Chapter one: Return to Ruins
The de Changny carriage pulled to a halt before the ashy shell of the once-fabulous Opera Populaire. Christine twisted her engagement ring nervously about her finger and stared at the vast structure apprehensively. It loomed over the city streets like a forlorn god, gazing out through blank eyes. Her wedding day was growing near; the ceremony would be performed before the end of the week. Raoul had wanted to get married immediately but Christine had continued to put him off, claiming to need to rebuild her strength for such a stressful occasion. In truth, her heart was still tied to Erik. She knew she must return to the opera house once more before the marriage. She'd stolen away in the dead of night, employing the family chauffer to take her to the site of her past grandeur and great triumph. She needed to lay the love she hosted for her tutor to rest, finally.
Stepping from the stagecoach, she stood before the grand edifice like a lamb before the slaughter. Its enormity made her feel insignificant and small. Closing her eyes, she was barraged with images from the Populaire's glory days; her debut to the stage, the crowd on its feet, Raoul in the box above her head, watching her with warm pride in his eyes. Then, she thought of his eyes during the Phantom's opera—Don Juan Triumphant. She thought of his welling tears as she and Erik performed their duet in Point of No Return. He could sense it, her undeniable longing for the Angel of Music. There was no acting, no pretending as their voices had reached crescendo in perfect unison. When Erik touched her, it wasn't the stiff, professional touch shared between two artists; it was the purely sensual caress of love. As Erik had sung to her, his voice was like that of an adoring child, mesmerized and worshipping. He'd asked her to save him and she had condemned him instead. All she'd wanted was to be taken with him, if only for a night, back down into his loving darkness. She was so conflicted, torn into a million pieces. She hated him for the deaths he had caused, but could understand that he'd done it only to protect himself from further pain. She feared him but he was right when he'd said that fear could turn to love. She had seen all of his vulnerability, the small child that lurked behind the horrible disfigurement, and loved him for everything he'd never been able to be. She knew that he would always guard her…but she couldn't protect him and ultimately she'd had to flee his sinister embrace forever so that he could be strong enough to continue to protect himself. She feared that she made him susceptible to attack, unable to defend himself. She was scared senseless that if she were to stay, he would no longer be able to care for either of them.
"Mlle. Daae, I'm not sure it's safe," the coachman said, interrupting her regretful reminiscing. She turned to him and smiled faintly.
"M. de Collier, I guarantee you, I will be perfectly safe. I know this opera house by heart. I won't be hurt," she assured him. He shook his hand, clutching his hat before him in both hands.
"I don't mean that mademoiselle, I was referring to the Opera Ghost," he said, almost timidly. She stared at him, amazed that he would ever think to question Erik's integrity. But she did have to admit; from his reputation…well anyone would think that he was vicious and violent. She laughed to herself.
"I grew up in this opera house, monsieur. I never once encountered the man of which you speak." The look on M. de Collier's face was doubtful.
"What about the man on the stage that night that the place burned down; the man with the deformed face…the one who cut down the chandelier?" She grimaced, her mind working to conjure an explanation. She just wanted to get inside.
"That was a crazed stagehand, monsieur, nothing more." Although the man did not seem to believe her, he ceased his protests and went back to sit on the bench at the front of the coach.
"Monsieur, you are welcome to go back to the estate. There are coaches for hire all about the streets, and I brought fare." Again, he looked doubtful, but had found that it was pointless to argue with her, so he snapped the reigns and headed down the street with the horses. Christine watched him disappear around an unlighted building before turning once more to the Opera Populaire. She inhaled deeply before beginning the trek up the stairs to the front door. She'd sent a message ahead, requesting a key to be hidden so that she could gain easy entrance. She checked behind the shrubs and found a small box, and within it a key. Smiling in triumph, she slid the key into the lock, looking over her shoulder conspiratorially. The enormous, decorative door swung open with a rusty creak and she stepped inside, closing it quickly behind her. The moon cast long squares of light across the once-lavish interior. She stood for a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust and when they had, she gasped aloud at the surprisingly small amount of damage done to the foyer. Stepping farther into the room, she noticed that most of the ornamentation had been repaired, rather than having not suffered a blow from the fire. As a matter of fact, most everything had been repaired. She frowned. She would have known if there were plans to renovate the opera house. Raoul would have been told and he would have informed her. He knew how important the Populaire was to her. She shook her head, and let out a small sigh. Looking back to the door, she saw a candelabra and a matchbook seemingly awaiting her arrival. She tried to picture the opera house stagehands and wondered which had left her such a simply considerate tool. She certainly could not have rummaged through the theatre without a candle. Smiling, she struck the match upon the book and lit the three candles within the candlestick. Lifting the light up beside her face, she walked up the grand staircase. She could almost hear the great arias and symphony again. They seemed to echo off of the sculptures and walls, filling her mind with memories. Then the melody began to form words as she continued to climb the steps. She stopped at the doorway that led to the theatre room. She could hear the tune perfectly now, could make out the words and the voice. She knew that voice. She was frozen in place, her eyes open wide and staring down onto the stage. Erik stood in the center, gazing out at the ruins, his voice swelling sweetly with regret.
"Say you'll share with me one love one lifetime. Lead me save me from my solitude. Say you want me with you here beside you. Anywhere you go, let me go too." Christine felt her knees buckle with pain as she watched him, and was flooded with scenes from that fateful night. Her heart shattered all over again at the anguish in his tone and the lost look in his eyes. He began to hum wordlessly, and she braced a hand on the doorjamb, trying to catch her breath. The flames she held flickered and she turned away from the theater, but was unable to flee. His voice still captivated her as though he had her chained and leashed. She could not simply walk away. She stared down at the dim vestibule and willed herself to move. Her mind was in such a panicked frenzy, she didn't even hear as the voice grew closer. She couldn't have noticed; her senses were completely flooded with the sound. It was at her ear, and in the catacombs and on the roof; and then, it was right behind her. It stopped abruptly and her sanity began to claw at her. She could not will herself to turn around. If she had ever imagined she would see Erik when she came here, she never would have come. She was sure that he'd escaped, never to return. The opera house had been searched entirely, and he had not been found, though his lair had. She closed her eyes tightly.
"So you still keep your hand at the level of your eyes, I see," Erik said with biting sarcasm, referring to the way she held the candelabra. She ached from the bitterness in his voice, though she did not deny that she deserved that and so much more. Slowly, she turned to face him.