My honeymoon with my former beloved. But now, I have a new vision, thanks to you, my dear Miss Diamond."
"Have you reached senility in a few short minutes?" Celeste asked, "That;s not my name."
"It is now." Eic said. He took her hand and led her to the bedroom alcove, and opened up a chiffarobe and a dressing cabinet. Both contained magnificent garments of all sizes and colors… And they only smelled a tiny bit like smoke. As Celeste carefully ran her calloused fingers over the fabrics, Eric said over her shoulder, "With you as my new pupil, we shall leave this God forsaken city, and make a new home and way foor ourselves. Before the year is out, you will be playing in the orchestra- nay, solos on the stage- at the Vittoria Theatre in Venice Italy!"
Celeste managed to pull herself from this fantasy long enough to turn to Eric and ask him, "ANd if I am to be 'Miss Diamond', then who are you?"
"Call me," he siad, with flourish of his cape, and donning a white top hat to match his suit, "Senore Angeli!"
Authoress's Note:
Sorry for the delay, but here's the new chapter. ANd if you like this, check out my anime version of Phantom: Chaos of the Opera!
