A/N: As always, thanks to my beta, Le Chat Noir (especially for the ballet stuff).
And a big thank you for all the reviews! I read each and every one of them!
Episode 45: Obsession
By: Elektra
Populaire Dance Studio
Thirty-two fouettés.
Meg concentrated and started again. Balancé right, left, sutenu to fourth position, pirouette… and into the turns.
If she ever hoped to secure a position with a company, including the Opera Populaire's resident company, she would need to have this in her repertory. Surely very few dancers ever had the good fortune to dance Odette/Odile in Swan Lake, but having the ability to pull off the famed 32 would only make her more marketable.
Twenty-four, twenty-five, she mentally counted. On thirty-three, she whipped her leg in to squeeze out a double pirouette, landing in a secure position and extending her arms with a flourish. She imagined that she was costumed as the Black Swan, and had just ensnared the silly Prince Florimund into believing her to be the delicate White Swan with her fantastic series of challenging turns.
Meg took three steps to the mirror and, gesturing to the pretend balcony seats, she took a generous bow.
Meg was startled by the applause that followed her final movement. She spun around to see Raoul leaning against the wall beside the door.
"You're good. Really good," he spoke.
Meg smiled and blushed slightly. "Thanks."
"I should thank YOU," Raoul pointed out. "You charmed Madame DuBois big time. She gave Phil the financial backing he needed."
"So... what exactly does that mean then?" Meg asked as she walked towards him.
"It means that the DeChagnys are now highly important patrons of the Populaire." He leaned forward, his voice growing conspiratorial. "And we seem to have a lot of pull - like being able to get into the dance studio when our friends are practicing."
Without thinking, Meg threw her arms around Raoul and offered him an enthusiastic hug. "That's so GREAT!" she squealed happily. "I'm so glad it worked out for you guys!"
Raoul was taken aback by her emotional gesture, but didn't hesitate to respond, his arms sliding around her. Long slender arms… tiny little waist. He quickly shook the thoughts from his mind.
"Raoul?"
"Yes?"
"Your hands are on my butt..."
Raoul quickly let go of her and apologized profusely, embarrassed by his actions. "Sorry. Didn't realize. You... you're just... so short. I mean, not like that's a BAD thing - I think short girls are cute - it's just- I wasn't sure how far to lean down to-"
"Please stop before you hurt yourself," Meg smirked. "At least you didn't squeeze." She then offered a sly wink, "But I do plan to get the grope back sometime in the near future."
Raoul's hand quickly went to his backside. "Before you do, can I interest you in something to eat? My treat."
"FOOD! Yes, please! I haven't eaten since nine o'clock this morning."
Raoul glanced at his watch. "TEN hours ago? Is that the norm for ballet girls?"
"Well, our ballet mistress would prefer if we didn't eat, period. But... you know, I kind of enjoy living. Give me a few minutes to change and I'll be good to go!"
Raoul nodded and Meg quickly disappeared into the dressing room.
Outside the dance studio
Adam pulled at his hair as he watched his beloved through the dance studio window. How dare this pretty boy lay his perverted hands on her?
Megan Giry was HIS and his alone. No other man was allowed permission to touch her. To LOOK at her as the other boy - DeChagny - was looking at her.
His lovely swan was only being polite by accepting his invitation, no doubt. Such a sweet little thing she was.
Perhaps he would find a way to protect her from the lecherous DeChagny boy.
Milwood and Ritson Financial Services – Two days later
"Ms. Robichaux?" The secretary poked her head through Martine's door. "Your nephew is here."
"Let him in, Marie," Martine replied, knowing whom the lady was referring to.
Adam would often claim to be her nephew when he needed to see her at the office. And while Martine did not like to be reminded she was old enough to be the boy's auntie, he was a paying customer and she, reluctantly, conceded.
Martine noted Adam was not wearing his mask when he walked into her office. It was rare, but there were times he would forget his obsessive – and completely irrational - need for it.
"Shut the door," Martine ordered the fresh-faced boy. Adam did as he was told. "Now what brings you here today? I do not appreciate being disturbed at my day job."
"Someone is trying to take my female away," he said as he sat at the chair in front of her desk. "I want you to do something to him. Something bad."
"You have a female?" Martine asked.
Adam nodded. "Megan Giry. She is a dancer. Oh, she is so lovely!"
Martine eyed the boy warily. She knew the girl of whom he spoke, having met her at the DuBois mansion a few weeks prior. Meg seemed rather infatuated with her date that night - the younger DeChagny brother.
No doubt that was whom Adam wanted action taken upon.
She remained silent for a few moments. Should she do as Adam requested, she would not only be putting Raoul DeChagny in danger, but Megan Giry as well.
No matter. That girl had been as good as dead the moment Adam had laid his sadistic eyes upon her.
Martine had never considered herself a moral woman, but while she knew of Adam's unhealthy fascination – and subsequent destruction – of pretty things, she had refused to participate in his actions any more than offering him a drive now and then.
Raising corpses, placing hexes, and casting spells, however, were things Martine had gladly done.
"I could place a hex on the boy – night terrors, perhaps? A warning to keep away from the girl?" she asked.
"Something more permanent!" Adam insisted.
"I do not do permanent," she replied calmly.
"Should I hire someone who DOES then?" Adam warned as he leaned forward.
"Do as you wish, but I doubt you'll find another as skilled as myself. And to be honest - with the knowledge I have gathered since associating with you, who's to say I won't leave an anonymous tip with the police should you drop me from your payroll?" She threatened in response.
Adam narrowed his eyes. "I would kill you before you had a chance."
Martine chuckled at that. "You've tried twice now, and were unsuccessful both times."
The shock in Adam's green eyes only increased Martine's mirth.
"You think I didn't know about the times you sneaked into my bedroom and attempted to rid yourself of me?" she asked. "I long ago took precautions for my safety."
"I can't harm you?" he asked, a hint of disappointment creeping into his voice.
"No, you cannot harm me," she answered, then her voice grew serious.
"As I am aware with whom I am associated with, do not forget with whom YOU are associated with. I am far more powerful then you give me credit for, Adam. I will not be gotten rid of so easily."
She leaned back in her chair and let out a sigh. "Now, I have work to attend to." She indicated the pile of papers to her left. "Do you want me to place a hex on the boy or not?"
Populaire Dressing room
"It followed us!" Jammes cried out as she ran into the dressing room shaking.
Christine sat in a chair and pulled her legwarmers over her tights, glancing in the mirror at Jammes' frightened reflection. "What followed us?"
"The ghost!" Jammes gasped. "The ghost of Ravelle! I saw it! HERE!"
Christine tried to hide her smile. "Really? And where were you when you saw hi-IT…?"
Sorelli answered on Jammes behalf. "Making out with one of the male dancers behind a backdrop."
Jammes' mouth dropped open. "How did you know?"
Sorelli turned to her. "What - did you honestly think Viktor Petronova would keep his mouth shut? The whole company knows by now. Expect more of the male dancers to be paying extra special attention to you." She then smiled. "And hey, maybe the ghost will show up again. Maybe It's curious. Poor thing probably hasn't seen any action since last millennia."
"Or last weekend…" Meg snickered under her breath.
Christine glanced up from her chair, cheeks bright red. Meg leaned over to whisper in her friends' ear.
"I finished practicing around nine and came home to find you were… busy." She smirked, remembering how impressed she was by the sounds emanating from Christine's room that night.
Meg wouldn't hold such indiscretions against her roommate, however, as she herself would do the same thing – if Raoul DeChagny ever got up the nerve to make his intentions more than friendly.
With a small stab of disappointment, Meg wondered if the boy even realized how much she had been enjoying his company as of late.
Elsewhere – that evening
The dearly departed Marie DeChagny stood before her youngest son, blonde hair shimmering with golden highlights, her form draped in jewelry and furs. "Protect your inheritance! She'll only try to steal it!"
Beside her, Alain DeChagny took form, looking dapper in a black Armani suit. "You can't trust a woman like that! She only wants one thing from you!"
They stepped towards Raoul, their voices becoming one. "No son of ours will lower himself to the level of a lowly ballet student!"
"Keep to your class!" Marie insisted.
"Stay with your own!" Alain agreed.
"Mom… Dad?" Raoul reached out to touch them, only to watch his fingers disappear into emptiness.
His parents than began to change before his eyes – his mother's face became crisscrossed with scars, her chest caving right before his eyes. His father's head twisted unnaturally on his neck.
"Your fault we're dead. Your fault!" His mother's voice accused.
Raoul shook his head desperately. "It was a car accident! I… I didn't do anything!"
"You really are worthless. Why couldn't you have been more like your brother?" he heard his father's voice coming from the dead corpse. "What a mistake we made! You'll only ever be wanted for your money and your name. Otherwise, you're a poor suitor for any woman!"
Raoul shot up in bed, his breathing harsh and quick as he ran trembling fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. "Dammit!" he gasped.
He buried his head in his hands and massaged his temples.
Raoul suddenly felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. He looked up to see Philip standing beside him. "What's wrong, Ray…?"
The younger DeChagny furrowed his brow – why was Philip in his room? He shook his head and thought it unimportant. "I had a weird dream."
"Want to share?" Philip asked.
Share? Raoul thought. When did Philip become so concerned about his dreams?
"It was … Mom and Dad. Telling me to stay with my own – then… dying. Right there. Telling me… I was worthless," Raoul found himself speaking, despite the urge not to.
"Listen, Ray - I know you want to have some fun with that Giry girl, but if you plan on more than that, then I agree with Mother and Father."
"What do you mean?" Raoul asked.
"Well, I don't expect Megan to want anything more than your money and name." Phil pointed out. "Do you truly think she enjoys your company?"
Philip sat on the bed beside Raoul. "Face it, little brother - she doesn't want you, she wants what's in your wallet."
"Keep to your class!"
"Stay with your own!"
"You'll only ever be wanted for your money and your name!"
"Why couldn't you have been more like your brother?"
"SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" Raoul cried out, hands clutching at his ears as the voices grew louder in his head.
"Ray? Ray, what's wrong?"
Raoul looked up to see his brother aging and shriveling, turning to dust right before his eyes. "I'm not going to be here forever, Ray. Be grateful you're a DeChagny. You're nothing otherwise."
Raoul's eyes shot open – again. "What the hell?" He glanced around quickly. The door was still closed and there was no sign Philip had been anywhere in the room.
He quickly ran into the adjoining bathroom and retched.
Beneath the Populaire - Saturday afternoon
"Wow! This is amazing!" Christine gasped as Erik held her hand and led her through the darkness. He had come to pick her up for the day and had insisted on showing her something a little different.
The hidden tunnels beneath the Populaire were indeed different.
"How'd you figure all these out?" she asked.
"Shortly after I took up residence beneath Ravelle, I found an entrance off the back of the school that led to a retired subway tunnel. I didn't want to be seen by anyone, but I didn't want to be cooped up in the basement all day either, so I began to explore. I found that the main tunnel branched out to several smaller ones, which in turn led to various parts of the city," he explained.
"I came upon the Populaire quite by accident. I was simply walking around, making note of where I was going and how to get back, when I heard the music. I followed it and found myself beneath a grate under the stage." He offered a slight smile, "And then I found my way to Box Five and frightened the patrons with a few little vocal tricks."
"What did they say to the managers?" Christine asked.
"There was only one manager at the time – Mr. Lefevre, if I recall. The patrons claimed the box was haunted – for every time they sat there, they would hear a disembodied voice." Erik shrugged. "You will find that Box Five is difficult to sell to the superstitious."
Christine furrowed her brow, "But if it happened all those years ago-" she stopped and glanced up at him. "Wait a sec! You're still doing it, aren't you?" she accused.
"Oh look, we're here," Erik spoke quickly as he tapped a wall to the left, receiving a hollow echo in response. He pushed against a portion of wall and revealed a door, then took Christine's hand again – purposely ignoring her question – and led her through another darkened tunnel.
"There used to be dormitories back here," Erik continued as he indicated the narrow passageway and the various doors that led to small rooms. "Members of the company would live here for the extent of their tenure back in the late 1800s."
"This theatre's been around THAT long?" Christine asked in awe, realizing she was not going to get an answer to her earlier query.
Erik nodded. "I'd say it's just shy of 140 years old," he said. "People began to move out eventually though. They preferred to make more comfortable homes for themselves in the high-rises that were being built around the city."
"I don't blame them…" Christine frowned distastefully as she glanced into a dusty little room. "I'd hate living here too."
Erik shrugged. "Well, with the advent of automobiles and trains, they didn't have to. They were able to come and go as they pleased. I doubt these dormitories were used much after the forties or fifties. Now they're just storage areas."
He pushed opened another door and led Christine inside. A piano stood in the corner, recently polished, with a bench and a metal chair filling the otherwise bare room. "I thought we could have our lessons here, since it is close to your new apartment."
"Erik!" she cried out, throwing herself into his arms. He caught her easily. "Thank you so much!" She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his masked face down for an appreciative kiss.
It took all his willpower to pull away and place her back on the ground. "We should start," he said as he placed his backpack down and sat upon the bench. "I don't want you to be missed."
Christine laughed. "Um, we ARE allowed to spend time with our boyfriends when we don't have a class, you know." She slid onto the bench beside him. "But thank you for worrying about it."
Erik simply nodded. "Here…" he reached his bag and pulled out a large pile of paper.
"Yikes!" Christine's eyes went wide, then she turned to him worriedly. "I… I don't have to do this all TODAY, do I?"
He let out a soft chuckle. "No, of course not. But I want you to look it all over. It is copies of the scores for the Populaire's new season. Since you will be spending so much time here, I will teach you as if you are going to perform on stage."
She bit her lip nervously. "But… I'm NOT going to perform on stage."
"Do not be so sure of that," he said. Christine opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but he spoke before she could. "Warm up now, and we will begin."
Christine did as he asked. When she was ready, he began to play, indicating she sight read and join in to the best of her ability.
Having long since memorized the score, Erik closed his eyes and let the music soothe him, Christine's beautiful voice taking him elsewhere.
Erik remembered the secret he had admitted to her not more than a week ago, the memory of the masked boy's attack still fresh in his mind.
There was a time I embraced death, Christine, Erik thought as he continued to play. Just like my rope embraced the necks of my quarry. You have no idea... NO idea what I was like before you. The thought of dying gave me cold comfort – to know my personal hell would end eventually.
He glanced over at Christine, looking so very lovely in her red plaid schoolgirl skirt, matching knee-highs and baby-t.
Erik quickly turned back to his hands, watching as they danced over the keys. His fingers seemed to move on their own, guided by instinct.
I accepted death, waited for it to come for me. I even played with my life on more than one occasion. I didn't care. There was really no reason for me to be in this world. Nothing for me to live for
He watched Christine's bright blue eyes skim over the paper as she continued.
But now… my sweet angel… now that I have you, I am afraid of losing a life that took over three decades to begin.
Laramie Drive
Sytri walked by Adam's room only to see the boy sitting on his bed, holding his beloved rope as he silently muttered to himself.
He looked up when he heard Sytri's footsteps. "I saw it, Father. In his eyes! I saw Erik's fear! He was scared of me! Your first-born son was scared of me. You must be so very disappointed in him, Father."
Sytri leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed. "Erik fears no man."
"But I SAW it!" Adam insisted. "When I tugged the rope around his neck, I SAW it!"
"What you saw was the fear of death. Do not mistake that for fear of YOU."
Adam shook his head vehemently. "No… no no… it was me! ME!"
"My son's will to live makes him far more dangerous than he was. He would kill you to prevent himself from entering eternal sleep. Do not think otherwise."
Adam frowned. "Father - why is it only Erik that you refer to as 'my son'? I am your son as well!"
Sytri stepped into the room and stood before him. "Very well. If I ever hear that you have attacked your brother again, I will kill you… SON."
Adam's eyes went wide. "But you said… you said he betrayed you! That he… that he was ungrateful!"
"That has not changed," Sytri answered. "But if anyone is to end his life, it will be me. And right now, I would rather he remain breathing."
"But-"
The larger man suddenly reached down and grabbed Adam by the throat, preventing the boy from finishing his words as he yanked him from the bed and squeezed. "Erik is to remain untouched," Sytri hissed. "I TRUST that is clear to you!"
Adam's lower lip began to quiver, his eyes filling with tears. "You love him more than me!" he cried out. "Because he's the older one!"
Sytri narrowed his eyes. "I know nothing about love… but I do know Erik is far more useful to me than YOU will ever be! He is faster, stronger, and smarter. Do not even try to compete with him! You may have caught him off-guard once, but I guarantee he will NOT let you do so again!"
With great impatience, Sytri threw Adam across the room, sending the boy crashing into a nearby wall.
Adam doubled over on the ground, clutching at his head. "The… the pretty girl…" he gasped through the pain. "She… she made him weak! I know… I KNOW she did! He… he is NOT stronger than me! He… he ISN'T!"
Sytri let out a harsh laugh. "Whatever else that girl has done to him, she has not made him any less of a killer." His thoughts flashed back to several months ago – when Erik had almost killed him with his bare hands.
"Do not fall into a false sense of security." Sytri continued, shaking the memory away. "Try to attack Erik again, and you will be dead."
Ignoring the painful whimpers from the boy curled up on the ground, Sytri walked away, smirking coldly. And perhaps I will finally be free from your incessant whining.
Saturday Night – DeChagny Residence
"Hey, Raoul!" Raoul heard Meg's hopeful voice on the other end of the line. "What are you up to tonight?"
"Um…" Raoul squeezed the handset of the phone, hesitant to reply. His dream was still fresh in his mind, and he had decided to think about what it represented. "Well, there are some papers Phil wants me to look over. Needs to be done tonight."
"Oh…" he could hear the disappointment in Meg's voice. "Well, I was just wondering because there's a midnight showing of 'North by Northwest'. I know you like Cary Grant. And, I mean, it's Hitchcock too, so that's a plus."
"Yeah…" Raoul felt his stomach drop. This isn't fair to her! You know better then to be freaked out by a dream! "It's just too bad I have to do this stuff. I'm sorry, Meg. Just… really bad timing."
There was a moment of silence, then Meg's voice attempting to sound cheerful. "No problem. I'm sorry for disturbing you. I … I should have realized that you're probably really swamped. Um… if you want, there's another showing tomorrow."
"Right. Of course. I'll probably be tied up tomorrow too." Raoul winced at his own words. "Phil is working on a big deal at the moment."
"Busy guy," Meg replied. "Well, if you want a break from all that work, I could treat you to a Starbucks when Philip gives you a spare moment. You'll probably need a caffeine rush."
Meg's voice was light, but Raoul had the distinct impression she was forcing it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, recalling what she had just said. I could treat you. Meg was offering, which meant she DIDN'T expect him to pay for everything.
"I'll keep that in mind." Raoul answered. "Listen, I have to go, Meg. Sorry. Lots to do."
"Oh… right… sorry. Didn't mean to keep you," Meg answered shakily. "Good night Raoul."
"G'night, Meg," he said, then cradled the phone and let out a sigh.
His dream still nagged at the corners of his mind.
Raoul had had enough experience to know that money could make any girl like a guy, whether she liked him as a person or not.
In fact, he knew that a few of his past girlfriends had found great pleasure in expecting him to dole out the cash. It was the reason they were past girlfriends.
The only one who had been different was Christine.
Raoul thought about that.
Perhaps Christine associated with like-minded people. Perhaps Meg was more interested in HIM than his money.
What if he was wrong, though? What if Meg was just like the others?
Raoul cursed his own indecisiveness.
Until he felt more comfortable, perhaps it would be better to avoid Megan Giry.
END OF EPISODE 45