Disclaimer: I don't own any aspect of the Phantom of the Opera, or any of its characters. All I own is the characters I've created, and the extra story I've invented to fill in the holes.
Of course, from my vantage point, Paris was not any different from the scores of other cities and towns we'd visited. I was shuttled back and forth between the wagon and the cage, and saw nothing else. The crowds were larger, and for the most part better dressed than most we saw. Aside from that, I could have been anywhere.
Our opening night was a slow one. The first shows saw few visitors, and those that came did not seem as impressed as Gaspard had hoped. Perhaps the Parisians were a bit more sophisticated in their tastes; we made little money. The last show of the evening promised to be no better. It was a larger crowd, but it was comprised of a handful of young girls in ballet garb, a few bored looking couples and an elderly gentleman who looked for all the world like a goat. I ignored them. Instead, I sat there focusing my attention on the little toy monkey, waiting, and gathering my resolve around me. From outside of the cage, Gaspard commanded that I remove my hood. He knew that I would not, and he knew that he'd have to enter the cage and do it himself. He'd found, however that crowds were entertained by this, and especially seemed to enjoy the beatings he gave me afterwards. For him, it was now just part of the routine.
This night, however, Gaspard was in a foul mood. The money had not been good, and this crowd did not promise to make the situation any better for him. He entered the cage, kicked Rollo from my hand and crushed it under his foot. The sack was yanked from my head, and the beating that followed was savage, even by Gaspard's standards. The crowd was screamed with laughter, save for one of the ballet students. She peered through the bars at me, with tears in her eyes, and something else that I was hard pressed to recognize. I know now it was compassion. Gaspard finally tossed me to the ground and left the cage. It was then that something welled up from deep inside me, something black and violent and murderous. Somewhere in my mind, doors that I'd carefully locked burst open. It was time. The time was now. I could do it, and what's more, I was going to enjoy it.
The crowd drifted away, most leaving little in the way of money. Among the last to leave was old Goat-Face, and the girl. The girl glanced sadly over her shoulder at me before she disappeared through the door, but I would not meet her eyes. The old man, still chuckling, tossed a gold coin at Gaspard's feet. He too left, and we were alone. I silently turned my head toward Gaspard, watching his every move, waiting. Gaspard had picked up the coins, and was counting them. When he saw the glint of gold, I thought his eyes would fall out of his head. He grinned, and leaned his back against the cage, turning the coin over and over again in his hand.
Now was the time. Gaspard was completely off his guard, and in perfect position. I shot forward, and slid a rope around his neck. Before he even knew what had happened, I'd wedged my feet against the bars and pulled against the rope with all of my strength and weight. Gaspard was a big man, and he struggled violently. But I had spent nights thinking about how best to do this, and I knew he didn't have a chance. In but a few moments, Gaspard was dead. I reached into my pocket and retrieved my little wire, and in a moment the lock was open. I was free. It was then that miserable little monkey Coco decided to pay his nightly visit to me.
The horrid little thing observed the tableau before him, and began shrieking and screeching frantically. Of course, this brought people, who correctly assessing the scene, ran calling for a Gendarme. I had lost the time that I'd needed to put distance between myself and the carnival. I scooped up Rollo, and noticed that the girl had returned. She'd seen the whole thing, I was sure, but rather than running away, or calling for help, she took my hand and bid me follow her. I really had no choice. I could hear shouts and footsteps coming closer to the tent, and knew that I could stay there no longer. She knew, or at least I hoped she did, the streets of Paris better than I . So, once more, although I'd promised myself I never would, I placed my trust in another human being. And this time, my trust was well founded.
The girl and I left the tent just ahead of the Gendarmes, and fled into the night. We had eluded them for the moment, but we both knew that soon they would find us. The girl calmly placed her hand on my arm. She looked frightened, but her voice sounded strong and sure. "Come, hurry" , she said to me, "I will take you to my home. You will be safe there". Her home, I was soon to discover was the Opera Populaire. And, although I did not know it then, it would be my home, too, for the next twenty-two years of my life.
And so she brought me home, and hid me in the cellars of the opera house. It would not have been a hospitable place for most people, but for me the darkness was a refuge. There was a maze of rooms and corridors in the cellars, and I was intrigued. I vowed to explore every one of them, and I did. When Antoinette was busy at practice during the day, I delved ever deeper into the underside of the opera house. I soon discovered that where the cellars ended, a vast under ground labyrinth of caverns and tunnels began. Some of it was manmade and some natural. It ran beneath the opera house, and spread out in all directions. I discovered an underground lake which had formed from the runoff of Parisian sewers and storm drains, and in part from ground water that ran beneath the city. It was another world, down there, and I spent hours on end exploring and mapping out my discoveries.
At first Antoinette visited me frequently. She brought me food and found clothing in the opera's large wardrobe to fit me. She helped me fashion a small paper mache mask to replace the sack I'd worn for so long. As time went on, however, I became more self-reliant, and required little from her, save for the few things that I could not pilfer from the Opera House's vast inventory. I began to avoid Antoinette when I could. I suppose it was unfair for me to do so, for she had come to my aid, and offered me safe haven and succor. A strangeness had grown up between us, one that made us treat one another with a stiff and uncomfortable formality. I knew she waited for details of the scene she had witnessed in the carnival tent, and to learn more of who I was. I knew I owed her some sort of a history, but could not bring myself to discuss the details of my miserable life. It was a pathetic, humiliating story, and filled me with a black passionate rage whenever it entered my consciousness. All I wanted to do was forget the years past, and all of the horrors I'd experienced since birth. And so I remained mute. Antoinette was as admirably discreet then as she is now, and she did not press me on the subject. To her, I remained merely Erik, from Rouen. I know it hurt her to be shut out in that way, and so the distance grew between us. Despite that, she has remained a staunch and loyal ally; perhaps much better than I deserve, considering how I treated her.
In my explorations of the world under the Opera House, I'd discovered a small island. It was situated in a cavern, isolated and forgotten. I could tell that it had not seen another human for years, and perhaps centuries. Paris is an ancient place, with layers of other times and other cities buried beneath it.
Up to that point I'd been sleeping in the cellars of the Opera House., but upon discovering the island, I decided to make a permanent home there. It was perfect for one such as myself. Hidden, and forgotten, it would be my refuge; a place where I could at last be safe from the ridicule and cruelties of the human race. In the following weeks, I busied myself in preparing the island as my home. Initially it was a rather Spartan affair, furnished only with enough items to satisfy my basic needs. The Opera House supplied everything I required, and soon I was ready to descend into the gloom and isolation in which I still exist. I said not a word to Antoinette about my intention. I merely disappeared.
Alone in solitude of my new home, I doused my torch and lit a candle there for the very first time. It was done. I, the outcast, had resigned from the human race.
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