I do not own the characters of The Phantom of the Opera, the music, or the story. Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, Gaston Leroux, and Susan Kay are all creators of the characters and events in my story. Other original characters (later in the story) will obviously belong to me.
Note: This phic will be E/C and even R/M in the end, but will have some R/C. NO RAOUL BASHING.
Also note, that this phic may have violence, cursing, and other materials not suitable for children under 13.
I have posted this phic on Aria, but want to post it other places too.
Reviews are welcomed, but not expected. I am only doing this because I want to. I'm not looking to become a writer, and I'm not looking for criticism. But if you want to comment, be my guest. I really don't care if it's not good writing. I've had this idea for a long time and felt the need to write it. But if you enjoy it, that's great. If not, oh well. lol. Thankyou. (I'm not trying to be rude, I'm just saying this is for fun...not something I'm taking too seriously).
Nightmares
"Track Down this murderer...He must be found!" The mob's chants grew louder echoing off the walls of the lair. The mist from the underground lake rose up to his face. Coldly he stared down at the ring in the palm of his hand as he slowly crept over to a vault. The cries of the angry mob got louder until one person came into view. The man from the mob stood there in shock, because before him stood a broken man once feared by all of Paris. He stared at the man people called the Opera Ghost, or the Phantom of the Opera. The Phantom froze in his spot…making a silent plea to the man who could possibly show him mercy. But unfortunately his pleas fell on deaf ears.
"Here! He's here!" The man signaled to the rest of the mob. His mind racing the Phantom ran towards the vault to quickly get his most precious belongings. He fell short of the wall when he felt a sharp pain, followed by the feeling of hot metal going through his arm. His hand shot up to his arm to see what happened. He looked to find crimson liquid all over his hands and shirt. One person from the angry mob shot him. Another shot rang through the air; he ducked out of instinct and fell on his knees. This time the bullet missed him.
"Get him!" one man yelled, "He must pay for the lives he cost!" He felt someone lift him up by the back of his hair and threw him towards the crowd.
"He must pay for the life of my love, Piangi!" Anyone could recognize that voice from a mile away…it belonged to the leading soprano, La Carlotta Giudicelli. At this point he looked up to the crowd for the first time and saw what they have done so far to his home. They continued to destroy everything in sight, everything that mattered to him. His music was ripped to shreds, along with his many paper masks, and all of his drawings and paintings of Christine were destroyed. The men mocked him because of the drawings, "How could any woman love someone like him?" Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks as he was forced to listen to the mob laughing at him. Soon they destroyed his organ, and the monkey music box.
"No! For the love of God, just let me be!" The Phantom laughed on the inside; never would he imagine begging for mercy. "Please show some pity..."
"Pity? You never showed pity on us! And what of Joseph Buquet and Piangi!" Andre said mocking him.
"You ruined our jobs!" One of the stage hands yelled, even some of the ballet girls came repeating what he said, "Where are we to live now?" A ballet girl yelled.
"Think of how much money you've cost us!" Firmin furiously shouted.
"…I'm sorry." The Phantom's voice was soft; it was almost unbearable for him to say it. The crowed roared with laughter.
"You're sorry?" Andre started, "You think 'sorry' will cut it? I don't think so…" Firmin stared at Andre and signaled him to get something.
"We want revenge…" Firmin stated and started to laugh as the crowd agreed with him. Andre grabbed a metal pipe and hit the Phantom in the lower back. He cried out in pain as the mob continued to cheer. Not giving up so fast, he got up on his hands and knees, but suddenly Carlotta ran forward and kicked him in the side of the stomach. As the Phantom gasped for air, Andre hit him yet again in the back. He fell to the ground as the mob came forward and continuously kicked and punched him.
Firmin picked him up and punched him in the face. His nose started to bleed as Firmin mocked, "How do you like that, you ugly son of a bitch." With that, he punched him yet again. One of the stage hands came over and signaled the mob to hold his head up. When they did he kicked him square in the nose and blood started to pore out some more. "That was for Joseph Buquet!" He yelled.
"Please!" The beaten man cried, pleading…anything to get the mob to just let him die. "Please, I've already lost my world…the very person I lived for. I already lost my Christine." He looked at his left hand which still held the ring she gave him.
Firmin took the ring from his hand. "Well, well, what's this?"
"Give it back!" He started to become furious. He tried to stand up, but 5 men pushed him back down. He then felt the tight rope around his neck, his lasso…he was being choked by his own weapon! Andre was the one choking him, making sure he saw Firmin drop the ring on the ground and then stepping on it repeatedly…
"No!" He gasped out reaching for the broken ring but was held back. He soon heard the laughing and mockery from the crowd as they continued to ruin his things.
"Christine!" The Phantom began to cry…
"Christine…Christine…"
"Christine…"
"Christine…
…….."
April 21st, 1871
"Christine…Christine!" Raoul yelled trying to wake the young girl up. She jolted up from her bed in sweat. "It's ok Christine…it was only a dream. You were having another one of your nightmares." He stated looking towards her worryingly. She just starred back, her eyes cold with no expression.
'Another one of my nightmares' She thought, 'God, it's been 3 months since that fateful night…and every night I have had a nightmare of some sort.'
"Are you ok now?" Raoul continued to ask.
"Yes..." Christine replied.
'Another one of my nightmares' she repeated in her mind. 'Every night it's something different…sometimes it's of my angel dying, getting beaten by the mob. Or sometimes it's of the people he killed, and all the lives ruined because of my rejection of his love. Even worse…I have had dreams of him just standing there staring at me with his piercing green eyes and hauntingly beautiful voice, he's there staring into my soul. I feel his emotions…sometimes he's so angry…such hatred! And sometimes…there's so much sadness and pain. My poor angel…'
"Christine…I'm worried about you," Raoul said, "Every night you've had dreams about….about…him"
"How would you know that?" Christine shot her eyes up towards him in shock.
"Every time you have a nightmare you call out for your angel…and it's not just the dreams either! What about the incident two weeks ago?"
A flashback started in Christine's mind of two weeks before.
She stood there looking out to the setting sun over the horizon. She was on the balcony, sitting in a chair enjoying the spring breeze. That's when she started to sing
"Past the point of no
return -
no going back now…our passion-play
has
now, at last, begun . . ."
She envisioned that night…the passion, the romance, her angel…
"Past
all thought of right or wrong -
one final question…how
long should we
two wait, before we're one?"
She sang the following part with passion, almost acting out the scene all over again.
"When will the blood begin to race?
The
sleeping bud burst into bloom?
When will the flames, at
last, consume us . . .?"
That's when she heard a noise behind her. She turned slowly to see who it was. There stood Raoul, watching…listening the whole time. Both of them became speechless. She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out. Raoul turned and walked away without another word. They didn't speak of this incident until now.
"Raoul…I'm sorry about that." She started.
"I just don't know if you love me." He sighed looking down. Christine got out of her bed and hugged him. "Of course I do! I just need some time to get over everything." Honestly, in the back of her mind she knew she would always think of her Angel. No amount of time would every fix that.
"How much time? It's been three months!" He exclaimed. Christine said nothing, as she walked over to the window. "I'm sorry Christine, I care about you. You are not acting like yourself." He said as he hugged her.
"I love you too." She whispered.
"I'm going down to eat breakfast. Are you coming?"
"Not right now Raoul, I'll be down soon though." With that he smiled and walked out the door to leave Christine a lone. She collapsed on the bed and buried her face into the pillow sobbingly.
