Chapter IX
The Phantom
I walked back and forth across the empty room where I held Rose's rehearsals. I kept this room dark to remind me of the solitude in which I came from. I didn't always hide in the shadows. No, there was once a time when I could go outside without the fear of someone screaming in utter horror at seeing who I was. My father had warned me when I was young not to go out in public places where very many people could see me. Even my mother refused to go out in broad daylight at times. She didn't used to be that way. It was my father's doings. He struck fear in our hearts, reminding my mother what she had done and reminding me of who I was. It was hell.
As for my father, he'd go out at night to buy necessities our small family needed. He never went into town. He went to quiet country stores where no one knew of anything that happened in the big cities. Even there, he didn't dare show his face, and he'd wear a cloak that covered most of his face...especially the right side of his face. I'd often hear my mother telling him that it was 'okay now that we fled France, and that there was a rare chance anyone would recognize us here.' My father, however would shout at her telling her that she was a fool for thinking like that. He'd often bring up a Raoul and spitefully use it against her. I remember hearing her cry at night, sometimes praying out loud...praying for an angel...for she used to have an angel, but that angel was far gone now.
My mother's name was Christine. It was such a beautiful name, which suited her beautiful personality. Her voice was soothing. Father would have her sing at times. Whenever Mother sang, it seemed to bring a sort of calmness over him. I suppose that's what kept our family together...until Mother stopped singing all together.
I never knew exactly why she suddenly refused to sing. She wouldn't even sing me to sleep, which she had done ever since I was born on the 13th of December. Father grew infurriated and would yell at her, almost begging her to sing. "GO AHEAD, WASTE YOUR VOICE ON NOTHING! IS THAT WHY YOU LEFT THE OPERA?" he'd scream. Mother would cry and lock herself away in her room. And whenever my father would try to coax her out, she'd whimper, "Leave me!"
I shivered at the memory of her crying. It seemed as though she cried every night because of my father. I hated my father for it. I told myself I'd never make my wife cry. Never. I'd rather kill myself than have her cry.
Which brought my thoughts upon dear Rose. It was painful to think about what she looked like when she came to my gate, shivering cold and crying, screaming at me about what I had done to Isaiah. I couldn't quite understand her concern. Or the fact that she knew I had killed him. I didn't think I came off that way.
Rose was the only girl I had seen come to the Opera Populaire and dance so soulfully. Unlike my father, singing didn't soothe me. Not after my mother died. I began to resent singing in itself. Perhaps that is why I was drawn to Rose's dancing, rather than Maria Fleur's singing. I wasn't just attracted to Rose's dancing though. I was attracted to her spirit. I'd watch her from the rafters while she pranced around and talked to her friends. She never gossipped like the other mindless ballet rats. Rather, she simply talked about things.
Rose had captured my attention the moment she turned 14. She had just begin to bloom into an attractive young woman. She had developed a chest, and her legs were no longer scrawny and skinny, but slender. Her body was thin and her whole figure was curved into a womanly manner.
I had always had an interest for Rose when she was younger, but I had never looked at her the way I did when she began developing. I was compelled by her body, which kept my interest when I couldn't find an interest in her conversations when she talked among her friends. At the time, I almost wanted to curse myself for watching her every move so intently. I was of age twenty-one, and it almost seemed wrong for me to be attracted to such a young girl. But I could never help it.
At night, I used to wander into the girl's dorms at night, searching for young Rose. When I would find her bed, I'd sit at the edge, with her lap pressing into the small of my back. I'd run my fingers through her beautiful long, blonde hair, stroking it lovingly. She always wore a small silver cross around her neck that settled peacefully on her chest. I'd find myself taking the cross in my hand, making sure not to pull too tight so I wouldn't wake Rose, but just enough so I could feel it with my thumb, rubbing it back and forth. I could feel the tiny ridges in it, and I always wondered where she obtained it. I guessed she had gotten it from her grandmother, Madame Giry, but I never really knew.
I had always fantasized about taking Rose to my bedroom or just bringing her to my abode to simply talk. I had never dreamed this possible however, for I thought she would recognize because I was sure her mother, Meg, would have told her about my father. So, I kept my distance from her, watching her from the shadows. I hated every minute I couldn't be with her. The only thing I ever wanted was to hold her. But I couldn't. I didn't think I'd ever be able to. It was one of my worst fears. In a sense, I felt helpless. My heart deadened when I could see her reaching out as she danced, but couldn't feel her touch. My stomach felt sick whenever I'd see her laughing with her friends, but couldn't feel her breath. Yet, my knees weakened at the very sight of her. I longed for her love.
I had thought about coming to her at night, when all the others were sleeping, but I feared that it would drive her away in fright. So I waited for my opportunity to silently somehow meet her.
Then, one day during rehearsals, I heard Rose talking to Madison about wanting a chance in the limelight. She said she had always wanted to dance solo for the audience. My mind nearly exploded with excitement. It was my chance to finally bring Rose to my lair and coach her from there instead of the darkness which enveloped me. I waited months for the right moment to approach. If I came to her while she was still quite young, I knew I would scare her away. So, two months after she turned sixteen, I found my chance.
Again, I came to her at night, but I hid well in the dark, seeing to it that no one would find me even if they tried. Gently, I called out to Rose. She responded to my calling exactly as I thought she would. She got out of bed and traveled out to find who had called her name. Milson, however, foiled my plan, for just as she was about to come to me, he walked out of the room from which he was doing paper work and ran into Rose. I could sense that she anticipated his footsteps to be mine, but when she found they weren't, it only shook Rose up. Which may have been the reasoning for her fainting when I stepped out from my hiding place. I had kept with me a vial of chloroform and a rag just in case she'd scream and I'd have to use it. But she barely gasped louder than a sigh, then fainted anyway.
I could remember swiftly picking her up, gently so not to harm her in any way. I fixed her night gown, for it had become askew, then made my way down the flights of stairs and into the passageway that led to my home. Rose didn't stir once as I put her in the boat and rowed across. She simply lay there like an angel. I watched her, hoping she wouldn't be terrified of me when she woke.
After I layed her down on the bed, I walked out of the room and over to the small kitchen area, which was almost invisible due to the darkness around it. I reached inside one of the cabinets and pulled out brandy. I knew I shouldn't have drank anything, but that was the only way I could find to relax. I even went over to my organ to try to compose something, but my mind was so occupied that I found myself playing songs that I had already written.
So I stopped playing and simply sat there and began thinking. My thoughts drifted over my mother. I'm not exactly sure why. I saw her crying alone on the floor of her bedroom. She never let me come near her when she cried. She hated it when I saw her in tears. Then I thought about my father. I could see him yelling at her, for so many things that weren't her fault.
I remember the first time I saw him cry. It was when my mother was already with tears stains on her face and her eyes still pouring tears and she told him that if she didn't love him, she would have left him years ago. She told him that she had a chance at a better life, but she turned it down for him. 'You promised me!' she screamed through tears. 'You said none of this would happen!' I, at the time, had no idea what they were talking about. I was far too young to understand them. My father's eyes filled with tears as he turned from her, then walked out the front door, quietly closing it behind him. I could hear him outside, crying outloud. It was pitiful. I felt bad for him. No matter what he put my mother through, I always seemed to feel sorry for him.
Thinking about my parents and all their fights made me feel hatred towards memories. Then I began to hate the Opera Populaire, then my father for making Mother cry, then my mother for refusing to sing. I stood up, still angry, and walked over to one of the candle chandeliers. I stood there for a while, simply gazing at the flickering flames. Then, with a sudden burst of anger, I pushed it over as hard as I could. I watched it fall into the lake with a splash, then a thud.
That's when Rose stepped out of my room. She looked a bit confused and curious. I was positive the sound had either woken her or had caused her to come out of the room. When she turned and saw me, she gasped as if startled...not necessarily afraid, just perhaps not expecting to see me. I watched her eyes travel, as if inspecting me. She didn't look the least bit fearful. Just curious.
I sighed at the thought of her. I didn't want her to be scared of me. That was the last thing I wanted for us. Fear. Fear had destroyed my family. I didn't want it to harm Rose and I. It wouldn't. I wouldn't let it. My only problem was my temper. I've never been able to hold a decent temper. I'd explode at every little thing. Especially with the chorus girls and the maestro and managers. Anything they did wrong, I'd punish them. I felt like it was my job. But Rose...poor Rose...I let my anger out on her when she didn't do something right. I didn't want to yell at her when she came for her first rehearsal, and I know I frightened her when I did. I only meant to help...
I walked out of the dark room and into my bedroom. I glanced at Rose's possessions which were piled on my floor next to my bed. I knew that by now, she'd be upset that they were missing, but I didn't want her to choose her bed. I wanted to choose her bed. I knew which bed it would be, too. It'd be the bed that no one would take. All the other chorus girls would be afraid to even sleep near it. My mother's bed. The one that was left unharmed during the fire, my father told me. Eventually, however, the flames consumed it, just like they consumed my father's heart. I would make that bed Rose's. I'd have to wait, though, until all the girls were out of the dormitory to place Rose's things on her bed.