Hey, here's my first shot at a Phan. It will be chapters (that is if you like this first one). Please please PLEASE review. Thank you.
Dashing down an inky black alleyway, a man found himself in a dead-end. How fitting a word that was for the poor man. After breathing in gulps of air he turned, fear in his eyes as he clung to the thing he alone had been trusted with, a piece of paper with writing and a map on it. There seemed to be nothing but darkness and rain behind him. After sighing in relief, he looked down at the paper he held in cold shaking hands. That was the last thing he saw, and the last feeling he deciphered in his panicked mind was a rope around his throat. Turning he saw a ghost pulling and snapping the life from him in one swift motion.
Raoul le Vicomte de Chagny sat in his favorite comfy chair in his favorite country cottage reading his newspaper by the fireplace. His wife Christine Daae, the world known opera singer, sat across from him daintily writing in her diary. It had been a year since the events at the Opera Paris Opera House. The moment they were out from the abyss of darkness Raoul had wanted to flee knowing deep down that the monster that had preyed on his love would not give up so easily. Still, Christine would not leave the country. She trusted that her "Angel of Music" would leave them in peace. No matter what had happened she still knew that he cared for her and would want her happy.
Suddenly a stern rap on the door disrupted their peaceful tranquility. Walking over to the door, Raoul opened it to find a French police officer standing in the dreary rain.
"Monsieur de Chagny?" he asked in a gruff voice.
"Yes?" Raoul asked standing aside and letting the man in the uniform enter.
"Excuse me for disturbing you at such a late hour but…" he trailed noticing the women sitting inside. Pulling Raoul aside he continued, "Monsieur, there has been a murder near the Opera House. The man had a rope burns around his neck. In his hand was this address on the back of a map of the tunnels under the Opera. I thought it best to notify you considering what had happened…before."
Raoul stood for a moment in utter shock. Has he returned? He will haunt us again! Why can't he leave us be. He cannot win her love by making her his prisoner again. No! He will not take her! Rushing over he took Christine's hand, helping her up.
"Raoul? What happened?" she asked worried about her friends back in Paris.
"He has returned Christine," Raoul said shortly wanting to leave right away.
"Who?" she asked dreading the answer.
"That monster! The one that took you into that dark void under the Opera House!" he seethed hating what had happened to them. He helped her out of the couch and stood waiting for her to pack. She stood there quiet in thought.
"No…Erik let me go…" she whispered not believing it.
"Your phantom, the Phantom of the Opera, the Opera Ghost! He's killed before and killed again! Christine we must leave! He knows where we are Christine. I don't know how, but he knows! He had this address on the back of a map of the Opera House. Christine, he knows!"
"But…no…Erik wouldn't do-"
"He's done it before Christine!" Raoul interrupted rather angry with her for defending the man that had tried to take her from him and happiness. Softening a bit he added, "Please?"
Finally giving in Christine nodded and left to pack. Raoul looked over at the officer and shrugged. Going over to him he showed him to the door and thanked him for the warning.
"Be careful Monsieur," the officer said while standing in the doorway, not wanting to return to the rain. "If you need an escort…don't hesitate to call us."
"Thank you, but I don't think it would help. He is a master magician. I have seen him disappear in a room full of people. Goodnight officer. We've escaped before…we shall do it again. Send some men into the tunnels below the Opera. He's probably still there."
"Good luck sir…"
"Thank you. We will need it" And so will you, clever friend
Christine I love you…
That was the only music dancing in his head. It was so pure, simple and real. How could he ever do, sing, write, or feel anything that could compare to that? The music of the night was gone and the only thing left was the remains of the one beam of light that had been in his life, Christine.
A sob escaped him, filling the void of silence in the cold dark room. His angel, his light, his love, his Christine had left him. He had told her and her Vicomte to leave him and the abyss he was trapped in for an eternal hell. The mob, he could hear, had been searching for his blood. In his state, he thought that it might be best to let them have him. What more could there be in life without his Christine? Although, this was going through his mind, he knew in his heart that he could not just give in that easily. Madame Giry and Naidar needed him. Also, pride would not let the Phantom of the Opera be taken by a mob of simpletons with pitchforks.
So he "disappeared" from sight and traveled down the tunnels, which he had called home foe a good 20 years, escaping the mob, but running into his old friend Madame Giry. Turning from her he tried to hide his masked face out of shame and habit. Feeling her hand grasp his he looked up at her stern glare.
"Erik, we must go," she said forcefully, leaving him no room to argue. Dumbly, he followed her and her lantern upward. They passed the furnaces and came upon the climb up to the stairs. Helping the aging ballet mistress out, Erik pulled himself up. Once he was up he noticed how quiet it had gotten.
"There are more after you now Erik. How could you?" she asked looking at him suspiciously.
"So? I have done nothing," he told her defensively. "I have been fixing my things that the mob had broken when…after Don Juan. What are they after me again?"
"You have not gone up to the daylight have you?"
"Nor moonlight. I have been…mourning."
Madame Giry looked at Erik full of pity. He had had such a hard life and did not deserve this heartbreak. Standing and putting a hand on his shoulder she hushed him. Feeling a sob from him, she knew that he would be no good as a sobbing mess here while a mob came for him.
"Erik, come. We must get you somewhere safe. I will take you to Naidar's flat. Please Erik, we must leave."
She helped him stand up and began up the tunnel into daylight. They walked quickly into an alleyway to escape the large crowd. Erik stopped and pulled the ballet teacher back.
"What has happened? Is Christine safe?" he asked worried and ready to have a reason to strangle the fop and take care of Christine.
"There has been a murder Erik," she started.
Erik assumed the worse. In his mind's eye he saw his beloved Christine sprawled in a dark alley with her skirt pulled up and her face bloodied. Her perfect jaw hung broken and lifeless, never to be able to produce those heavenly notes again. Her lush brown eyes, now grey and staring up lifelessly into a void of nothingness. She was dead. Gone from him again and forever.
"No…no…" he whispered to himself feeling a tear glide down the flawless side of his face.
"Erik, it was with a lasso…"
The picture of her in his mind changed. Her face was now blue from lack of air. Around her porcelain neck was a deep dark purple-blue bruise.
"Erik?"
He leaned heavily against the wall sobbing. His angel was gone…
"Who?" was all that he could get out.
"Everyone thought it was you Erik. The lasso…the map of the Opera House…Christine and the Vicomte's address…"
"What? Christine's address? He went to her home?" He knew he should have watched over her every night instead of once in awhile. Why had he listened to logic rather than heart?
"They are not sure yet. Oh Erik, just tell me it was not you who killed that poor man."
"Man?"
"Yes, were you not listening? A man was killed Erik."
"A man…" he said in relief. "Who was it?"
"We…are not sure. He seemed to have been from the East. He was like the Persian."
"Daroga?"
"Like him Erik. No one knows the details," she was cut off by the sound of people approaching. "Come. We must get you somewhere safe."
With one turn to see how far away they were from the Opera House, they turned and continued on their way. After a long walk they were outside a large old building. Erik had been there before. The top flat of the building belonged to his friend from Persia, the one who had let him go and saved him from certain death sentenced by the Shah of Persia, the once policeman, Naidar Khan. Walking up the long stairwell, he finally came to the door. If was odd for him to walk or ask access through a front door, for he had been so used to "appearing" in a room as he thought fit. Knocking lightly, he and Madame Giry waited. The door opened and he saw his old friend.
"Daroga," Erik said while tipping down he fedora.
"The Trapdoor-Lover using the front door? And showing the ballet mistress to a nice walk? Something must be wrong. Come in, come in," he said trying to make light of the situation. He turned so that they could enter his home.