Thanks so much to all of my great reviewers! You guys bless my socks off! Ahhh! It's so great to get on here and see new reviews from people...it's like...double sugar coated sugar cookies or...Gerard Butler with no shirt...ohhh...that's would be a HARD choice to make. Welll, here's the next chapter! Christine finally meets Erik!
Author's Notes: I'd just like to take a moment and dedicate this chapter to a few people who were killed Sunday, May 29. Three of my fellow students in high school were tragically killed Sunday morning. Scott Moody, Megan Karus, and Paige Harshbarger passed away after a shootout at Scott's house. Supposedly, Scott took a shot gun, killed his grandparents, stepmother, Megan, Paige, shot his sister, Stacey in the neck, and then killed himself. Stacey made her way downstairs and called her stepsister, who in turn called 911. Stacey is in critical condition at Ohio State University Hospital. Scott and Megan were supposed to graduate Sunday afternoon. I live in a small community where everyone knows everyone else, and for something so horrible as a mass murder-suicide to happen here...it's hard to deal with. The police are waiting for Stacey to wake up so they can hear her recount of the tragic incident. All we can do now is pray for Stacey's recovery and for the family of those killed...I ask that you please keep them all in your prayers as our community starts to heal.
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Chapter Three
"Once Upon A Midnight Dreary."
Whispers were circulating through out the campus, students almost terrified to vocalize out loud the truth of what happened:
Yet another girl had been found murdered. The body of Katie Kelly had been discovered late last night hidden in a dumpster, raped and butchered like all the others. And while half of the school grieved for the loss, the other half voiced their opinions on who was the gruesome murderer and why Katie had been the victim.
"I bet is was the ghost that haunts the campus."
"Don't be ridiculous. The ghost is just a story. This creep is living and breathing.:
"I heard they were all screwing some big-wig in on the administrative board and when they got tired of it, he killed them."
"It's probably some loser who was finally fed up with being turned down."
The rumors were endless, Detective Firmin realized. He must have interviewed twenty students and gotten a different perspective each time. Now, as he stood before a tearful ballet mistress, he pushed them all from his mind. "Madame Giry, I understand Mademoiselle Kelly was a student of yours," he said, studying the woman before him. She certainly was attractive enough. As she nodded, he fixated on the stray blonde hair that fell into her eyes.
"Yes...Katie was studying to be a ballerina. She was quite splendid; well on her way to the top."
Firmin nodded, taking in her slim figure. He cocked his eyebrow when he noticed that she wore no ring on her left hand. "And when she left class the other day, nothing seemed unusual? She didn't leave with anyone different?"
"No, she left with the girls she always does. Have you questioned them?"
"Yes," he said, glancing at his spiral notepad. "They all said they left her before she reached her dorm, as they always do." Without even the slightest thought a murderer would wreck their comfortable routine. Sighing, he closed the notepad and withdrew a business card from his jacket pocket. "Thank you for your assistance, Madame. Please, if anything should come to mind, don't hesitate to contact me." He handed her the small card and took his leave, quietly shutting the door behind him.
Antoinette stood silent a moment, her fingers tracing the embossed card as she thought. She craned her neck slightly as she felt a figure appear from the shadows. "This madness must stop, Erik." She heard a chair creak as he sunk into it. "For goodness sakes, this time it was one of my own girls! This must end before..." She trailed off, refusing to even think about Meg at the hands of this psychopath. Only silence greeted her and she knew he was growing tired of being told everything over and over again. She also knew he was trying.
Finally, his deep voice reached her ears. "I heard your new student sing the other night," he said. Antoinette turned around, taking in the man's masked appearance. He sat facing her, his legs crossed casually at the ankles.
"Christine," she asked.
He nodded. "She had quite a gift...slightly disappointing, but a gift all the same. She seems almost to be trying too hard." He fell silent as his mind drifted to the singer with the chocolate curls. He had been scouraging the campus, his senses alert for the man who had been a thorn in his side for so long, when he had seen her. He had remembered Antoinette mentioning the return of her daughter and, having seen the cab pull up, kept himself hidden as he watched, curious to once again see the blonde dancer he'd watched grow up from afar and the companion traveling with her. The golden-haired teenager was the spitting image of her mother-- lean physique, light features, the stance of one who'd been dancing their entire life. He had watched the blonde girl retrieve her luggage from the trunk and call her friend's name impatiently.
What he had seen next was something he had been unprepared for:
Christine...
He was sure he'd seen the vision of an angel step out of the cab. He'd never seen anything lovlier than the chocolate haired beauty standing before the Admissions Building, her face to the wind, a wistful smile on her face as she embraced Antoinette...He was captivated...which was how he'd found himself in the rear of the auditorium as Christine sang during a rehearsal. Her voice matched her appearance-- that of an angel. Yet the emotion in her voice was lacking...the only thing he could find wrong with the young student.
"She's quite talented."
Antoinette's voice brought him back and he raised his masked gaze. The recent events were taking a toll on the ballet mistress, he noticed. Her usual straight stance was slightly slouched (A.N. say that then times fast!), her face stretched in exhaustion. Her eyes were red and swollen from her tears. "I am sorry for your loss, Antoinette," he said softly. "If I could have stopped it, I would."
The woman smiled softly. "I know, Erik." That was all she said...it was all she needed to say.
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Where's the sheer genius in this...I brought my bag, I brought a drink, I brought food...I couldn't bring a stinkin' umbrella.
Christine mentally kicked herself as she ran through the violent storm, her brown hair nearly black as it lay plastered to her face and shoulders. She had gone to the library to study for her Latin test next week--only for an hour, she had decided-- and before she knew it, two had flown by, and the storm had flown in. She had barely gotten ten feet from the library before the rain plummeted down, soaking her to the bone as well as everything she carried with her. The rain fell so hard it hurt, and Christine found herself squinting through the downpour for any form of shelter she could find. "Brilliant move, Christine...sheer brilliance," she muttered, her wet hands holding her book bag over her head. She gave a cry of relief when she approached a large building, noticing that the roof hung low over the entryway. It should give her enough shelter for a few hours until the storm quieted down.
Nearly tripping over her own feet, she raced towards the building, and immediately recognized it as the Musics Building, where the instrumental music majors practiced. She tossed her bag to the ground as soon as she reached the overhanging roof and wrung out her thick hair, groaning at the water that was released. "Talk about a frizz job," she muttered. "Only God will be able to salvage my hair when it dries." Thunder crackled overhead, and she jumped slightly as the earth trembled with it. Shivering against the cold, Christine quickly glanced at her watch. 11:30. Check-in for her dorm wasn't for another hour and a half. Looking out into the dreary weather, she only hoped the storm would be over and down with by then.
Suddenly, a haunting melody reached her ears. She frowned, glancing around her. Someone was playing the organ...She turned to the Musics Building door. It was the only place it could be coming from. Picking up her soaked bag from the ground, Christine hesitantly made her way to the entry door, the storm drowning out any noise her shoes may have made. Stopping before the door, she quietly placed her ear against the metal. Who was it? Who could possibly play such a hauntingly beautiful melody? She hadn't heard a melody like that since...
She closed her eyes. Since the last time her father played his violin.
She stood there for a moment, allowing the music to wash over her, mind and body. It was beautiful, almost seeming to tell a tale of despair and loss...Who is it? she wondered. She had to find out. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, her fingers grasped the door's handle. Turning it as quietly as she could, she pulled the door open slowly. The room was pitch black, save a dimmed overhead light in the center of the room. Sofly closing the door behind her, Christine's gaze drifted across the room, searching for the one whose music filled her mind. Finally, her eyes focused on the organ on the opposite side of the room. Someone sat on it's wooden bench, his back to her, seemingly lost as he played. It was obviously a man, though in the darkness, she couldn't make out his features. She watched his hands fly over the keys, mesmorized at the results. Unconsciously, she found her feet moving slowly towards the secret musician, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag. She carefully watched her steps, moving cautiously around the various instruments scattered across the room, almost terrified to interrupt the man's trance. The music seemed to pull her towards him, crying her name. Soon she stood only a few feet behind him, and she watched his back as his arms moved back and forth. Who was this...
Suddenly, the music stopped and Christine jumped when the man whirled around. She stumbled back, nearly tripping over a drum that lay behind her. "What do you want," the man demanded angrily as she righted herself and the drum. Swallowing hard, she turned back to him, straightening to her full height. The man now stood before her, and she stared at him as he glared at her. He was tall, well over six foot, she would guess. Dark raven hair was disheveled, its color nearly blending in with the black mask that stretched over the top half of his face. Only his lips and chin were visible, and she could see his eyes from beneath the mask--green, almost gold. His attire was the same color as the mask--a black, long sleeved shirt, black trousers that appeared to be made for him, black boots that reached his knees, and black leather gloves. A long, black coat lay across the organ bench. She raised her eyes to his, snapping herself out of her reverie.
"Wa...was that you playing," she asked, then kicked herself. Of course it was him playing...you stood behind him as he did.
The man stared at her a moment, his gaze looking her up and down. She felt an involuntary blush creep into her cheeks. "Yes," he said finally. His voice was deep and angelic, much like the voices you imagined the rough, rugged men in old-time romance books to possess. Christine swallowed again.
"It was beautiful," she said softly. She shifted her weight slightly. "Do you usually play at midnight in the Musics Building?"
The man smirked. "Do you usually intrude on one's privacy at midnight in the Musics Building?"
Christine stared at him, her mouth dropping open slightly. "Well...techinically since it is school property, it's not really anyone's private place. I just came in to get out of the storm." The man's gaze took in her soaked appearance before resting on her eyes. "Is, uh...is that why you're here?"
"I came here to be alone...which obviously is now not happening."
"Are you always so rude?"
His mouth dropped open slightly as he stared at her. "Excuse me?"
The words shocked Christine herself as soon as they were uttered. She never meant to voice her thought aloud, and from the expression on the man's face, she realized he was just as shocked as she. "Uh...are...are you always so rude," she stuttered. "I mean...I get that you probably wanted to be alone, but to totally shun someone who had to come in here...it is pretty rude." She watched his face closely, on the lookout for any sign of the anger he had first expressed when he realized she was there. Instead, the shock faded away, leaving only an unreadable expression.
"My apologies," he said, bowing his head slightly. "I'm unused to other people disturbing me in my time here."
"It's alright," Christine said, swiping at the wet hair falling into her eyes. "So...you come here a lot then?" When he merely stared at her, she cleared her throat. "My name's Christine Daae." She held out her hand to him. He stared at it a long moment before sighing and grasping it with his own.
"Erik," he said, and she was amazed at how much he said in that one word. He squeezed her hand quickly before withdrawing his own, allowing it to fall to his side.
Christine looked at him. "Erik...do you have a last name? Or is it just 'Erik?'"
"Just Erik."
She nodded, sensing that it would not be wise to push further. Her gaze fell on the organ behind him. "Are you a student here? Or a professor, maybe?" Still, he was silent. "You play beautifully...I've not heard someone play like that in years."
"Thank you," Erik said as he bent down and grabbed his coat off the bench. Christine watched him quickly put it on. "Our meeting was not exactly pleasant, Miss Daae, but I suppose it was a meeting all the same." He strode past her, and she smelt a faint scent of sandalwood and a strange cologne. She turned towards him as he walked to the door.
"It's pouring out there," she called to him from across the room.
He pulled the door open regardless, and she saw that the rain had stopped and the only sound heard was the chirping of crickets. "The storm has passed," Erik said as he stepped outside. "Final check-in will be over soon, Miss Daae. You'd best hurry." He held the door open, and it took her a moment to realize he was doing it for her. Holding tightly to her bag, she walked through the door and turned to face him. He shut the door behind him, and she heard the faint click as it locked. "The storm will be returning shortly," he said, glancing up at the sky. Christine followed his gaze, wondering how on earth he could tell that. "You'd best return to your room and change into dry clothing. We wouldn't want your lovely voice to be affected by a cold." She frowned at his words and quickly turned back to him, a question on her lips.
He was gone.
She looked all around her, staring out into the dark twilight, searching for the man who had been standing there with her moments before. Where did he go? And how did he know she sang? He was nowhere in sight. A chill crept up Christine's spine as the wind blew and she sighed, looking around once more before running towards the living quarters on campus. The entire way to her dorm, her mind wouldn't leave the strange man she had encountered. Erik...the memory of his music was still fresh in her mind, and once again she wondered how someone could play so beautifully...Only her father's music had moved her so much. As she checked in with the counter in her dorm and made her way to the room she shared with Meg, she wondered if she'd ever see the masked man again.
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Erik sighed as he let himself into his room beneath the Musics Building. Tossing his coat onto a chair, he ran his hands through his already disheveled hair. What a night this had turned out to be...
He had only gone up to the Musics Building to release some of his frustrations over the latest murder. Music was his best escape...within it, the whole world fell away..all the despair and tragedy he had experienced in his life no longer mattered as soon as his hands touched those keys. He'd lost himself quickly...which is why he didn't hear someone enter behind him. Suddenly he had felt the presence of another and his music stopped. He whirled around in his seat only to be faced with the startled expression of his brown haired angel herself. He had been in shock to see her there, and he was sure she was just as surprised to be startled by him.
He had seen her take in his appearance, see her gaze linger on his mask, and he had felt the familiar feeling of resentment creep into his being. He had questioned her reasoning for being there, and recalled how nervous she had been as she replied. He had been curt and harsh to her, as he was to everyone. He smiled softly now as he remembered her reaction. Are you always so rude? No one had ever asked him that; no one had had the nerve to. He had been surprised and, by the expression on her face, she had been as well.
He had avoided her questions afterwards, content with merely gazing at her. Her jeans had stuck to her skin, her light jacket had been soaked through. Her long, dark hair was plastered to her head and shoulders, and she had to constantly swipe it away from her eyes. Her skin had been soaking wet, her lips almost purple from the chill. She was beautiful, even then...he had wanted nothing more than to wrap his coat around her, warm her with his embrace...but he had restrained himself...
She had commented on his music, and he had felt pride well within himself that his angel thought he played beautifully. He had seen some far off emotion appear in her eyes and disappear just as quickly. He closed his eyes has he recalled the feeling of her hand in his for that brief moment...She had been so kind...so trusting...
So foolish...
He could have strangled the young girl for being outside so late at night. Didn't she know there was a killer on campus? Didn't she know that her life could have been over that very night? How did she know that he wasn't the killer? He clenched his fists at the thought of Christine at the hands of the monster he was hunting...he had cut their exchange short, wanting nothing more than for her to return to the safety of her dorm. Yet he could not help the last comment he had made to her before he faded into the shadows. He had watched her as a frown marred her face, watched as she searched for him in the darkness. He knew she would never find him...he was good at being a ghost...
He followed her to her dorm, careful to stay behind her and hidden, wanting only to keep her safe. He had searched around them, his eyes open for a sign of someone who should not be there...He had been relieved when she entered her living quarter and headed up to her room.
Sighing, he turned to face his own living quarter. Once again, he had retreated to his solitude. While so many others lived their lives above, in the company of friends and family, drinking and partying, he stayed below, hiding from the world that had showed him no compassion in his youth...
Kicking off his boots, he pulled off his gloves as he made his way to the bed that lay against the wall. He stopped just before it, and with hesitant hands, drew off the mask that hid his deformation. His fingers gently traced his distortions, and he felt disgust towards himself. Would she have been so trusting if he had been without his mask tonight? Would she have grasped his hand and smiled at him so gently if she knew what lied beneath that black leather?
With a surge of anger, he tossed the mask onto the bedside table. Shedding his shirt (A.N. Just a moment to dwell.../sigh/ Alright...back to the story.), he flopped down onto the coverlet, closing his eyes as he sunk into the mattress. The world had been cruel to him...At first sight of the mask on his face, people had turned their backs, reluctant to even glance at someone so different...his own mother had never touched him unless it was to beat him...No one had showed him compassion...
No one except Christine...
As sleep slowly overtook him, the image of his chocolate haired angel filled his mind, and later that night, his dreams.
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Wa-la! Third chapter is done! Oh, and guess what! While I was writing this, my friend Naomi called and told me that she had something for me...guess what it is...SHE GOT ME A POTO MOVIE POSTER! AHHH! I'm so excited! so please...share in my excitement and review this chapter...please please please? I heart you all!