1A/N: Well, this is awkward. I've never aborted a story completely and then all of a sudden finish the chapter! If you have read my profile you'll have noticed that it says that this fic is being discontinued. Well, not any more. I was listening to the Phantom of the Opera Soundtrack just a while ago and remembered the reason I wanted to write this in the first place. Plus I found an ending scene I had written before starting this and I really want to put it to good use. This story has been moving very slowly and I'm working on speeding it up. Usually I have trouble spreading a story out but now it seems to be the other way around!
Chapter four - Down Once More
Christine and Raoul stood at the door of the opera house. Christine was larger around but not heavy, as she was waiting on a delivery. She was very excited as was Raoul as his arm hung over Christine's shoulders fingering her long, curly, brown hair that rested gracefully over her shoulders. Raoul reached out and took hold of the doorhandle then looked at his wife.
"Ready?" he asked before opening it.
Christine drew in a deep breath and let it out. "Ready," she replied with a smile. It had been over four months since she had set foot in the opera house and there was no telling what had changed. Hopefully they hadn't replaced her - though some part of her wished that they had so she could go home with Raoul and spend the rest of her days with him. But Raoul knew she wouldn't be able to stand being off of the stage for her entire life. Even during the time she was home with him, she was singing through the house. He knew it was best that she went back.
Raoul pulled the door open gently and allowed Christine to pass him as they walked in. He closed the door and they went towards the large room containing the actual theater where everyone was said to have been rehearsing. Nobody probably missed him since he wasn't there that often - also since the fact that most of the theater populaire were women - but he knew that they had all missed Christine and asked where she had gone to anyone and everyone who might know. He knew this would be a large reunion for all of them.
Raoul lead her through the double doors and silently up to the stage. Meg noticed at once and canceling out all other sounds, missed her cue when she ran off the stage and up to Christine. She hugged her tightly.
"I missed you so much! Where did you go? And--" She then pulled back, felt the round bulge in Christine's dress and smiled wryly. "–what happened?" Christine laughed and hugged Meg.
"You haven't changed. Just the way it should be." Christine said sincerely.
"Nor you," Meg replied - eyes drifting down to Christine's middle again with a smirk. "For the most part anyway."
The phantom lurked through the catwalks making ready to release the trap. He carried the sand bag to position as he listened to those ignorant people talk happily about nothing. He spotted Raoul standing to the side of her casually letting her speak. The phantom's rage was kindled. How dare he lay his hands on her! How–how dare she let him! It was disgusting to watch them - she actually was enjoying it. And then she put her arm around him. He was going to let the floor drop out beneath them and have them fall into the orchestra lobby, but dangling them from their arms in which they held each other sounded more satisfying at the moment.
"If I could have everybody's attention, I'd like to make an announcement," Christine started happily looking at Raoul.
"Not today you aren't," the phantom thought to himself finishing tying the sand bag and repositioning his new mask he had stolen from the prop room.It took only a little while to get positioned on the appropriate rope. He worked on aiming it perfectly. There couldn't be any mistakes.
"Raoul and I...we're going to have a baby," she said. 'Ooh's and 'awe's came from the crowd and exclaims of excitement. The phantom stopped - eyes wide and hurt, sandbag dangling from his frozen hand. She was with child? Despite his loath for both of them at that moment, he could never stoop so low as to risk killing a child. The phantom looked down at the sandbag in his hand and turned around to return back to whence he came when the sound of splintering roped captured all of his thoughts suddenly. He shot his eyes back up at the rope and saw that one of them was half frayed through - the one he was on. That day had been the one day he hadn't checked the ropes. Why hadn't it frayed when he had time to fix it? Before he could do anything about it, the rope snapped and sent him sprawling down towards Christine and Raoul.
"NO!" he screamed in his head but remained as silent as possible on the outside. He groped for various ropes but none purchased in his grip. The phantom fell through some low-hanging ropes and one tangled round his ankle. Suddenly, just ten feet from the ground, the rope pulled tight and a sting went up through his leg as the sickening sound of breaking bone was heard. This time, he couldn't help the agonizing scream that burst from his throat.
The sandbag was yanked from his hand and flew upward causing him to fall to the ground right in the center of the triangle of the couple, Madam Giry, and the rest of the crowd. The air was knocked from him and he was left in wheezing coughs as they all stared down at him awestruck.
Some got out weapons, some hid behind each other, others still just continued staring. His mask was sent from his face across the floor and right up to Christine's feet. She bent down and picked it up - staring into it as memories came back. Raoul instinctively stood in front of Christine and carefully eyed the phantom as he struggled awkwardly to his feet.
"Give me the mask!" he said holding a hand over one side of his face and held out the other hand. "Give it to me!" He demanded shaking his outstretched hand.
Madam Giry noticed that the phantom's hand was wrapped in a cloth and there was a nasty blood stain down the center. It was dripping over already browned marks. He was the one stalking her? He had been at the rooftop just the other day? Could he possibly have been the face in the corner of her room those months ago also?
Christine carefully surrendered the mask and the phantom swiped it from her with his wounded hand. He then bowed his head and put it on - not that they hadn't already seen what he looked like without it. The phantom looked over at Madam Giry with something in his eyes - sadness, hate, anger, betrayal, maybe more - then turned to leave.
He drug his leg clumsily behind him - the limb being at an impossible angle. The people watched him limp off, no one being able to shoot him. He walked as fast as he could possibly go to get away from all the humiliation. The phantom lost his footing and fell flat on his face again. Snickers followed as well as comments and mocking smiles. He pulled himself up as quickly as he could and pushed himself onward, biting his lip, forcing himself not to relieve this pressure that had built up inside.
It was official. The opera populaire had lost all respect and thankfulness for him. They didn't appreciate him coming and fixing the props that had torn, tying and retying the ropes, and generally keeping this place afloat. They thought they didn't need him, they thought he was good for nothing. And he consented to the thought. "I don't fit in. I don't have a place. No one wants me, no one ever wanted me. I don't know what I have been trying to prove, but now it's over. All that is good and worth living for has managed to overlook the devil's child completely."
"Well, I see we'll have to go chase him out again," Firmin commented after a hearty laugh.
"Yes. When can you all attend?" Andre joked also. Laughs arose and the shock of the moment was gone just like that.
"I'm sorry; Christine, Raoul, I must go," Madam Giry said quickly walking off the stage and outside.
All instincts fought against it, all knowledge and sense told her 'no' but she still walked on. Going down the stone staircase below the opera house through the blackness, Madam Giry told herself it was a bad idea every step of the way. Even so, she continued on with no outward exclamation of fear. The sound of running water and the scent of musty stone surrounded her senses stronger. Since she couldn't use her eyes to gather information about her surroundings, her hearing, feeling, and sense of smell had become more in tune with her mind.
After walking further, she stopped and looked back up the stairs. "I really should turn back," she told herself. But she just couldn't. Curiosity held her too strongly. She could then see a faint light distorted by the mist that hung in the air. "This is it." Madam Giry swallowed to prepare to speak when needed and crept silently through the stone doorway.
The place was beautiful. She had never seen so many candles in one place! A golden hue surrounded her in the room and the heavenly scent of vanilla filled the air. The floor was nearly invisible beneath all the pages of music along with many instruments only as beautiful as the rest of the room. There appeared to be one large chair at the back, and a few others consisting of the one positioned at a writing desk, an organ, piano, and one at a small table.
Madam Giry walked gingerly between the candle stands careful not to ruin any of the precious things on the floor. She knelt down and picked up one of the many sheets of music. "How he's advanced," she thought to herself scanning the large parchment nearly black with notes. It puzzled her how he could tell what pages went to what songs. A rustle from the back caught her attention again and she lightly set the sheet on the nearby table amongst the piles of candles. She made her way through the alleys through the crowded room crouching ever so slightly as not to be seen by him.
Then she found him, his figure tall and muscular hidden beneath his cloak, hunched over something that looked very much like a coffin. He worked at it with strong hands confident of the tool he was using. He hadn't noticed her yet, and Madam Giry couldn't tell whether she was relieved or afraid. If she did not want to be seen, why did she come down there? Her eyes trailed down to his leg. It was bent at an impossible angle and looked more like a tail than a limb.
Clank! Before she realized it, Madam Giry had knocked over a candle stick and it had fallen to the floor making a sound that no one could deny. And sure enough, the phantom turned his head and the face was now visible. His eyes were large, brown and shone from his face - even through the side with the mask.
"What are you doing here?" He yelled at her in outrage. He grabbed the side of a table to hoist himself up onto his feet and dropped the tool. She could now see his leg - the out-of-socket joint appearing as a sunken ring at the start of his hip - and felt a pang of pity for him.
"I came to see if you were all right" her voice quivered a little but she did her best to keep it steady. The Phantom groped around behind him on the floor for something yet kept his keen eyes sharply fixed on her. "That fall could have killed you." She moved towards him ever so slightly but he pushed himself backwards.
Finally he found what he was looking for. He grabbed it but when he tried to slip the lasso round Madam Giry's throat, his leg gave away and he was sent to the unforgiving ground. A cry of pain threatened behind his clenched teeth but he managed to keep it contained. Why couldn't he have sprained his leg? There was no way he was going to set this right before the torn muscle began repairing itself.
Madam Giry tried again. "You're hurt. Have you tried to look at the wound?"
"It's none of your business." he snapped trying to pull his leg into a less painful position.
"Great, he's going to be difficult." She said to herself. "It needs to be checked."
"No it doesn't." he glared at her. "It is now time for you to go and let me be."
Madam Giry couldn't just leave the man to heal crippled as she knew he would. He'd find a way to fix it as best he could, but it was something that just couldn't be done by himself. There had to be a way to let her take a look at it.
"Leave me Madam," he commanded again. There was no room for argument.
Madam Giry turned to leave - disgusted with herself for giving up like that. But there was no way she would convince him to let her see his wound. She couldn't even get within five feet of him without him pulling out his lasso. She walked slowly regretting every minute of it. Her hand went to her stomach and she felt something tied under her cloak. Madam Giry pulled it out and read the label. Anaesthesia. She smiled to herself looking at the bottled liquid as she remembered forgetting to remove it after taking it to ease her sleepless week. Just what she needed. But how to get him to take it...
A pen sat on a nearby table. One of the new kinds that had ink built in as a cartridge. That would do. Secretly, Madam Giry swiped the pen off the table and held it to her chest. How would she get him to let her give him the sedative? She took out the ink cartridge and slipped it into a pocket. Then she carefully poured the clear liquid into the empty slot. It dripped out the tip a little and she held her hand under it. Now came the hard part.
Madam Giry walked silently back past the many candles to where she guessed she had come in. Actually, it was pretty confusing trying to get back there. Once she reached the long winding staircase, she glanced back again. The phantom appeared to have forgotten her and gone back to his work. Madam Giry turned a different way and began stepped over candles and pages of music spread across the floor.
The plan was simple. Get behind him and stick him with the pen. It wasn't the most logical plan or the most well-thought out in the book but it was the most efficient way she could think of. "This would be so much easier to do if I weren't in a dress!" she thought wiping the sweat away from her brow collected by the heat of the candles around her. Being shorter than most of the candles, Madam Giry couldn't even tell if she was headed in the right direction.
What if she was just running in circles? She wouldn't know. The room all looked the same - big and glowing - and she was dwarfed in comparison. Finally she heard the sound of a wrench coming closer. Good. At least she knew she wasn't half way to China. Madam Giry was careful to make a wide turn behind where she imagined he would be. She fingered the pen again getting ready to jab as she turned the corner. She prepared mentally, and then rounded the corner.
The phantom's angry face met her and caused her to scream. "What are you doing still in my rhelm? I thought I told you to leave!" he yelled grabbing her arm and nearly crushing it in the process.
Reflex took over Madam Giry's body and she stabbed his forearm with the pen. The phantom gave a yell of pain and Madam Giry pulled free from his grasp and fell to the ground. The phantom was outraged and his eyes burned with anger.
"You're going to pay for this!" He yelled pulling the pen from his skin and throwing it at her. Madam Giry scurried up just as it hit the ground and began running through the narrow rows of candles.
"Get out! Get out!" he bellowed throwing the noose and other objects at her as he stumbled after.
Madam Giry ran as fast as her two legs could carry her. She knocked down many candles and tore many sheets of paper that she hadn't wanted to touch when she came. Why was she trying to save him again? He was horrible! A horrible monster that would surely kill her if it got the chance! And what exactly was she planning to do with his leg? She wasn't stupid enough to try going back there! Not now, not ever!
"Go! Just go!" The phantom continued yelling throwing one last candle in her direction. Anger kept him shaking and his face red. The strange thing though was that tears leaked their way from his eyes and a few trailed down his face. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground.
The phantom curled up slightly and his breath no longer shook with anger, but with fear, loneliness, and with hatred for himself. The child inside screamed and threw a fit - tears staining his cheeks even more so. "I don't want to be alone anymore! I don't want to be alone anymore! I want to be loved! I want to be wanted!" he screamed slamming his fists on the ground again and again. In most ways, the phantom wanted to do the same.
His eyelids grew heavy and it was soothing to let them fall into place and relinquish all the pain of the moment. Another single tear splashed to the ground and he was out.
Before long, Madam Giry stopped climbing the steps and looked back at the dimmed glow of the room at the base of the stairs. He had stopped yelling, it had all calmed down. Maybe she should go back...no, that would be unwise. He tried to kill you, remember? Her sense reminded her. Yet it wasn't sense that drew her to the bottom of the stairs and into the room again.
She walked the alleys more carefully and stopped every once in a while to listen for footsteps. She made it back to the clearing where his bed was. The phantom was in a ball on the floor - injured leg awkwardly out to the side - with his hands brought in close to his body. Madam Giry now saw why she wanted to help him again. He wasn't a monster, just a frightened child trying to defend himself from the cruel world. She knelt at his side and carefully unbuttoned his pants to take a look at the leg careful not to expose anything he wouldn't like her to see. Madam Giry looked at his expressionless face for a small while and noticed the streaks of tears down his cheeks and couldn't help but have a few run down hers.
She quickly wiped them away and began work on setting his leg.
to be continued...
A/N: Yes, it took an eternity to write/post up but the important thing is that it's up now, right?