"L' Ange de la Musique"
Chapter 4
"There's more in this world…"
Erik and Christine got out of the water, with their clothes dripping while they laughed merrily.
Erik turned to look at her; his smile faded abruptly when he caught a glimpse of Raoul's engagement ring on Christine's finger. It shone brightly under the candlelight.
Reality dawned on him painfully, snapping him out of his reverie. She was a married woman. She belonged to someone else. What was he thinking!
Christine wrapped her arms around his neck lovingly, but he didn't seem to respond. He was deeply lost in his thoughts.
"Erik?" she said, as she felt Erik's cold unresponsiveness. "What's wrong?"
She leaned forward, as if to kiss him again, when he suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her away gently.
He looked away, not daring to meet her inquiring eyes.
"Is something wrong?" she asked curiously.
Erik just returned his gaze to her beautiful, chestnut eyes. He felt the sadness shroud him. He would never have her. No matter how hard he tried. She was engaged, and there was nothing he could do about it.
He cast the gleaming, golden ring a fleeting look before turning his gaze away. Christine was aware of this and scoffed.
"Is it because of this?" she asked frowning, lifting her hand and showing him her finger with the golden ring.
Erik didn't answer; he just strolled away to his organ. He sat silently on the bench and placed his fingers on the keyboard for a moment. He then began playing a slow melody full of melancholy.
"Erik, please…" Christine pleaded.
But he didn't listen; he didn't even budge. He continued to play the song, pretending Christine wasn't there.
Christine sighed and walked towards him, stepping beside him. But Erik ignored her still.
Frowning, Christine placed her hands above his, interrupting his playing. He stopped, but didn't even look at her. He withdrew his hands from under hers and placed them quietly on his knees. He turned his head away, to evade her stare.
"Please! Erik!" Christine exclaimed exasperated, "You're behaving so childishly!"
Well, as far as he was concerned, she was the one acting childishly. Playing games of make-believe, living in dreams that just couldn't be, making him dwell in fantasies that were far from being true, making him relive those pleasant thoughts which he knew would never happen, toying with his feelings.
He just let out a deep sigh as a response. He felt his eyes burning with unshed tears.
Christine walked behind him, across the bench, and to the other side to face him. And before he could do anything, she cupped his face in her hands to prevent him from dodging her even further.
He fought back tears as hard as he could as she looked compassionately at him.
"Erik, what is upsetting you?" she asked, "Is it this meaningless ring what makes you act so helpless?"
He didn't answer. He just stared into her eyes, her tender touch sending sweeps of warmth through his body.
"Erik, answer me!" she said, desperately "Is this ring the reason of your melancholy?"
His answer: a tiny, single tear that trickled silently downs his cheek, as he gazed at her.
"Oh, Erik, "she said, as realization hit her, "How many times do I have to tell you that I don't love him? He means nothing to me anymore."
And as if to prove her point, Christine took off her ring and held it in front of him.
"As far as I'm concerned," she said calmly, "I'm not engaged to him anymore."
She then threw the ring with force into the air. The ring went flying across the ceiling, landing with a soft plop in the water. It sank deeper and deeper, until it was out of sight.
Erik's gaze lingered on the spot the ring had disappeared into. He just felt something sit beside him.
Christine had sat on the bench next to him, smiling to him weakly. He returned his stare at her, lost for words. Another silent tear trickled down his cheek.
Christine wiped it away gently with her hand, and she stared deep into his eyes.
"Erik…" she said, as she wrapped her arms around him and embraced him, whispering into his ear. "I love you so much… I don't care if you don't believe me. But I love you."
Erik was stunned. He hesitantly returned the embrace softly. He pondered for a few seconds, digesting everything she had said.
He suddenly tightened his arms around her and broke crying into her shoulder. It had been a long time since he had cried like this. He silently cried his soul out, his body trembling slightly. The tears fell freely down his cheeks, a feeling of liberty coursing his body. Christine rubbed his back comfortingly with her right hand, and with her left, she stroked his head softly, running her fingers through his wet, black hair.
She broke the embrace and stared into his tear-filled eyes. She wiped away the remaining tears lightly.
She slowly moved her hand to the right side of his face.
She ran her fingers down his mask, tracing every curve, feeling the coldness of the porcelain.
She abruptly grabbed the edge of the mask and ripped it off in a swift movement.
Erik gave a gasp, but it came out as a muffled sound as Christine pressed her lips to his, locking them in a kiss.
She wrapped her hands around his neck and let go of the mask. It fell with a soft thump on the bench's cushion.
Christine felt Erik's fresh, warm tears slide down her lips, as he returned the kiss willingly, wrapping his arms around her and closing his eyes.
After some minutes, they tentatively broke apart, looking into each other's eyes.
Erik's tears had dried, but his eyes were still red from the crying. Christine stroked the marred side of his face affectionately without any sign of feeling repulsion or any of the sort.
She smiled tenderly at him and he returned the smile shakily.
Christine gradually turned her gaze to the organ. She ran her fingers over the keys, caressing them delicately.
"Erik…" she said all of a sudden, "Will you play something for me?"
"Certainly" he said, a bit taken aback, "what do you want me to play for you?" He turned to face the organ.
"Anything…something beautiful; One of your masterpieces." She said. She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed.
He nodded; he then took his mask and placed it on his face.
Christine looked at him disapprovingly.
"I'm sorry. But it makes me feel more comfortable." He said, when he noticed her look.
Christine nodded in understanding and turned her gaze back to the organ.
Erik placed his fingers on the keys and began to play a soft melody. His fingers danced across the keyboard graciously, barely touching them, but the sound came out strongly from the windpipes, the music reverberating in the room.
As the song continued, getting stronger as it reached its climax, Christine began recognizing it.
"Wait…is it…?" she began.
"We've passed the Point of no… Return…" Erik sang, answering her unfinished question, and ending the song with a soft arpeggio.
She smiled as the memories returned to her. She remembered the huge stage. She remembered how in that moment, when they sang together, it seemed as if only the both of them existed, no outer world.
But she had felt the anxiety radiating strongly from the audience, especially from Mme.Giry, the managers, and Raoul as they hit the peak of the song, up in the bridge.
The Managers. Andre and Firmin, the nervous, yet funny, managers. Mme.Giry, the woman that was like a mother to Christine. Raoul…she shook away the mere memory of him, scoffing in her mind.
Suddenly, something came to her mind when she though of the managers and the stage.
"Did you ever return to the Opera?" she asked him out of the blue.
"W-what?" Erik inquired at her sudden question.
"Did you ever return to the Opera?" she repeated.
"Sometimes..." he said, sighing, "I rarely did. Just to watch some of the operas if I felt like it. But I hardly ever did, just after the fire accident."
"The fire accident?" she questioned, she had forgotten, but then remembered. "What happened after that?"
"Well, as you may remember, the chandelier fell after I cut the chain." He said, without the slightest bit of remorse, "It exploded and the Opera began burning. Just shortly after you left and I disappeared from the mob, the fire was put down. The Opera was gravely damaged, but it was reconstructed some months later after that. Luckily, my lair didn't suffer any damage at all, which allowed me to return without having to face any serious material loss."
Christine watched him intently as he told everything, just as a child watched her father read her a bedtime story.
"No one ever came down again, thinking I was gone. Mme.Giry made up a story of my death. She said that, when I fled, I went to a faraway place to seek refuge, and that some bounty hunters killed me there when they found me. Everyone believed the story, for my fortune. It was then that it was safe for me to return. I watched as they reconstructed the Opera. I sometimes sneaked on the blueprints when no one was watching and added a few…er…personal…touches." He said grinning.
"After they finished reconstructing, I managed to rebuild much of my old trapdoors, plus some new, thanks to the changes I did in the blueprints. Everyone was oblivious to these minor changes in the plans. After all, they thought the Opera Ghost was finally gone, so they had no care in the world."
"I haunted them no longer, following the story of my own death. I hid in the shadows as I usually did, and once in a while crept into one of the vacant boxes to watch the performances. I must say, without you, they were utter rubbish. After the production I just went to one of my trapdoors nearby and disappeared back into my lair."
"It's awful to be hiding all the time. You must've been very lonely." She said sadly. "It must be dreadful to live down here, all alone."
"I'm used to it …" he said idly.
"My only companies were my music and Mme.Giry. I saw Mme.Giry often, she brought me food and supplies, since I no longer receive any salary."
As Erik fell silent, Christine thought deeply. Then, an idea occurred to her.
"Erik, I know it sounds crazy," she said, straightening up and looking at him. "But, what if you showed up? Had you ever tried working for the Opera? You could work and earn money in a decent way."
"Whoa! Slow down there!" Erik said, surprised at her outrageous suggestion. "Work for the Opera? Christine! They think I am dead! Even if they knew I lived, they would hate me still! They would call the police right away the moment they saw me set foot in their office!"
"Maybe if we talked with them, that could be settled…" she said reasonably, "You know, explain everything, tell them what happened, you apologize to them…"
"Apologize?"
"Yes Erik, apologize, for all the… incidents… you caused"
Erik gave a desperate sigh.
"Christine…" he said, trying to sound calm. He stood up from the bench and looked down at her. "Think of this…"
" 'The Phantom of the Opera, who supposedly was dead, Returns'…that would make wonderful headlines!" he said sarcastically.
Christine scowled at him.
"Phantom..." he said coolly, raising his left index finger, "Managers…" he lifted his right index finger, "Together…" he brought together both his index fingers in one straight line. "DING! WRONG!" he split the fingers apart brusquely, then returning them together and crossing them in an 'X'. "Not a very good idea!"
"Come on, Erik." She tried to say.
"Christine! They LOATHE me!" he said downhearted, "It's always been that way! Ever since I was a child, everybody has despised me! Even my own mother…"
He fell silent and Christine looked sympathetically at him.
"They never gave me a chance…" he said, miserably.
"That could change… Not everybody is like those people from your past."
"Christine, I became known as The Phantom not because I named myself that, but because that was what they made of me: a heartless, haunting ghost that roamed the dark corners of the Opera. They feared me. They hated me."
"Erik, please, you haven't even tried!" Christine said, "Give them a chance!"
"They gave me none!" he snapped.
"Because you didn't let them!" Christine answered. "You always kept yourself in your little turtle shell, isolated from everybody! You didn't even give them a chance to know you! Stop dwelling in the past Erik! Not everybody is as cold-blooded as those people who mistreated you in your youth, because of your face!"
She found herself standing too.
"There's also compassion, love, and understanding in that world which you dread, Erik, not only loathing and fear. Just look at Meg, look at Mme. Giry… Look at me."
Erik looked at her helplessly. This was not a good idea. There was no difference; they would treat him as a crazy maniac the moment he dared to show up.
"Christine, I…" He began.
"Erik, please…" she interrupted, standing in front of him, "You cannot stay here and let your life be lived for you… There are so many things out there to discover, so many joys, so many wonderful things. Please Erik, do it for me…
Erik sighed, giving in.
"I…I'll try…. But what will happen if everything goes wrong? What will happen if I don't convince them?"
"We can only hope for the best. Every dark cloud has a silver lining… always remember that."
She placed her hands on his chest reassuringly, while smiling at him.
"Please promise me you'll try…" she said, almost pleadingly.
"I'll do, as long as you promise me you'll be beside me." He said, placing his own hands over hers.
"You can count on it." She said in a soft voice.
"Then, I promise. For you."
"I have to find her…" Raoul said exasperated, as he rested his arms on the table.
"Then why don't you ask the police to help you?" asked a good old friend of Raoul, Gaston de Beaumont.
(1) He was a tall, skinny man, slightly hunchbacked. He was some years older than Raoul, about 5 decades or so. Raoul's father was a good friend with this guy. Even if Raoul's father was a great, honest man, he didn't posses a very good judge of character. This man's face was a decrepit one, a thin, long face, with sunken cheeks. His features were full of wrinkles, and there were bags under his gaunt eyes. His eyes were sad, droopy eyes, and they had a suspicious look to them. He had an almost lipless smile. His bony hands resembled that of a carcass; the top of his head was bald, the thin strands of grayish-white hair falling down at shoulder length.
In short, his appearance made him seem as one of the untrustworthiest persons you'll ever meet.
This man was also the owner of one of the most infamous mental hospitals in Paris, hence his bad reputation.
Gaston crossed his arms and pondered. The flames in the fireplace cracked merrily. Shadows danced across the walls as both of them talked through the silence in the room.
"Call the police? I'm afraid I can't, Gaston." Raoul said bitterly.
"And why is that, my friend?" asked old Gaston.
"If the police got involved, Christine would speak, and I can't afford to lose my good reputation as Vicomte." He said, "I would dishonor the family. I have an image to preserve."
"Oh, I see…" Gaston said with a grin. "Then why did you call me for?"
"I called you to ask you a favor…" Raoul's voice turned into a whisper, "I need you to station some of your men all across Paris, to watch out in case Christine decides to appear. Think you could do that for me?"
"I guess I could… "
"But I don't want them attracting any attention, I want them to go unnoticed."
"That, though, would take a fee. It takes a price to buy my men's silence." Gaston smirked.
"You're such a dirty rat…" Raoul said with a small smile.
"It's that or you will never have her…is that what you want?" Gaston teased.
Raoul sighed, "Fine, have it your way then…"
Raoul then took a bag full of golden coins out of his belt. He slid the bag across the table towards Gaston, who took it eagerly.
"We have a deal then, Monsieur Chagny." Gaston said, "I would station some of my men in the borders of the city, just in case if our little friend decides to abandon the town. The rest will be posted in public places."
"Fine… Excellent." Raoul muttered. "When they find her, send immediate word to me."
"You can count on me and my men, Monsieur…" Gaston said, standing up, taking the bag of money and placing it on his coat's pocket.
Gaston nodded, Raoul nodded back. Gaston turned on his heels and walked out of the room, leaving Raoul to sink in his thoughts.
(2)Finally, Raoul spoke into the air, "You can't hide forever, Christine. No matter how many weeks, months, or years pass by, I will never stop searching for you."
He stood up and walked to the fireplace, standing in front of it. He looked at the mantelpiece and noticed a bright, red rose posed in there.
He took the rose softly and examined it.
"No one ever leaves me. Let alone, you." He suddenly crushed the rose in his hand, grinding the soft petals, the stem crunching under the pressure.
"You're mine…"
He threw the remnants of the rose to the fire. They burned, the cracking getting louder. The stem and petals became ash in a matter of seconds.
Raoul watched the burning flames, with an evil grin on his face.
"I still think it's a bad idea…" Erik muttered, as Christine fixed a blood-red handkerchief on his shirt's neck
Erik and Christine had changed to dry clothes now. Erik dressed up in the most formal, black outfit he had, looking presentable, while Christine dressed up in a beautiful short-sleeved, cream dress.
"Oh, come on, Erik. There's no turning back now." She said as she finished fitting Erik's handkerchief neatly in his shirt's scruff.
"Remind me again why did I agree on doing this?" he asked.
"Because it's for your own good, and because I asked you to." She said simply.
"I go for the second one..." He said, smiling.
She smiled. Her smile faltered when she noticed Erik's insecure gaze.
"Promise me that you won't turn back, Erik." She pleaded,
"I won't…" he responded.
"Promise me that all you say is true, that's all I ask of you…" she sang softly.
And before Erik knew it, he was singing too.
"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Say the word and I will follow you," he sang gently, "Share each day with me, each night, each morning."
He looked deep into her eyes, cupping her face in both his hands.
"Say you love me…" he sang.
"You know I do…" she sang back.
And they both sang.
"Love me, that's all…I…ask... of…you…" they both ended in a whisper.
They both leaned forward slowly, looking into each other's eyes with love.
Finally, their lips met, and hey kissed gently, closing their eyes.
They stood there a few seconds before they broke apart.
"We should get going…" Christine said, changing the subject abruptly.
"Y-yes…" Erik agreed. He then beckoned her to the gondola.
Christine strode to the gondola and Erik helped her in. He climbed up himself and started rowing.
As they drifted through the water, the mist closed in on them. They had passed the portcullis and headed now to where Caesar, the horse, was.
They reached the shore and Erik once again helped Christine out.
Caesar greeted them with a friendly neigh, thrusting his head up and down. Erik patted his strong neck, stroking his pitch-black mane.
Christine, meanwhile, stroked his nose. Caesar sniffed and Christine giggled. Caesar then proceeded on nibbling Christine's hair, deeply interested in these strange, hairy, curly things.
"Now, Caesar, it's not time to play now. We have to go to the surface as fast as possible." Erik said, almost seriously.
Caesar stopped nibbling and neighed affirmatively. Caesar then did something Christine had never seen a common horse do; He kneeled. He kneeled in front of her, bending his legs in a reverential manner, lowering his head.
Christine looked, confused, at him.
"He's beckoning you to mount him. Since you're a lady, he thinks it easier for you to mount him if he kneels." Erik explained.
"Oh…" Christine exclaimed, aghast. This horse was as clever as his master, Christine thought.
Christine mounted Caesar with Erik's help. When she was settled, Caesar hastily stood up, shaking his head, his mane flying.
Erik then mounted him with extreme ease, settling himself behind Christine.
Erik stretched his arms, brushing past her shoulders, as he reached out for the reins. He leaned forward, his chin resting on Christine's shoulder. Suddenly, he lost all concentration and interest on the reins. He closed his eyes for a second, inhaling Christine's soft perfume of lavender. He nuzzled against her neck, feeling her soft, warm skin. He felt her shiver slightly at his touch.
Christine giggled at this, her cheeks turning pinkish.
Erik grinned. He loved when Christine laughed. It was music for his ears.
He drew his hands back and placed them on the crook of her neck. He caressed it, sending shivers through Christine's body. He caressed her neck gently, just as he had done in Don Juan Triumphant, up and down, softly, and tenderly. He then ran his hands down her shoulders, and down her arms, and rested them on her hips. He wrapped his hands around her waist, hugging her to him.
She could feel his beating heart pumping rapidly against her back, and the warmth radiating from his body. Christine got lost in his touch and sighed.
Erik leaned over and kissed her lovingly on the neck.
Christine leaned back, lifting her face, giving him space. She closed her eyes and heaved a soft moan. He kissed her again, sending sweeps of warmth coursing her body.
He slowly began to climb up her neck, giving her slow, gentle kisses in the process.
He stopped at her jawbone and opened his eyes.
Christine opened her eyes too at the lack of his touch. Why had he stopped? She turned her head slowly towards him.
She met his blue-green eyes, staring back at her. She noticed his timid gaze, and smiled at him.
She lifted her arm back and placed it on the back of his head. She pushed his head slightly forward, towards her.
He was aware of her intentions and complied more than willingly.
He leaned forward. Christine closed her eyes yearningly.
Erik closed his eyes too, leaning closer.
Their lips were just a few millimeters apart. They grew closer and closer…until…
Caesar neighed impatiently, thrusting his head, snapping them out of their reverie.
They both looked at each other before straightening. Both blushed furiously as they regained their composure.
Erik cursed Caesar in his mind for his lack of subtleness.
(3)"T'a seulement dâ ç faire ça, n'est pas?" Erik mumbled irritably to Caesar.
Caesar seemed to understand French, for he snorted happily, as if laughing. Christine laughed too, and Erik just rolled his eyes.
"I see… there seems to be a complot against me. Never trust horses, or women." He said jokingly. "You two had this planned, didn't you?" he said, referring to Christine and Caesar.
"Yes. Your horse and I had a plot against you." Christine said playfully. Caesar neighed in agreement.
Erik laughed.
Suddenly, they heard something coming from above. Music. They were rehearsing, and by the sound of it, they were rehearsing for Hannibal.
"Oh, not again…" Christine said. Hannibal just reminded her of Carlotta and her ear-piercing singing, not a very nice thought.
"Why so apathetic, Mon ange?" Erik asked, "Have you forgotten that Hannibal was the play that made you truly famous in your debut?"
"No. It's not the play itself, what bothers me." Christine said, "Lets just say it brings bad memories of a certain someone with an ear-splitting voice."
Erik chuckled, "Carlotta, you mean?"
"Yes. That horrible woman. She was dreadful." Christine said.
"You needn't to worry about her. She left, long time ago." Erik said, smirking.
"She left?" Christine inquired, "Why?"
Erik's smile disappeared.
"It was because of the circumstances, and I'm afraid they were my doing." He said, sadly.
"What? What do you mean?" Christine asked, "What circumstances?"
"Remember Ubaldo Piangi?" he asked.
"Yes. He was a nice man. He was a great soprano too, and a bit chubby." She answered.
"Yes."
"What does he have to do with the circumstances?"
"Christine…" he began, nervously, "In the Don Juan Triumphant Opera… I…I… I killed him."
Christine gasped, "You…killed...him?" she said, eyes wide.
"Yes… And that's why Carlotta left. She didn't take it very well."
"Oh, Erik… " she began, "Why did you do it?"
"Christine… I was not thinking at that moment," he tried to defend himself, "I was not reasoning. I was not thinking of the consequences when I did what I did. I was… Mad with love." He ended, dropping his gaze.
They both stood in silence. Mad with love. He was madly in love with her. Now she understood the nature of his past actions. Now she understood.
He felt his heart return to its normal pumping rate.
Erik cleared his throat, breaking the silence, and reached out for the reins, brushing over Christine's arms. He took hold of the reins tightly.
"Hiya!" Erik exclaimed. Caesar instantly neighed and reared, standing on his back legs. He trashed his front legs strongly, and he broke into full gallop through the hallways.
As the horse ran, Christine felt herself slipping from the saddle; she took hold of Caesar's mane to avoid falling. She felt something take hold of her waist, preventing her from descending even further. It was Erik's arm. He handled the rein with his free arm, while holding Christine with the other one.
Some minutes later, Caesar began to slow down as he reached a grand, circling staircase that led to a floor above.
The horse ran into a halt in front of the steps.
Erik dismounted in a swift jump. He then wrapped his arms around Christine's waist, lifting her off Caesar's back and lowering her to the ground gently.
He then took her hand and led her to the staircase. Christine gave Caesar a hasty stroke before following Erik. Caesar gave a soft neigh of delight.
They climbed the staircase until they reached the hallway with the golden candelabra.
They walked through it, with the candles flickering vividly in the walls.
They finally reached the end of the Hall. In front of them, stood the huge mirror that led to Christine's room.
Erik approached the mirror, and began examining the bricks on either side of it. He then found what he was looking for. He lowered a hidden lever and the mirror slid open.
Raoul strolled rapidly to the door, arranging the scruff of his coat. He wanted to check out if someone had seen Christine in the last place he checked 3 days ago.
The maids looked curiously at him. What was his great urge?
He walked through the door and to the waiting elegant, black carriage outside, which bear the Chagny family crest.
He opened the door and sat inside.
He closed the door and spoke to the coach driver through the tiny window.
"To the Opera Popullaire!"
The coach driver nodded and urged his horses to start moving.
They snorted and trotted out of the mansion and into the streets of France, their hooves clacking on the stone road.
He looked out the window, his face in a pensive expression.
In the sea of thoughts that swirled in his mind, a tiny voice, barely audible, whispered:
Why? Why did I do it?
And his mind drifted into the memory of the night he had lost Christine. Why had he treated her like this? It was not like him. What possible explanation was hidden behind his violent reaction?
And the tiny voice answered, in a faint murmur:
Fear…(4) Fear? Fear of what? He pondered, and he answered himself:
He was afraid of losing her. Losing her forever…
That fear had blinded him and had transformed him in a real monster. A monster… just like…. just like… That man. That ghost.
He was behaving just like him. How low had he fallen? Since when had he become so possessive? So…obsessive?
He would apologize the moment he found her; apologize for the suffering he had caused her.
That night, he had seen the deep fear in her eyes. She had never looked at him that way, and this hurt him. He also saw the hatred swimming in her eyes at what he had done.
He didn't blame her for being angry with him. He just hoped she would forgive him.
Erik let Christine go first through the mirror, and then he followed.
Everything was silent, and the candles were all blown out. The sunlight filtered through the window in Christine's room, warming up the place.
"Come…" Christine muttered, as she turned around and stretched out her hand so he would take it.
He tentatively took Christine's hand, and looked at her.
"Everything's going to be fine…" she said encouragingly.
"I just hope you're right…" he whispered.
She smiled at him warmly and headed to the door, Erik walking behind her, with their fingers entwined.
Christine opened the door quietly and slowly.
She peeked around, looking down the hallway to see anyone was lurking about, but it was completely deserted.
How curious, Christine thought, the Opera is usually crowded with dancers and performers.
"It's a good thing it's Sunday, isn't it?" Erik stated with relief.
"Sunday?" she inquired. She had lost the notion of time down in the lair; she hadn't realized what day of the week it was.
"Yes, Sunday." Erik said, "My, my, are we in the clouds today?"
"I had too much in my mind to even care of knowing on which day of the week we were!" she said defensively.
"I see." He said with comprehension.
"Let's get going." She said as she dragged him down the hallway towards the managers' office.
They climbed up the stairs, dread getting stronger in Erik's insides as they grew nearer to the office.
They strolled through another set of hallways and, much to Erik's displeasure, they reached the office in no time.
"We can still go back, you know? No one would know…" Erik said.
"Don't be such a coward! We've come this far!" she said defiantly. "Now shut up, and let me do the talking."
Erik sighed, as Christine reached out for the doorknob.
"Women…" he muttered under his breath, crossing his arms.
"Men are such babies." She said, half to herself, half to Erik.
Erik responded by simply rolling his eyes in impatience
"Please wait here. I'll go inside first to talk to them." She informed him.
"Be my guest." He said, deep anxiety in his voice as he dropped his gaze.
He reclined on the wall beside the door, his arms crossed and his head down. He looked so helpless, so fearful. She had never seen him this way.
"Erik," she began, a soft tone in her voice, "I promise nothing wrong is going to happen. Please do brighten up." She rubbed his arm comfortingly, but his nervous expression was still there.
(5) "Ne vous inquiétez pas." She whispered. She then gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek before turning back to the door.
(6) "Je…" Erik whispered, "Je pas."
Christine gave him a fleeting smile before turning her gaze back to the door. She turned the doorknob slowly.
Erik saw how Christine's form drifted into the room. He held his breath, hoping for the best.
"Oh, Andre!" Firmin said, "We're going into the dumps!"
"Calm down, Firmin!" Monsieur André retorted from the couch.
"We have to admit it!" Firmin said, "Ever since Carlotta left we've been falling lower and lower! The seats are not selling as much as they did before!"
"My dear friend, ever since Miss Daaé left, is when we've been falling lower and lower." André stated the obvious. He sipped on his tea as he saw Firmin pacing the floor, his hands behind his back and worry in his gaze.
"We might have to close the Opera!" Firmin screamed, "Close it!"
"I daresay we were better with the Phantom than off without him." André said calmly.
"André! What nonsense do you speak!" Firmin said alarmed, "Better with that ghost that without him?"
André nodded and sipped on his tea again.
"Why, yes! We were better with his doings!" Firmin continued, throwing his arms in the air, "Had he not murdered two people, we could've have thought he was a genius!"
"He was mad, I understand," André said, "But some of his choices were good, nonetheless."
Firmin gave an angry grunt. He was about to speak again, had he not heard the door creaking open.
Both managers turned to see who was the one who intruded, breaking in their discussion, but their eyes brightened up as they saw the familiar face of their former diva star.
Christine came in, with her eyes glowing brightly. They had not lost the innocence that they had held the first time the managers had seen her.
Her face was still that of a child's, rosy cheeks flushing over a bright, welcoming smile.
"Miss Daaé!" they both exclaimed, André getting up from the couch in a swift movement.
She smiled timidly at them as she stood on the door. André and Firmin surveyed her intently, until Firmin spoke.
"Miss Daaé! It's such a pleasure to see you!" he said, "Oh! My mistake! I mean… Mrs. Chagny."
Christine cringed and her smile faltered. Her eyes wandered on the wall, and she hesitantly returned her gaze back to the two.
André sensed this sudden uncomfortable reaction and changed the subject.
"What brings you here, Miss?" André asked politely.
"Oh. Yes, about that." She said, a bit nervous herself. "I wanted to talk about something with you."
"Do tell! Anything you need!" André said eagerly. He had grown very fond of this girl, and he would do anything she asked to.
"Yes, well…" she stuttered, "I wanted to introduce you to someone. He's a great musician, and I-I thought he might h-help you out in here."
"My, my, do introduce the man!" Firmin said, "We have many vacant positions, and new talents are always welcome!"
She managed a smile, "Glad to hear that…"
"Yes, well, he's looking for a job, and he would be very willing to apply in any vacant position." She said, "He would work hard and he would do anything you tell him to do."
"Interesting," Firmin muttered, " A hard worker that would be willing to listen to any order he's given?"
"Yes." She said.
"Excellent!" André exclaimed, "And where is the man?"
"Oh. Let me go for him. " She said.
She stood on the door, her back to the managers. She stretched out her arms to someone outside.
The managers heard someone mutter something to Christine, and saw Christine nod with a smile.
They heard a deep sigh and Christine returned to the room.
As Christine stood, they saw someone enter the room slowly to stand behind her.
A tall, strong-looking man towered upon her. All dressed in black, his cloak hanging ghostly on his broad shoulders. His face was a serious, formal one. His turquoise eyes shone brightly, along with the porcelain white, half mask that rested in the right side of his face.
The Managers gaped, eyes wide, as they recognized the man.
"YOU!" they bellowed together.
(1) Just imagine the creepy, old man from Disney's "The Beauty and the Beast", the man that is talking with Gaston in a pub… hence the name Gaston XD… I'm such a loser…
Erik- Tell me something I don't know.
Feri- …. ¬¬
(2) He's a freaky fellow, isn't he? Very…possessive…
Erik- Kill le fop! o.ó
Feri- Someone feels murderous today...
Erik- -grumble grumble-
(3) "T'a seulement dâ ç faire ça, n'est pas?" - means: "You just had to do that, didn't you?"
(Thanks to Mayis and her father for the translation! XD)
(4) OMG! I'm actually being nice with Raoul! Dedicating a POV to Raoul o.o .The world is coming to an end!
Erik- You…you vile betrayer! O.ó Curse you! You little prying Pandora! You little viper-
Feri- -clapping her hand on his mouth- We know the rest, thank you! ¬¬
(5) "Ne vous inquiétez pas." - means: "Don't worry." (Note: I used an English to French translator, so it might be wrong)
(6) "Je pas…" - means: "I won't" (I used the evil Translator again x,x)
Feri- Thank you for reading!
Erik- And in your way out, why don't leave a review for this pathetic, good-for-nothing girl?
Feri- good-for…. why you little…. No more snickers for you! O.ó
Erik- what? NOOOO! My Snickers! TT.TT -cries-
Feri- So heartbreaking ; , ; …ok..you can have your Snickers back!
Erik- YAY! -Munches on chocolate-
Feri- n.n
Erik- -with his mouth full- And remember, no one likes a debtor so it's better if my orders are obeyed!
Feri- If you have no idea what he meant, he meant he wants you to leave a review.
Erik- -munching- yeah…that…