Last update of the day...
Hey..LeOpera...Where's my cookie, kiss, and swoosh?
Erik's Angel...thanks for always being there with your supportive words. You're too kind.
I thought we needed to speed things up here. This chapter is going to differ a lot from the movie/play/books...but we'll get back on track again.
Enjoy!
Nico
As a child he had roamed these streets. It was how he had originally discovered the Opera Populaire. He could still remember the first time he had crept into the gilded theater, remaining motionless in the catwalk as he took in his very first orchestral rehearsal.
And although he was already six, he remembered feeling, for the first time, what love must be like.
Paris was a lonely city at night. All of the blues and pinks of daytime were replaced with the blacks and grays of the moon, which shone down upon Erik as he meandered around the empty streets, humming something he had not yet composed.
It had been quite some time since he had left the safety of the Opera Populaire. When he had first decided to call the dark belly of the theater he loved home he had frequently stalked the streets at night, enjoying the fresh air as it filled his lungs.
But as time passed and he remained alone, he saw less and less need to see the world, preferring instead to remain hidden within the comforting folds of his compositions.
Of course, he was forced to surface from time to time…he was in endless need of manuscript papers…ink…and piano strings, not to mention other necessities Erik seemed to be able to live without like food and water.
Most of the time, Erik was able to sneak into the manager's offices, tweaking the order forms and business legers to include an extra hundred pieces of composition paper or the ink he needed…but sometimes, he was forced to rely on the only other person alive besides Christine who knew of his ghostly existence.
Madame Giry had been a mere child of 17 when she discovered Erik cowering in the shadows of the Opera Populaire's kitchen. He was 7 then, dirty and cold from having been running for God knows how long.
Almost immediately she had reacted to him with kindness, although they never really spoke. It was she who first led him into the depths of the Opera, wordlessly suggesting a church-like sanctuary for him, the pitiful creature he was.
They communicated through letters…short lists from Erik, detailing what he needed, the appropriate amount of money tucked neatly inside of a creamy white envelope. She would, in turn, write back, detailing where each item was procured for, how much she spent, and when she would be able to run another errand for the mysterious masked boy who rapidly became a man.
Erik would be eternally grateful to the secretive woman.
He sighed, resigned to return to the Opera when the faint sound of crying suddenly distracted him from his thoughts.
Erik followed the sound with his entire body, honing in on a slight figure sitting across the street on a bench with its back to him, its shoulders shaking with silent, heaving sobs.
His heart slammed against his chest as his entire presence became very much aware of exactly who the figure was.
Christine…He knew he should turn away…he knew that she was at her most vulnerable when she wept…
and also at her most beautiful.
He knew because he had followed her many times into the great catacombs of the largest cemetery in Paris where her father was kept in eternal sleep. He had watched as she climbed the stairs to the mausoleum, clutching the lilies she always brought to rest against the door of his tomb.
He had watched as she would inevitably break down, sometimes bashing her fists against the tightly sealed crypt's doors.
He would watch and ache to hold her in his arms.
And this time was no different.
Suddenly, a horrible thought crossed his mind…
And before the rational, calculating Erik could intervene, the illogical, lust driven Erik had already begun crossing the cobble-stoned street silently.
Christine suddenly sensed a presence.
She jumped to her feet, spinning around.
She was face to masked face…
with him.
Christine opened her mouth to scream, but Erik had anticipated that. Faster than she could intake breath, he was behind her, his gloved hand covering her mouth.
She stiffened, feeling the hard wall of muscle behind her. She let her eyes slide closed as she felt his breath on her ear.
"If you promise not to scream, I'll move my hand," he whispered.
Even his whisper was melodic.
Christine turned slowly to face him, desperate to remove her body's contact with his. He kept his hand covering her mouth as she had not yet agreed to his terms.
"Will you scream?" He asked her, his voice low and resonating.
She shook her head.
He removed his hand.
"What are you doing out here," he asked suddenly.
Christine blinked, caught off guard by the question.
"I…I don't know," she answered. "I just wanted some air, I suppose."
"Air," Erik snorted. "It is not customary for a woman to go traipsing about Paris in the middle of the night alone," he pointed out. "That is the behavior of a prostitute."
Christine's cheeks flushed at the insinuation.
Erik continued, seeing her reaction. "Am I to assume, Mademoiselle, that such deviancy is the real reason you are here now?"
Quick as a spark, Christine's hand came crashing down across Erik's cheek.
Stunned, he took a step back.
"How dare you!" She rasped. "How dare you insinuate such a thing of me? As if your life is the model of civility!"
"Forgive me, Mademoiselle," Erik replied with contempt and sarcasm, "that I have not been granted such a privileged, normal life as yourself!"
He didn't know why he was reacting to her with such harshness. He only knew that his emotions were abuzz…and the sudden thought that she was out here weeping over a possible lover had clouded all his senses as well as his judgment.
"Privileged?" Christine repeated. "Normal? It is obvious, Sir, that you know nothing about me or my life!"
"You're wrong," Erik growled.
He couldn't believe that anyone knew her better than he.
"Oh am I?" Christine countered. "Then if you know me so well, why don't you tell me why I am out here, crying in the dark…alone!"
Erik remained silent, his eyes burning into hers.
For a long moment neither moved.
Then, inhaling heavily, she spoke.
"I was crying out of fear that my angel of music had left me forever."