Things will get better soon… I do hope! And, yes, VictorianDream, I've had the ending written, re-written, re-re-re-written, rer0e0re—re-re-r-e, etc. since August. I do love it!
It was rage I had never before witnessed in my life. Truly a seemingly non-existent heart shattering. Even more so. It was as if any remains of his soul had ceased to exist as it had lost it's counterpart. I had to mask my own realization when I finally put together who he was.
My God! Had I been so blind? Who else would kidnap a woman through song but an Angel of Music? He who sang an orphan to sleep, acted as a Father to her and did nothing but guard her and help her in her career. Yet, on the other side of the fence: he who murdered, he who lied, he who manipulated and threatened.
I truly was underground. Underground, and trapped. With an absolute mad man. I saw my future shrouded in endless darkness.
After I had told him of Christine Daae's death, I realized my affiliated with the de Chagny was the last on his mind. The man lost his footing and groped for a table stand. Sputtering, unable to speak, he simply raged. The table was knocked over, an elaborate glass candle holder: shattered. He stormed to his piano bench and threw himself there, catching his breath. Then, began to tear at the piles and piles of sheet music with furry.
I had kept my head down, looking only at the provided dressing gown I know knew was meant to be Christine's. That thought made the material burn my skin, it was going to choke me to death slowly, it was going to slowly suffocate me.
Jumping up from the table like a raving woman, I staggered to reach the door of what was coined my bedroom the previous evening. My captor had obviously noticed my attempt to flee the room and grabbed my wrist, forcing me to once again face his expressionless mask.
I starred into his eyes, his breathing, violent. It was as if he was attempting to bring himself to tell me something, but could not. Though, what he even wanted to tell me I could not even begin to guess. What was there to say? One reaction to the death of one woman explained everything to me. Not only did it explicate to me what I was doing there, but it clarified the expression Raoul had when telling me the abridged story of Christine and her Angel of Music. Horror, shock, pity and true fear of the unknown.
"Who are you?" I asked very slowly, saying each syllable as clearly as possible.
"My name is Erik," he said in accented English, expressionless as his mask.
"You speak English?" I asked, both irritated that he had hidden this fact from me until now, knowing perfectly well my French was atrocious, and flabbergasted
I knew at that moment I was in a situation in which I could not be snappy, or use cold wit to charm anybody. I was at his mercy – Erik's mercy. I had to be sweet, if not completely dumb. I would get myself out that way. I would act completely compliant and fearful. I was having to truckle my way into freedom.
"Well, Erik, I understand."
A smile formed on his twisted lips, he backed away and let out a howl of hysterical, manical! Laughter completely void of humor.
"You understand nothing!"
In Erik's world of perpetual night and monotonous exsistence, I lost all track of the hour…the day. Had I been there for a few days? Perhaps a week? It might as well have been months. Nothing mattered to me anymore.
I hated him, I feared him. But, what other choice had I but being agreeable and pleasing? I never said a word to him, and in return, he rarely spoke back. I would make a meal for myself and for him, leaving it on the table. I never knew when, or if he ate, but the food was always gone within a few hours. I never truly knew if he was within his home, or if perhaps he had left for a bit. I never trusted that variable enough to attempt to find a door, or a way out. In my slow descent to madness, I began to become convinced that there was no way out at all. I spent most of the time with my doors bolted in my own smaller cage within that cage kingdom that Erik commanded. After roughly sketching loose waisted dresses, I began to re-do a few of Christine's dresses to suit myself.
I never became accustomed to the sudden playing of the organ, it never failed to make me nearly jump out of my seat or send my heart racing and adrenaline running. Erik's songs were ones filled with anguish and passion that made my head throb. If his sudden bout of playing continued into hours of mournful songs I would lie in the large bed and mourn for myself. It was, to say the least, a pathetic existence.
Though, one evening (every moment was an evening) an alarm sounded that sent the book from my hands and had me on my feet looking about frantically. What was I hoping to see? I suppose something…anything! new that perhaps had potential for my assistance. The only change in the room, however, was the motion of a curious bell-looking siren above the doorframe that began a stair-case downwards leading to the lake.
Erik ran from his bedroom, slamming the door hard behind him.
"The damned siren!"
I looked over at him, I'm sure looking as confused as I truly was.
"Go," he hissed, between clenched teeth.
So shocked to actually receive an order from him, I did so quickly. If someone had demanded that of me pre-kidnapping I would have stood my ground and questioned. However, I knew pleasing him was all I could do to…stay alive?
I pressed my ear against the closed door, hearing only the pacing of two sets of dressed shoes and angry whispers in a foreign tongue.
