Damn her, Erik fumed, thrashing about in the murky water in an attempt to retrieve his mask. Damn me as well, he conceded, as his fingers brushedthe familiar object. He scooped it up and dried it quickly with a corner of his cape, hiding his disfigurement once again. He shouldn't have opened the gate. There were other paths, though longer and more complicated, to reach the diva's dressing rooms. He needn't have raised the grate. Yet he hadn't expected her to wake. She had slept so peacefully these past few days, and even more deeply since he had begun his nightly lullabies. He had indulged himself by watching her slumber. Why not watch her? She was indeed beautiful, and he was locked away in this dungeon... Why not admire a wonderfully crafted sculpture when one had the chance?
Foolish, he scolded himself, as he stamped off in the direction which she had taken. It was too soon to allow her to see him. He had obviously needed more time to ensnare her mind. When her eyes had snapped open, for whatever reason, he had counted on his mystery and charm to weaveit's spell. Yet these devices hadn't worked, not this time. Perhaps his music alone had enthralled Christine. Perhaps his visage was truly frightening to look upon, mask or no mask.
Luckily for the Phantom, this particular passage did not branch out, but led towards a massive set of spiraling stairs...laden with traps. He knew he must hurry. Most of his traps were not designed to keep a prisoner alive for any length of time.
The Opera Ghost wasn't the same man he had been before, not after all that had taken place in the last year. He was even more prone to fits of rage, and his fuse was just that much shorter. He had always been somewhat unstable, though never truly bad tempered. Nor evil, never evil. Erik had a good heart. He was simply confused, hurt, more than a bit disgruntled with society, and had a few control issues. He had to be in charge of every situation. He pulled the strings, and no one else.
As his anger subsided, and Erik gained control of his unpredictable emotions once more, a thought struck him. Adrienne hadn't worn that familiar look of fear and loathing that was reserved by so many just for him. If he hadn't been so consumed by his fiery temper, he would have caught it sooner. Erik was sharp. In fact, he was more than sharp. He was a well practiced observer. Being a genius entailed more than artistic ability,but included many other skills of the mind.
There was a different type of fear masking the girl's delicate features. She had seemed to look right through him, tried to block out not only him, but her surroundings as well. "You aren't real..." echoed through his mind, "none of this is real. I can't be here in this century!" Perhaps he had been described to her. No doubt he was a legend on the streets of Paris by now. A horror story to be whispered about, and used to scare little children. But she had whispered the statement of denial with such familiarity. As if she had seen him before...knew him. That couldn't be possible. Who in the hell was this girl? And what had she meant, "I can't be in this century.." Was she suggesting she was a time traveler? Erik actually paused in his pursuit of the girl at this absurd thought. Was she mad? What was he dealing with?
A plot began to formulate in his mind. He would have her. She would sing for him, and his grand scheme would succeed. If it took his music to bind her to him, then he would give her his music. Chords of a familiar tune danced through his mind. Yes, it was perfect.
I clambered futiley at the walls, attempting to maintain a grip on the slippery surface. There was an opening a few feet above me, if I could only reach it before the death trap descended any further. But the slimy stone was too slick and there were no handholds. My mind working frantically, I dove beneath the surface, pushing at the water as I sunk deeper into it's depths. Something loomed out at me and I swam towards it, grasping onto it like a lifeline. It was a large wheel, and it occurred to me that it must operate the grate. I tugged at it, kicked it, and slammed my body into it, but to no avail. It wasn't going to budge.
Resurfacing, I surveyed my surroundings. There didn't seem to be any other options. Think, I demanded of myself. I had never been one to panic in a tricky situation. There was only one thing left for me to do. Feeling like a fool, and hoping desperately that the Phantom wouldn't be too angry with me, I filled my lungs with air in preparation to scream his name.
Before I could belt out my pleas for rescue, I heard the sickening screech of metal against metal, and I watched as the grate began to climb upwards. Confused, I spun about in the water, to be faced by my pursuer...now my saviour. He reached down with a gloved hand, his expression unreadable. I took it gingerly, watching his face carefully for any hint of anger.
He helped me gently from the water, pulling the cape from about his shoulders with an elegant flourish. He wrapped me tightly in it's warmth, and pressing a hand to the small of my back, urged me down the tunnel. I looked up into his eyes with wonderment. What had happened to the enraged monster of minutes before, the man whom I was so sure would kill me for my desertion?
What an interesting dream this was, I thought dazedly, my eyes glued to his. I wondered vaguely if my mouth was hanging open. I was obviously slipping into the second stage of psychosis...denial. Denial that everything I was experiencing was unquestionably real. But at the moment, I was blissfully unaware of this fact.
He steered me through passages that were suddenly lit with wonderful golden torches. They reflected off of his pale skin and his ivory mask, giving him an angelic glow. I said not a word, allowing him to guide me upwards, hand in hand with this beguiling specter. His eyes never seemed to leave mine for but a moment at a time, and they were those sames eyes from my dreams. They seduced and entranced me, and I was surely drooling on myself by this point.
Up we went, passing through a mirror and out into a deserted bed chamber. I barely took note of the ornate furnishings, or the rich tapestries. I cared only for the Phantom. We wove through the opera house, passing empty room after empty room, before he led me up onto a large stage. He released me then, commanding me silently with his gaze. I stood rooted to the spot, watching as he made his way to centerstage, his movements as fluid as a jungle cat.
He turned about, gesturing with his arms to encompass the entire room. For the first time in what seemed like hours, I turned my eyes from his countenance, gazing out over row upon row of velvet seating. I had seen this before... I had been here before... Erik's soft voice, and the feel of leather on my skin, brought my wandering attention reeling back towards him. He was so close to me, his artistic hands upon my face, and I could smell an unfamiliar, but alluring cologne upon his clothing.
And then he began to sing, that song which I had heard so many times before. From that point on I was his: hook, line, and sinker. There wasn't anything I wouldn't do for him...while he was singing, in any case. I was sure it was some kind of spell I was under, but it didn't matter. It felt wonderful.
"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation..." He sang, pacing about me in a circle, my body turning to follow. We crossed the stage, and he stepped in close to me, taking my hand and holding it to his lips. I simply stared, my breath catching in my throat.
"...the darkness of the music of the night." He seemed to be caught up in his song, and I was being dragged along in it's wake, feeling the passion resonating through the words. He came to a particularly impressive verse and he allowed the power of the melody to flow through him, his voice rising in timber and filling my head with a deep vibrato that was more stunning than anything I'd heard from the mouth of another human being.
"Only then, can you belong to me..." This line was soft, and he stared hard at me, his eyes filled with want, boring into me as if examining my soul. I stepped involuntarily towards him. "Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation..." He was upon me now, encircling me softly with his arms, carressing my side and running his hands gently to my hips. I reached up to touch his face in awe, tracing his visible cheekbone with a finger. He closed his eyes tomy touch, as if reveling in it.
As the song ended, he seemed to be imploring me..."help me make the music of the night.." I already knew that I wanted to, that I had to be a part of this genius, had to be a part of this music that was more than music. It was the essence of beauty. We were silent for a moment, and then he stepped away slowly, my hand in his, and as he moved back my fingers slipped finally from his grip and myarm fell to my side. I stared at him.
When I spoke next, my voice was barely louder than a whisper. "Who are you Erik? Who are you really?"
The Phantom froze at the sound of his name. But how did she know this? He was at a loss for the first time in a very long while. Suspicion filled his mind. Who was she that she knew this? He had never even told Christine his name. How had this stange girl known? What the hell was she about? His suspicion was quickly turning dangerous, and a scowl must have touched his features, for the previously enthralled Adrienne took a few tentative steps back, looking very uncertain.
"I," stated The Phantom, keeping control of the situation, "am your angel of music." Adrienne simply gawked at him, and he allowed a disarming smile to spread across his face. "I am your tutor, your master," he stepped closer to her, and she smiled slightly and blushed a deep crimson as heat rushed into her face, "and you are my pupil. And soon, my diva."
Adrienne seemed to accept this readily, and Erik noted that his music had indeed been effective. But she wasn't quite satisfied with this answer. "You have the most wonderful voice I have ever heard, and your music is sheer pleasure, but I need to know, for my sanity, who you really are."
Erik raised an eyebrow at her. She wasn't so docile as Christine. Christine hadn't pryed, she had simply given him her mind. "Where did you hear the name 'Erik' ?" he questioned her, ignoring her query as if it hadn't been voiced.
"I..." Adrienne began, and then she stared down at her feet, "you wouldn't believe me if I told you." There was silence for a moment as he waited for her to explain herself nonetheless. Abruptly, she threw her arms up in the air, spinning away from him. "God, I don't believe me!" she said, her voice rising. "What the hell is going on!"
"Such language from a young woman, " Erik scolded lightly, refusing to act confused. Whatever she was babbling about would only become more clear with a bit of coaxing on his part. "Explain yourself," this last bit was an order, not a request.
Adrienne turned to him once more, eyeing him as if he might vanish at any moment. She reached out and touched his chest lightly. "You really are real aren't you?" she murmured, staring into his face. He simply stared back, waiting. Finally, the girl dropped her hand, sighing.
"Well, here goes. I won't blame you for strangling me after I tell you this. I mean, I must sound like a complete kook..." she trailed off. Erik had never heard of this term, "kook", before, but he ignored the odd use of language and continued to listen quietly.
"I'm from the 21st century." She paused, studying him for a reaction. He gave none, though he was far from believing her. "I'm an artist. I draw for a living. I was having these dreams...well, about you actually. And I was having these terrible headaches. One night I went to bed, had a strange dream, and woke up in your lair. Thats all there is to it really. Well, I'm sure there is more to it, but I have no clue what the hel...I mean, what in the world is going on."
Erik just stared at her with his hands clasped behind his back. Dear Lord, perhaps she had escaped from an assylum. Slowly, he stepped towards her, his tone perhaps a bit harsh when he next spoke. "You expect me to believe that you are a time traveler, or something of the sort?" She shrunk back from him, blinking. "And what sort of proof do you offer?"
This seemed to light a spark, and her eyes glinted at him. "Damn it Erik! I can't provide any proof from my era. The only thing I brought with me were the clothes on my back." She flushed slightly at this, no doubt remembering the "clothing" she had been wearing.
"I can tell you all about yourself! Perhaps I would know about the great fire, and the fact that there was a phantom here, and that you murdered people. Perhaps people in Paris have even heard of the love triangle between you, Christine, and that fop Raoul! Perhaps Mdme. Giry may have let it slip about your chilhood, and how she sheltered you in this opera house." She paused to take a breath. She was obviously emotionally distraught and screaming at this figment of her imagination was allowing a little of the pent up frustration out.
"But," she continued, "I know about the kiss, the kiss she gave you before you let her free. I know that the first time she saw you, you brought her down into your lair. I know that she fainted because of your life-size statue of herself, and you carried her to your bed. I know that she gave you her engagement ring. I know that she removed your mask whilst in your lair, and that you cursed her for it."
She paused one more time to gauge his reaction. This time, Erik couldn't hide his shock, though it came through as a look of angry annoyance. Her voice was hushed as she spoke once more. "I know that you were there on the roof when Christine proclaimed her love for Raoul. She threw your rose down. You cryed that night, and you crushed it. You swore that they would pay. You cannot say that Christine could have told me that, even though I don't even know her. She never knew. And you know for a fact that I was never a part of the cast or crew here. You knew who everyone was who came and went. I couldn't have been on that roof."
"Do not call me Erik!" the Phantom bellowed, taking a threatening step forward. She cringed away from him and he forced himself to turn his back, staring at the floorboards so hard as if to bore a hole in them. How had she known all that? Was she telling the truth? Even if she was a time traveler, what did that have to do with all this knowledge? He was angry and bewildered. Was she trying to exploit him? Or was she simply playing with his head? Why was she forcing these memories to run through his mind? He had a sudden urge to push her off the stage, but he knew he would be unable to. He wasn't a monster.
She drew a shaky breath behind him, as if she might begin to cry. Ignoring his outburst, she forged on. "I'm scared Erik. In my time, your life is a novel. I've read it. You are Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. We have things called motion pictures. It is like an opera, but it is on a screen, with moving images recorded and played back before your very eyes, like living memories. You're story was portrayed in one of these. I've seen you before. I don't know how I got here, but I do know that I have no where else to go. You are the only person I've met in this era. I do not know how to survive here. I have no family or friends. What am I supposed to do?"
Erik's temper softened as she spoke. He could hear the panic in her voice, and when he finally turned to face her, her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. After a long moment of silence he opened his mouth. "I do not know what to believe," he thought he could see her shoulders slump at this. "Yet," he continued, and she seemed to perk up, "I have declared myself your tutor, and this offer still stands. You shall not question me about my past or my personal life, nor shall you speak of what you think you know about me." He stopped here to ensure she understood his instructions. She nodded wordlessly.
"You shall sing for me, and you shall not venture from this opera house. In exchange, I will provide for your needs. You shall have shelter, clothing, and sustenance. The opera house opens in two weeks time. I shall ensure your placement as the star diva. For this task, you shall remain in my services." His expression softened and he stepped towards her, reaching out to grasp her chin softly with one hand. He stroked his thumb gently across her jawline. Her eyelids fluttered and he smirked slightly. "Do you understand?"
"Crystal," she answered, and then, realizing her American slang would be useless in the current year stammered out, "of course."
Erik smiled widely, all traces of anger gone. "You shall stay in my lair for the time being. While this opera house is empty, it is a somewhat dangerous place to venture about in." He offered his elbow to her in a gentlemanly fashion. "Madmoiselle," he smiled, and she took his proferred limb and allowed herself to be led back into the depths of the underground labyrinth. Adrianne, you are a strange one, he thought as they descended, still unsure of what to believe, and more than a little confused at her wealth of knowledge about his personal moments.