Ack. I am really sorry for not updating sooner. I was feeling really bleh the last couple days. / But, I'm getting Journey of the Mask by Nancy Hill Pettengill.:D Barnes and Noble rocks. ANDANDAND, I'm getting the The Phantom of the Opera Companion! EEEEEEEEE! Be excited for me! XD; But I have to wait FOUR BUSINESS DAYS. Argh. Life is cruel. And, if you haven't read The Phantom of Manhattan by Frederick Forsyth, I suggest you do. I think it's a great book. Not exactly what I pictured for the sequel to PotO entirely, but it's a sequel to the musical, so I guess I'll live.
Now, below is an incredibly important set of instructions that you MUST follow once you finish this chapter. And, no, it's not optional. n-n;
1: Read this chapter.
2: Scroll down if you aren't at the bottom of the page already.
3: Find the little button that says 'Go' without changing what's in the option box.
4: Now, type in the box either:
A) A REALLY, REALLY flattering compliment.
B) A logical suggestion.
C) Both.
5: Now, check any of the boxes that are below that. (Optional)
6: Click the button that says 'Submit Review'.
There! Now you've successfully given me a review! n-n
Shadow of the Phantom: Thanks! And, I'm not really a cookie person. But, if you have Oreos…;D
Broken-Mask: Yes, you do. Since you STOLE the other plushie, you little thief. And, yes, you CANCANCANCAN write better than me. XD
Ariadne Bassarid: Actually, I've seen what I've done in books sometimes. Thanks for the suggestion, but I think it's clear enough for everyone to understand. :) And, like I said before, I'm completely open to suggestions. n-n
Hearts Aflame: Thanks so much. :D
Now, onto ze Chapter 4!
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"MUM!" I screamed, watching my mother fall into a bottomless pit, "Mum! Come back! No!"
I raced over to the pit and sobbed into it, not being able to see my mother's mangled body at the bottom.
"Christine..." I heard someone call, but I didn't bother to look up from my pitiful state. They called out again.
Weeping quietly, I peered up from the dark, empty hole to see a man dressed completely in black with slick jet-black hair standing across from it, wearing a pure white porcelain mask over the right side of his face. His stunning turquoise eyes were sharp, but within them they held love and comfort.
He stepped forward slowly, and I gasped when he started walking right over the pit. Soon he was right in front of me, holding outstretched arms, which I ran straight into, my head leaning into his warm bare chest.
He started stroking my hair gently. I still didn't lessen my weeping, so he started singing softly:
Wandering child, so lost,
So helpless!
Yearning for my guidance…
I am here for you now,
If by chance
I am your strange Angel...
I moaned at the aching I felt all over, especially in my head. I tried to sit up, but something forced me back down. My eyes fluttered open and I was gazed up at darkness.
"Wha-?" I muttered, trying to blink away the dark. It wouldn't go away. I panicked.
"I'm blind!" I shrieked, terrified, struggling under a weight that held me down. It lifted suddenly and I felt flat.
I could hear chuckling coming from another part of wherever I was. What was so funny about being blind?
"You are not blind, my dear. The room is just darkened. There is no need to scream," came a dangerously mysterious man's voice from the far corner of the room. It was beautiful all the same, and I desperately wanted to hear it again.
I blinked and felt my face getting hot.
"Right…I knew that. Of course." I said, scoffing.
"Of course you did." The voice said solemnly. I bit my lower lip, hoping I hadn't angered it in any way.
Pain stung at the back of my head, and I whimpered. Quick footsteps approached, and I held my breath as I felt something hovering over my body. Something lifted my head up and placed it back down. I shivered as I felt something cold and wet touch my neck.
That was when I realized the room was already freezing. It had to be at least fifty degrees, and I hugged myself tightly, rubbing my upper arms.
"Wh-where am I?" I asked, stuttering mostly from fear than frostbite.
"Still in the theater that you wrongly trespassed in," came the reply coldly.
"I didn't trespass! I had a key!" I protested angrily.
"Exactly where did you get the key from?"
"A woman that works here."
"Which woman?"
"Amelia Giry, the dance instructor."
"I should I have guessed. However, you still had no permission to be in my theater during off-hours."
"Your theater?" I asked, dumbfounded.
"Yes, my theater. I own it."
"You…Own it?"
"Isn't that what I just stated?" Even though it was dark, I could sense whoever was speaking sneer. I hope they did't see me blush.
"Show yourself."
"Excuse me?"
"I want to see you." I said firmly. I heard a sigh coming from the far end of the room, and a click. A bright light flickered on, and I had to shield my eyes. Trying to clear my sight, I turned my head to where the voice was coming from to see the man that was in my dream. I gasped and choked with shock while trying to sit up. He rushed over to me and laid me back down.
"Y-you…" I stuttered, looking up into his cold eyes, nothing like I had seen in my dream.
"There. You see me. Are you satisfied?" He asked sharply. I had finally managed to sit up, and I turned my head down.
"Not entirely. What is your name?"
"You can refer to me as Mr. Devereux." He said, turning around and heading for the door.
"Well, Mr. Devereux, could you at least tell me what time it is?"
He peered over his shoulder at me from the doorway.
"It is ten o'clock. You've been asleep for more than six hours."
My mouth fell open.
"Six hours! My dad is going to kill me when I get home! I need to go!" I cried frantically, stumbling out of the bed I was in. A smirk of amusement came over the man's face, and I felt like I had to prove I could handle myself. After only walking a few steps, I felt myself falling backwards. Mr. Devereux came rushing over from the doorway and caught me in his arms.
"You're not going anywhere in the condition you're in." He stated firmly, carrying me back to the bed in his arms. I protested and struggled to break free, but I finally gave in and fell limp, letting him place me gently on the bed.
"I've already called your father. He said it's best for you to stay here for the night." Mr. Devereux told me while kneeling down and propping my head up on multiple pillows.
"Er, thanks, I guess." I said, confused. "But, how did you-?"
"There is something called a driver's license and a telephone book that can be quite useful in times like this," he said with what I swore was a tiny bit of amusement in his voice. I glared into his eyes. God, he's gorgeous! I thought, feeling faint again.
"Well, that's not what I was going to ask. How did you even know I was here?" I said slowly.
His face flushed with embarrassment as he turned away and I gasped softly.
"You were the one who was clapping, weren't you?" I whispered, lowering my head and gaze from him.
His hand cupped my chin and brought my face to his. He looked deep into my eyes with the breathtaking ones he had.
"Why shouldn't I have clapped for such talent?" He whispered into my ear, making my skin tingle with excitement.
My eyes fluttered closed as I felt his breath seeping into my ear, over my cheek, and onto my lips. I shivered and opened my eyes as he stood up, walking towards the door once more.
"Your dinner is already prepared for you. It's in the kitchen, just down the hall and the last door on your left. A nightgown is in the wardrobe in case you would like to change before going back to sleep." Mr. Devereux stepped out of the door and disappeared from my sight.
- - -
Three hours later, I crept from the room wearing the nightgown Mr. Devereux lent me. It was very comfortable, made with lavender silk, and fit me perfectly. Of course, it didn't really help with the freezing temperature of the room, but I didn't mind much.
Walking slowly along the dimly lit hallway, I took in the scenery. Candles were the only source of lighting, and there were few of them. They were on tall and short golden candelabras, dripping wax over their holders. I winced in pain as one of my bare feet stepped on a freshly fallen drip of hot wax, but I resisted the urge to make a sound.
Paintings also hung on the rich brown walls. Some were of people, others of animals; some were even of performances. I examined one of these closer and noticed that it was an opera.
A Spanish woman was standing center stage, holding what looked to be a decapitated head that was drizzling blood. She was dressed in a strange outfit: a golden bodice with a blood red skirt that had a golden ivy design at the hem. Her upper arms were dabbed with gold glitter, and a kind of golden crown sat on her head, tall red and gold feathers sprouting from the top. She also had what I guessed was golden netting running down part of her right arm, and it connected to a cape that was a deep royal blue and ended at her wrist.
I smirked to myself. Whoever painted this clearly had eccentric tastes.
Moving on, I saw more peculiar paintings. Some of them were beautiful, some of them hideous, and some of them just plain odd. Finally, after seeing so many of them that my head started to spin, I reached the last door on the left. Carefully and as quietly as I could, I pushed it open and stepped inside a gourmet kitchen. It seemed a little out dated, but I didn't care. I glanced around until I found my meal on the center counter.
It consisted of cold chicken (due to my wait), a fresh salad, a couple of sesame seed breadsticks, and a wine glass filled with water. I picked up the plate carefully and sat down over at the small table. It held only one lit candle smack dab in the center. Cautiously, I began to nibble at the chicken. I knew it wasn't poisoned, but you can never be too sure. Suddenly I realized how hungry I was and began to gnaw away at it fiercely. I thought I heard a creaking noise coming from the direction of the door, but I ignored it and continued to eat greedily. Ten minutes later, I heard the same noise, but I looked up to see nothing.
After fifteen minutes, I had finished every last thing on the plate. I wasn't full, but it would have to do. Clearing away my place at the table, I walked over to the sink and began to wash the dishes. There wasn't a dishwasher, sadly, so I was on my own. When I finished, I head back over to the door and was about to leave when I saw something flutter to the ground from the center counter where the plate was before.
That wasn't there earlier, I thought uneasily.
I tip toed over and picked it up with care. It was a piece of parchment. I nearly laughed aloud. Parchment? I wondered if whoever put it there had ever heard of a thing called notebook paper. Still trying to hold back a giggle, I turned it over to see beautiful blood red handwriting. Moving closer to the candlelight, I read what it said.
Dear Miss Daaé,
I see you found your way to the kitchen. Congratulations. As I mentioned earlier, your meal is here. I hope you found it to your liking. It took me quite a while to figure out how to cook the chicken. Who knew that a microwave and an oven weren't the same thing?
If you would like, there is a slice of pumpkin pie over on the other end of the table. I brought it to you earlier while you were eating. I never knew someone who could eat as fast as yourself, or with such concentration. There is also a small container of whipped cream in the cabinet below this letter.
Sweet dreams, my dear.
-Mr. Devereux
I stared at the note with my mouth open in astonishment. It had been him making the creaking noise earlier! Sure enough, when I looked over to the other end of the table, a small plate sat there with a slice of pumpkin pie resting on top. Shaking, I bent down and opened the cabinet below the counter, took out the container of whipped cream, and sat down at the table with a fork.
While eating, I read the letter over and over again. I blushed furiously at the part where he mentioned how fast and concentrated I ate. It caused me to slow down and take slower bites with fewer portions. And I kept rereading the closing. Sweet dreams, my dear. My dear? He had called me that earlier, I remembered, but it felt creepier to see it in writing.
I thought about how he had come in and placed the pumpkin pie at the table. The creaking noises were about ten minutes apart. My heart leapt. He had been watching me for ten minutes. I suddenly felt guilty. What if he hadn't eaten? Grabbing my plate and the container, I rushed over to the refrigerator and opened it, searching through the food inside. There wasn't much, just some greenish looking chicken and what looked like grimy coleslaw. That made me feel even guiltier. He had given me the rest of his good food.
Sighing, I slumped back into the counter and placed the dishes into the sink to wash them. I jumped when I heard the grandfather clock on the other end of the room strike two o'clock, bumping into the counter and opening one of the drawers. Another piece of parchment fell out, and I picked it up eagerly.
Dear Miss Daaé,
Don't even think about washing the dishes. I will not have you do anything of the sort while you are a guest in my household.
-Mr. Devereux
I grinned and ran out of the kitchen, clutching both letters. He didn't have to tell me twice.
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I had fun writing this chapter. Poor Erik and his lack of modern technology knowledge. D:
Now. You read my instructions, yes? You are going to follow them, right? I thought so. Because I have over 200 hits and I know they aren't from me. ;D Just so you know what to do, I'll put them here again.
1: Read this chapter.
2: Scroll down if you aren't at the bottom of the page already.
3: Find the little button that says 'Go' without changing what's in the option box.
4: Now, type in the box either:
A) A REALLY, REALLY flattering compliment.
B) A logical suggestion.
C) Both.
5: Now, check any of the boxes that are below that. (Optional)
6: Click the button that says 'Submit Review'.
Notice how they're in BOLD PRINT. n-n;;
REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!