"Forgetting my normal caution, I moved from the shadows to the velvet-hung ledge of the box and looked down. I looked out into the bright light of the auditorium's new electric globes.
And the knife that I had dimly feared all these months buried itself to the hilt in my throat.
Her name was a stranger's, unfamiliar and foreign.
But she was not a stranger to me. I knew this girl..." - Susan Kay/Phantom
Succumbing at last to my relentless addiction, the morphine slithered its delicious evil through my bloodstream. God, I had held out as long as possible - two weeks now. Denying myself as punishment in the desperate, trembling effort to forget...her.
Weakly, I made my way to the divan stumbling as though I were an old man. Something had irrevocably changed in the instant that I stared out in wonderment from Box Five.
Nothing would ever be the same again and I knew this with a certainty that frightened me.
Sprawling heedlessly with my arm covering my eyes, I reluctantly permitted myself to rest. How much I would give for a mere moment - a moment! - of peace. I had been violent in my struggle to convince myself that this could not be - cannot be! My absolute desire for her obliterated all else.
"What kind of new cruelty have you devised now, God?" I whispered. "A face I never thought to see again; even more beautiful than the first. Oh, please…." I sobbed pathetically. Was it not enough the pain I had already endured in my life? Was this brutal penance necessary chastisement for my reprehensible crimes? My soul begged for mercy as I lay weeping great tears.
Ever so gradually, the morphine was spun its magic web around my tortured mind. The present began to recede to a velvety, hazy dream as I floated along aimless.
In my dreams, disturbing images came unbidden. At one point, I was standing in the middle of a river of blood. I could not fight the tide that took me along with it and I desperately attempted to reach the shore. Nadir tried to assist me but used great caution so as not to get any of the blood from the river on himself. A feeling of panic washed over me as I realized that escape was impossible. I had put myself here and now I would have to face the consequences. But, oh - I wanted to be free! All my life I had feigned unconcern over my ghastly crimes - but really, I did want to be good! Eventually, I gave up fighting the flow and prepared to be taken under with the force of it. Then, to my surprise, I noticed someone in white struggling out into the river to rescue me. Earnestly, I reached out to my savior, my unknown rescuer dimly noticing that while in the same depths as I, their white robe never got bloody. A hand grasped my own leading me to safety - to the shore - while, somehow, the tide didn't seem as fierce when there were two people. Finally on firm ground, safe at last, I gratefully gazed up into the face of the one who risked everything to save me..and it was Christine.
When I awoke, I attempted to conduct myself with some semblance of normalcy, but it was all in vain. My numbed indifference to the world had been shattered as hopelessly as a mirror. The conviction that life would never again be the same assaulted me, taunted me. The ungovernable impulse to see her once more began to overwhelm me and I hated the intensity of it. Heretofore, I had invariably reigned control over my disobedient body and its base desires. Now, I scoffed at my smug delusion that I was superior to the ravages of men...of love. Oh, this was much more potent than morphine and I hated the ungovernable wickedness that left me powerless to its whims. I knew I would have to see her again. 'Just to look upon her' I lied to myself shakily. The thought began to grow until I had convinced myself that I must see her again to prove that it was all in my deluded mind...that face.
Returning below, I removed my cloak and fell into my chair beside the fire. Ayesha jumped up on my lap and I stroked her soft fur absently. She purred while gently kneading her claws into me, looking up at me as if to say, "You've been distant, my Master." I exhaled as I gave her my full attention and apologized with lavish strokes for my absentmindedness. Forgiving, she curled next to me, falling asleep with a speed I envied.
Three weeks and I had fallen into a predicable routine. Each evening, I waited for Christine to enter her dressing room, hiding myself like a thief behind her mirror. I was now grateful I had the foresight to install that mirror I invented on a whim, which allowed me to view the room as through a window. Some perverse fancy had come over me to conceal secret spaces all over the property during construction of the Opera House that known only to myself. Thus, while her dresser applied her makeup and brushed her luxuriant hair, I stood enraptured and unmoving behind my shield. Worshipping her silently and stealthily, all the while trying to forget that I had promised myself this time was the last time. My budding audacity was regulated to the recesses of my mind; the need to see her was as involuntary as my heart beat.
Love clawed at me incessantly while I observed her. Innocent and enchantress was she, and the combination was terminally sensual. Both reverence and hunger fought brutally for dominion within my tormented body. Regardless of how I reproached myself with the facts that these yearnings were positively lewd at my age - my mind steadfastly ignored me. In reverence I always turned my back when I knew she would be changing her clothing. Even I could only go so far and I refused to abuse her in that devious a manner.
I had learned some of her melancholy past from eavesdropping on the other dancers. It appeared that Christine was very much alone in the world - a position no one could appreciate more than I. My days were occupied with pondering on how I might bridge our lonely worlds...only to be blasted in the face of reason. Remembering bitterly how I wished that I could make love to a woman with my voice and only my voice - I knew a vehement frustration at my impotence.
Sentenced to the fringes of life, this man could only love from afar. I wished my cruel flesh would accept that fact and cease its anguish.
Standing, I ran my fingers carelessly through my dark hair. I would find a way, somehow, to make contact with her. Defeat and failure had never before been an option and surely would not be now...not when I desired association with her more than anything in my entire life. Exhaling sharply, I recalled her untrained, yet perfect, voice raised in song for the Opera Ghost. What faultless register! Picturing what could be if I were allowed the honor to mold, to shape that ideal instrument. She had more to offer the world than she realized and could accomplish far more than all of the chorus girls combined. Just the image of our two voices entwined in song was enough to arouse me in a fiery grip. Christine's voice and my own, meshed in music as one...
Jolting myself willfully from my reverie, I knew that I must make devise a way to arrange communication with Christine. I charged wildly forward, not stopping to evaluate the consequences of such an action, plagued by my love for her. An impasse had been reached. Something must be done or I would surely lose my tenuous hold on sanity.
Poor Jules believed me mad. He looked at my list of requests then stared up at me in disbelief. "Monsieur?..."
"I am expecting company in the near future." I retorted curtly with a stare from under my mask which brooked no argument.
"Oui, monsieur, it will be as you wish. However, I believe you have given me far too much money for such purchases. I do not think it will cost nearly what you..." I swiftly interrupted him, "You know my preferences, Jules, I want only the finest quality. Whatever is left over, you may keep for your family." I waved away his protests.
"Monsieur Erik, that is most generous of you. I cannot express my gratefulness." he stammered.
Each time I sent him out on various errands for me, he delivered the same speech. Despite my past sins, I held a singular sympathy for Jules. He was a very weak man and obviously frightened of me. It was the least that I could do to provide his family with more food for their table.
"Very well. We shall meet here in two weeks time." I stated flatly.
"Oui, monsieur, I will have made much progress by then." Jules replied.
Turning to end our conversation, I recognized he had more to say. I slowed, looking over my shoulder.
"Pardon my boldness, Monsieur Erik, but I...I am glad for you." Jules faltered with a bow of his head and downcast eyes.
I nodded briefly and continued down to the lake, confused by the tears that were threatening.
My two new managers were quite a bit more difficult to direct than dear Poligny. Richard and Moncharmin became somewhat irritated that the resident ghost wished to be paid for his services, and paid handsomely. It took several "mysterious" incidents in their offices for my salary to be left in Box Five by the faithful Madame Giry. I was especially anxious to receive my salary promptly now that I had preparations to be made for Christine. God knows why I was planning for her to stay with me as she did not even know of my existence! In any case, arrangements were underway as I waited restlessly for the right opportunity.
The new managers fawned disgustingly over La Carlotta, our current diva. If she only knew the comments made behind her back by those two, her tantrum would be a spectacle. Several different shows were being considered but I believed that 'Hannibal' would be the next production. I attended rehearsals each day to stay informed of progress and also to see Christine. She worked unceasingly and moved with an inherent grace, but I could see that she would never be a great dancer. She seemed preoccupied somehow and I would always wonder what was on her mind. Her heart was just not in the stringent routines that Madame Giry surveyed over with an uncompromising observation.
"Soon, my Christine, soon.", I promised.
[Author's Note: It was my intention to re-tell Erik's story from his pov. However, he is insisting that I change the plot. My muse commands...]