Chapter III
A/N: I'm super freakin sorry everyone. Summer really really sucked for me. I got sorta put on house arrest. No computer. ( I'm always getting in trouble. But thankfully, school has computers, so "Bloodlust" is back! So…lemme shut up and just get on with it before you guys murder me.
Erik observed the evening's opera from box five that evening. He kept the lights off in the box, shrouding himself in darkness. Since he declared himself the spectral "owner" of the Opera Populaire, the whole place was like a raving hellhole, which greatly amused Erik. The thing that seemed to bother everyone the most was the twenty thousand francs; but one way or another he would get it. He would definitely make sure of that.
"Well, Erik, you've certainly adapted yourself quickly to your new surroundings." Erik turned to see Nadir's astonishing hazel eyes shining clearly though the darkness. "From the moment I set foot in the building, all I hear are rumors about a ghost sitting in Box 5 and demanding an outrageous salary from the managers." The Persian smirked, his pointed fangs protruding slightly, "Funny how quickly news spreads in Paris."
"Daroga, how the hell did you get in here?" Erik asked, turning back to the performance, extremely annoyed, "This is supposed to be a private box."
"I believe I know this Opera better than you, Erik." Nadir said taking a velvet-cushioned seat beside him.
"Not for long," Erik responded with a faint smile, "I wasn't called the Trap-Door Lover for nothing. Don't you remember, Daroga?"
Nadir laughed, "Yes, yes I do. You're quite the magician, my friend but I believe you have the advantage. I don't believe many people are skilled vampires. Especially as long as you have been."
Erik gave Nadir a look, as if he didn't want or needed to be reminded what he was. His eyes looked towards the door, "What is Darius standing at the door for? Please, don't tell me you are expecting someone, Nadir?" he said with a groan
"Yes, in fact, I am. I hope you don't' mind, Erik."
He gave an exasperated sigh, "I suppose so. You've already invaded my private box."
As soon as the worlds left his mouth, a faint knock sounded at the door. Nadir grinned and glanced at his pocket watch, "Excellent, she's right on time. Let her in, Darius."
Erik's eyes widened, "She?"
The Persian's servant opened the door and a delicate, very beautiful woman entered the box. She had large, exotic eyes, ruddy-brown skin, voluptuous lips, and a curtain of brown hair that displayed her all-too-obvious Middle Eastern descent. She had a distant, oblivious look in her eyes. Her scarlet, silk gown bared no modesty especially around the bosom area.
"Nadir…?" Erik said slowly, begging for an explanation.
"Erik, allow me to introduce Mademoiselle Alanna Harajid." He said in a disgustingly over cheerful voice, "A murderess and a thief." He added grimly, "She's killed at least six wealthy oil merchants across the Middle East, went after their families, and stole their entire fortunes. I caught her last night on the run."
"And you hypnotized her into coming here?"
"Of course not. Darius did."
Erik stared at the manservant and back at the woman, "But…he's no vampire?"
"Oh no," Nadir said, "He just found a very good book."
Erik could probably guess which book, "What is she doing here, Nadir?"
The woman seemed oblivious to what they were saying, but Nadir still leaned over and whispered to Erik, "I thought that we should perhaps celebrate your arrival to Paris."
Erik grabbed Nadir forcibly by the collar of his shirt and hissed, "Daroga, have you gone completely mad? If she screams in here, we're done for!"
"But she's not going to scream, Erik." Nadir said, shifting his eyes towards Darius and blinking furiously.
"Oh!" Erik said, fully understanding exactly what the Persian wanted him to do. Nadir nodded curtly towards Darius, who snapped his fingers and immediately left the box. The girl blinked a few times and buried her aching head in her hands. Her mouth dropped open as she stared at the dress she was wearing.
"Where the hell am I?" she blurted out in Pashtu. She looked up at Erik, who had gotten up from his seat, "Who-?" Before she could finish, Erik placed his cupped hand over her mouth.
"Be silent." He commanded, "Don't say a word. Don't make any noise and I assure you…it'll be a lot less painful."
Alanna had not the faintest clue what he was talking about. She hoped it wasn't what she thought it was. Unwillingly, she didn't say a word, the only sound hear was her own throbbing heartbeat. She noticed the unusual eyes of the strange masked man. They were gold as though Midas had touched them himself. Even more unusual, they seemed to be contracting and swelling in time with her heartbeat as though he were plunging in and out of some abysmally dark place. Alanna felt her hands fall limply at her sides and the same blissfully unknowing feeling she had felt only moments before had returned. All she could think about were those eyes. Oh, those beautiful golden orbs.
Erik lowered his face to her neck. He lifted his mask away from his face but didn't remove it entirely. He licked his lips like a wild animal and opened his mouth to fasten it onto her throat, but he caught sight of Nadir waiting eagerly on the edge of his seat. Erik clamped his jaws shut and replaced his mask. He wouldn't bite the little wench just yet. He would have some well-deserved fun first.
"Erik!" Nadir hissed, "What are you doing?"
He ignored the Persian circled Alanna closely, observing her, "Tell me, Miss Harajid," he said in her native tongue, "why has the chief of police brought you here tonight?"
Instantly and miraculously, she came out the spell when the words were uttered. She turned, aghast with horror, to Nadir, who was indeed, wearing his uniform. All at once, she remembered everything. Breathing heavily with panic, Alanna made to run for the door, but Erik grabbed both her forearms and turned her back towards him.
Usually, Alanna was very headstrong in these situations. She'd have a man dead on the ground in a split second. But the way he was staring at her doused her in fear. It was so…unnatural. Like he could see though her. Past her dress…her corset...her chemise. Everything revealed under that empowering, unwavering gaze. Alanna shuddered and felt her skin crawl.
She remembered something else. Her corset! She wrenched her arm from Erik's grasp and plunged her hand into her bodice. She brought out a small switchblade knife and snapped it open in front of him. Erik looked slightly amused. He hadn't expected this. Nadir had gotten up, but Erik held up his hand indicating that he would handle it.
"Miss, if I were you, I would put that knife away right now." He said as he was walking slowly towards her. Alanna was backing away from him and in an act of desperation, she closed her eyes and slashed blindly at the air. She felt the knife cut through his flesh. She opened her eyes and saw that Erik's neck was bleeding heavily and spilling out onto the floor…but it didn't seem to affect him in the slightest. He laughed, filled with a cold, contemptuous mirth and as if by some sick miracle, the terrible gash in Erik's throat instantly healed. Alanna stared in mute horror. He backed her to the door of the box and pinned her against it with his body.
Her own body throbbed with…with…was it terror? Dear Allah, she hoped it was. She tried to stab him in the stomach, but he caught her wrist and twisted it, making Alanna drop the knife to the ground. Her body writhed against his. Erik turned his head to look at Nadir and was pleased to see he looked very angry and annoyed. He smirked as he purred in the woman's ear, "I warned you to put that knife away, didn't I?"
She was trapped. Surely this is a penance for past actions. She knew she wouldn't get of this the same ever again, so she decided to prepare herself for the worst, "What are you going to do with me?"
Erik pressed his forehead against hers; the white leather of his mask meeting her clammy forehead, "Let's find out shall we?"
Alanna's eyes widened and she gasped as he caught her lips in a kiss, the only way that a true born Frenchman could. She gave a muffled squeal of protest and tried her hardest to break free, but Erik was holding her tightly by her wrists and refused to let go. Inside her mind, she was screaming…but, though she hated to admit it, his kiss was just as empowering as his gaze. Betrayed by her body, Alanna had stopped resisting and moreover begun to enjoy it. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around Erik's neck bringing him deeper into her mouth.
Nadir gaped at Erik and Alanna as their breathing became more rapid and tense. He gave a start of surprise as she began to unbutton Erik's blood soaked shirt. He decided this had gone on long enough and was time to put an end to it.
"Erik…" But he wasn't listening. He seemed to be far too preoccupied pulling up the girl's skirts up past her thigh. "Erik!" the Persian said sharply. Erik gave Nadir a deadly glare over Alanna's shoulder, "Tonight, would be wonderful, if you please?" Erik gave another scathing look, rolled his eyes, and bit hard into Alanna's tongue.
Alanna instantly drew back and her tongue slit open. She tried her mightiest to scream, but all she could do was choke on the blood that was gathering profusely in her mouth and pouring out like a crimson waterfall. She ran again to the door of the box and rattled the locked doorknob. This time, Nadir got up from his seat, grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her swiftly towards him.
"My apologies, Miss." He said giving Erik a hard look, "You needn't had gone through all this if Erik had gotten it done earlier. So I suppose I'm going to have to handle it myself." Nadir opened his mouth and his fangs elongated as he sank them deep into Alanna's neck. Her muscles became taut with pain as she clawed at Nadir's back and arms. But still he consumed her life in rapid gulps.
Erik stared at Nadir, astonished by his sudden transformation, "Christ, Daroga. I never knew you could be so vicious."
Nadir wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, "Well, you did leave me waiting an excruciating amount of time with your little rendezvous. You have a lot of god awful fun, don't you?" Erik chuckled as Nadir propped the bloodied woman in his arms, "Won't you join me, Erik?"
"Not now, Daroga." He said as he re-buttoned his shirt, most of it now red, and turned back to the performance. The ballet was good, no noticeable mistakes. The orchestra could be better and the chorus was forgivable. However…
The lead sopranos were a pair of talent less, conceited, and overdressed fools. Erik watched them with complete disgust. "Daroga, are you watching this? What were the managers thinking casting them as the lead? The man is bad, but that woman! A dying cat can reach a not better than her? Who are they?"
He flipped angrily though the program Madame Giry had left for him earlier. Nadir answered for him, "They happen to be the world renowned couple Ubaldo Piangi and Carlotta Giudicelli." Erik groaned with recognition, "You are right," Nadir continued, "Piangi isn't not so bad, but La Carlotta is the biggest prima donna on this side of Seine. She has the manager worship the very ground she spits on."
"Something needs to be done about her." Erik murmured.
"Nothing can be done, Erik." Said the Persian. "She's the only soprano they've got that can…er…sing the lead parts."
"You forget, Daroga, this is my Opera now." Erik said. "I don't care if it has to be that dying cat, she will be replaced."
"Here Erik, take a drink before the blood dries." Nadir said passing the dead girl to hi. Erik took her cold, limp wrist and slipped off his mask. He tore at the flesh and drank deeply.
Towards the end of the opera, he asked Nadir, "Before I forget, Daroga, do you have a pen and paper?" The Persian searched through his pockets and pulled out a pen and pad and handed it without question to Erik.
He scribbled on the paper and then turned to Nadir, "Daroga, this pen does not work."
"Perhaps it needs to be refilled."
Erik looked down at the dead woman in front him. Her blood was still flowing freely where he and Nadir had bitten her, "Ah well," he said, "It'll give the letter a more macabre affect anyway."
The managers and Madame Giry all headed towards box five immediately after the performance. "Thank God the vicomte was not around to hear all of this nonsence." Andre said. "I didn't see anyone sitting in the box the entire time. Did any of you?" Firmin shook his head mutely. Madame Giry said nothing. Andre rammed the key into the door of box five, turned the knob, and pushed the door open.
Both men drew back coughing and hacking into their sleeves. Madeline kept her composure, but she still felt her heartbeat quicken substantially. The box reeked of blood, enough to make anyone gag.
"What in God's name happened in here?" Firmin demanded to know. All three peered into the box and saw on the red velvet armchair was a carefully folded piece of paper addressed in the same scarlet ink. Madame Giry stepped inside and winced as she felt the carpet beneath her feet. Parts of it were completely soaked. She could imagine with what. She picked up the paper with shaking hands and smeared some of the ink. Madeline felt the texture and gulped, 'It's blood." She told the managers as they finally entered the box.
The door, at that instant, slammed behind them. Andre and Firmin let out a cry. The mahogany door was splattered with red. My God, Madame Giry thought.
"Open it." Andre urged her. "Open it Madeline." She unfolded the paper, written in more blood, her eyes darting back and forth quickly as she read it.
"What does it say?"
Madame Giry handed the letter to the managers:
Gentlemen:
Not bad for my first performance. Some things need to be worked on, but I will be lenient for today. There is something else that I need to discuss with you.
You lead sopranos, Monsieur Piangi and Miss Giudicelli. Piangi, is forgiveable, but obviously, you two men are tone deaf and I truly sympathize for you because you have come up with poor excuse for a singer. I ask that you replace her before the new season begins. If you fail to do so, I will myself. I suggest you take responsibility, gentlemen, not only for Miss Giudicelli's sake, but for yourselves as well.
Please compliment Madame Giry on her excellent work with the dancers. My salary is to be due at the end of the month.
O.G.
P.S.- I suppose you are wondering about the smell in the box, I apologize, but I suggest you get used to it because it is going to be around often.
The two men glanced at each other. Firmin had an "I-told-you-so" look.
"We're not dealing with something normal here, Andre."
"Don't you think I know that!" he snapped back. He crumpled the letter in his hand and stormed out of the box, ""We're going to get to the bottom of this! Whoever thinks they're going to get away with this has got another thing coming to them!" Firmin stamped out with him and Madame Giry, crossing herself silently, followed closing the door slowly behind her.
Erik and Nadir were carrying the dead body between them, taking a winding staircase towards the abandoned Communist dungeons. They were discussing the abysmal role of La Carlotta, Erik criticizing her mercilessly when he heard a faints sound. (A/N: I don't own the following)
Pie Jesu…Pie Jesu…Pie Jesu…Pie Jesu.
"Nadir," he whispered excitedly, "do you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"Quiet and listen!" They fell silent as they heard the distant sound start again.
Pie Jesu…Pie Jesu…Pie Jesu…Pie Jesu.
The Persian nodded, "Yes, I hear it alright. Someone singing…I believe it's coming from the chapel"
"Lead the way, Daroga." Erik said. Leaving the body abandoned they both made their way closer towards the voice, growing louder, clearer, and more beautiful.
Qui tollis peccata mundi. Dona eis requiem. Dona eis requiem.
Erik and Nadir were staring through a small iron grate in the wall inside the dimly lit chapel. They could see a young girl in her late teens, kneeling in front of a row of candles.
"Why that's Christine Daae." Said the Persian.
Erik turned his head so quickly he cricked his neck. "Daae?" He muttered as he rubbed his neck. "As in the violinist, Gustave Daae?"
"I believe the very same."
Erik stared curiously at the child who had immediate blood ties to a great musician. He stood in wonder at the awesome beauty of her voice. But it was filled with familiar grief and discontentment. He listened to her pray.
"Papa, I miss you. I hope you are well. It is the eve of my twentieth birthday today. I remember the promise you made me every year. 'The Angel of Music will come to you one day.' Countless days have passed and tomorrow I will no longer be a silly, ridiculous girl." Tears began to fall down her cheeks. "I must come to face the truth of reality. I will no longer wait for the Angel of Music. He will not come. It is too late now…"
Erik stared bewildered at the girl's sudden revelation. A belief she fostered from childhood was now destroyed. He could only imagine her disappointment, after years of waiting only to be left with absolutely nothing. Erik wished he could do something for this truly talented girl. His eyes suddenly lit up with an idea. Perhaps there was hope for Christine after all.
Nadir sensed something, "Erik? What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking, Nadir," he said slowly, "that Miss Daae is going to get her angel after all."
The Persian laughed. "Erik, surely, you must be joking!" Silence. Nadir's laughter died. "Dear Allah, you're not joking."
"When have you not known me to be serious, Daroga?"
Nadir considered the question. "You're not an opium addict again, are you?"
"No." Erik said dryly.
"But, Erik…think about it. You're a vampire that has become the Paris Opera's resident ghost. Shouldn't you take this one supernatural being at a time?"
"Daroga, you've just made the point yourself. I am the Opera Ghost. I have made it my self-proclaimed duty to run this Opera. This girl could easily replace that wretched woman in an instant. All she needs is some training. Who better to train her?"
"I've also made another point." Nadir said. "You are a vampire, albeit one that's lost control."
Erik gave a sharp look. "What are you saying, Nadir?"
"I'm saying that you squander about killing without even considering the consequences."
"Consequences?" Erik yelled. "If I am not mistaken, you are a vampire as well."
"But a Least I am more discreet in my approach." Nadir said. "Take tonight for example. That girl was supposed to be done quick, clean, and easy. Instead, you left a pool of blood inside the box."
"At least there will be no more doubts about the Phantom." Erik said.
"I'm warning you, Erik," said the Persian, "If you plan to teach Christine, and have her live long enough to replace Carlotta, you're going to have to resist every urge in your body." They both turned to look at Christine through the iron gate, "I'd have to have to be called in her to investigate a rape and murder."
"Rape?" Erik asked, surprised, "How in God's name do you know there's going to be a rape?"
"I've seen your hospitality towards your more preferred victims."
Erik scoffed, but in his mind, he knew Nadir had a point. Angel of Music. He was going to be an Angel of Music. For whatever reason unknown to him, he slipped off his mask, and ran his pale fingers across his deformed cheek. Nadir was surprised by his action.
"Ironic, isn't it?" Erik said. "Someone as damned as me to become an angel."
Nadir couldn't find anything to say to this. Instead, he asked, "So, how do you plan to get her attention?" Erik replaced his mask and smirked at Nadir.
"Watch this."
Christine was still on her knees praying when a breeze flowed in through the chapel, extinguishing all of the candles. Her eyes flew open and she immediately became frightened to find herself alone in the dark.
"…Christine…"
Her heart pace grew quicker. She could've sworn she heard her name, but she couldn't be sure. Christine slowly rose to her feet. "Is there anybody here?"
"…Christine…"
The faint voice called out to her again. Christine put her hands in front of her and began to wander blindly, "Meg, is that you?"
"…Christine…"
"Joseph Buquet, if this is supposed to be a joke, it is not funny!" She was now running aimlessly and she cried out in pain as she scraped her outstretched hands on the hard stone wall."
"Stop running Christine!"
The voice seemed to control her. Powerful and demanding. She felt it grab her shoulders and turn her slowly. She began to tremble uncontrollably, "Who…who are you?"
"A friend."
Christine felt even more frightened, "Whose?"
"Yours," the disembodied voice answered. "And your father's."
Christine thought he entire body would burst, "What! Who are you?"
"The Angel of Music."
Christine backed to the wall slowly and sank down against it. Her legs wouldn't support her any longer. "It-it can't be…I've waited so long…"
"You never doubted me a day of your life, Christine. You were patient and hopeful. I believed you were ready." Her body felt ridden with guilt and her face burned with embarrassment. "Are you all right, Christine?" the voice asked with concern, "You look flushed."
Christine gulped, "I'm-I'm fine. Just a little…" her voice trailed off.
"I understand this is intense for you."
She was silent for a long time. She simply could not believe it. The Angel of Music? How?
"Christine?"
She was called away from her thoughts and asked, "What do you want? Why are you here?"
"To train you."
"Train-?"
"To sing. I've listened to you and you have great talent, my child." Christine murmured her thanks. "I could teach you to sing greater than anyone across all of Europe. You could light up the stages from England to Amsterdam. All I need to know is are you willing to become my pupil?"
She didn't give it a second thought. "Yes! Yes, of course!"
"Excellent. All we need is a time and place."
Christine thought for a while, "The extra-dressing room. I use it sometimes…The Louis-Phillipe Room. No one even passes by it."
"You are certain we will not be disturbed in the Louis-Phillipe Room?"
Christine nodded, "Positive."
"Very well. Could you perhaps be there at nine o' clock tomorrow evening."
"Yes." She said.
"Then I shall see you tomorrow evening. Sleep well, Christine."
"W-wait!" she called out into the darkness, "Please, angel…how is my father?"
There was silence and Christine feared he had already gone, but he hadn't, "He is well. He talks often of you, Christine."
She smiled and let out a small sob, then he was gone. Slowly, one by one, the candles flickered back on. Christine instantly got up as she heard her name being called out again for the second time this evening.
"Christine!" Meg Giry walked into the chapel and ran to her friend. "Christine! My God, where were you?" She gasped as she saw her scratched and slightly bleeding palms. "What happened to your hands? Come on, I'll get that fixed right up." Meg took Christine by her wrist and realized how cold she was. "Christine, you're freezing!" She looked up into her pale face, "Are you all right? You look like you've just seen a ghost."
Christine smiled. Even better, she thought.