Chapter 5
Several weeks of rehearsals had gone by very quickly. Almost every night Erik had commanded Meg to meet him on the roof of the Opera House at midnight. Every night she had come to him, and every night he had noticed something new about her. He became aware of her warm smile, her infectious laugh, and how her lips pursed tightly together when he made her angry and she tried to hide it.
Some nights they talked for a long time, about different operas, books, rehearsals and numerous other topics. Some nights when he was hostile, he would send her back to room after only a few minutes, and she could not hide her disappointment.
Erik could feel his grasp on Meg tightening. He felt his influence over her becoming stronger with each passing day. The feeling of dominance was sinfully seductive to him. She had started to ask him before she went to and from the Opera house, and if he suggested otherwise, she would not go.
Meg sent suitors away nightly because of fatigue or headaches. He shouldn't care if she had suitors, but he did. He had no desire to share her, and why should he? She was his now, wasn't she?
He still had painful memories and thoughts of Christine, but much less frequently than the relentless suffering that used to consume him. In a peculiar way, he felt as though he was betraying her, or at least betraying his commitment to wallow in the agony of his unrequited love for her for the rest of his life.
Meg's purpose had been merely for Eric's amusement at first. But now he was infatuated by the feeling of control he had over her. She grew more beautiful in his eyes each time he saw her. He longed to touch her, to run his fingers through her golden main of hair. He knew she would never come to him of her own free will; no woman would. He didn't know how he was going to keep her within his grasp, but he knew he must find a way.
Early one morning, Eric found himself hiding in the protective shadows of the highest rafters in the theatre yet again. He was watching the sets getting painted when he noticed the two girls that didn't like Meg, Silana and Felicia, lurking about the stage and cackling to one another in squeaky high-pitched voices.
"What are you two demons up to?" he said to himself. He would keep a careful eye on them.
Moments later the stage began to fill with dancers, singers, orchestra members and the usual chaos that was the beginning of an opera rehearsal. Meg was talking to Darcel, which made Erik clench his fists tightly around the ropes near him in high corners of the theatre. He looked away and began to watch the orchestra set up when he heard a terrified scream. Immediately he looked down and saw that it was Meg who was screaming. She darted awkwardly backwards away from something on the stage, and then tripped and fell in her haste.
Eric maneuvered through the riggings and beams in order to get closer so he could see what had frightened Meg so terribly.
"Meg! What happened!" cried Darcel running to her side.
"My dear, what's the matter?" shouted the shorter, rounder manager Monsieur Francois.
Everyone crowded around Meg to see what all the commotion was about.
"Ra… Rats, Rats!" she wailed. "In my shoes, there were dead rats, and their heads were….," and then she started to cry.
Darcel walked over to Meg's point shoes and shook out the mutilated bloody remains of two immensely large decapitated sewer rats. The crowd of onlookers let out a horrified gasp.
"I guess you'll need new shoes, then," he said.
"How disgusting! Who would have done such a thing! How vile and hateful!" were the comments he heard coming from the crowd.
Erik new exactly who had done such a thing, and his mind was reeling with all the ways he would make them pay for their dirty little trick.
"Meg, Meg!" he heard Darcel shout.
Meg had crumpled onto her side on the stage floor. She looked limp, and her eyes were now closed. Again Darcel ran to her side and lifted up her head. Erik had to resist the powerful urge to rush onto the stage and simply sweep her away with him.
"There's a big lump on the back of her head," Darcel said. "She must have hit it when she tripped."
Madam Badeau, the pointy-faced ballet mistress, knelt down and gently checked the back of Meg's head.
"She will be fine, I think. But she will not rehearse today. Take her back to her room Darcel. Liana, make sure she gets in bed safely, and put some ice on the back her head," she ordered.
"Yes Madam," they both answered obediently in unison.
