I received a few emails and private messages concerning continuation…after seeing Phantom in London I was inspired to add a few more chapters, with the hopes of finishing. Therefore, my six (or so) readers…here you are! This being from Nadir's POV directly where I left off…oohhh, when was it? October? P Please do review even if it is, "this is godawful, plzkthanx, bye!" It really does make my day to receive a review, and it would amuse me to receive flames. But, in all seriousness, constructive criticism is more then welcomed, but wished for!
It had been weeks since my last visit paid to Erik. My concern for him was greater then he would ever know or care to believe. I do not believe there was a more unique relationship then his and mine.
However, I noted something aloof when I reached the underground kingdom. Two plates forgotten since a last meal and a disarray of cushions in the typically untouched sofa are only a few examples. I began to fear the worst.
"Where is Madame de Chagny?"
He rounded the chair, groping for every piece of furniture for support. He began to laugh his cold, cackle with not a trace of humor.
"Dead, Daroga. Dead, dead, dead…"
I stood in utter shock, he could not have! However, I put nothing past him. I thought of a thousand things to say to him, to ask of him, yet words had failed me.
"No, Nadir, you always assume the worst! It is not I who killed her. Oh, no, not I…"
Not convinced I looked to the door frame of the Louis-Philippe room, it was faintly illuminated. Before my eyes, I could clearly picture a dead Christine Daae stretched upon the grand bed. I shuddered at the thought, however, did not let my face reveal my morbid thoughts. Instead, I forced an inquisitive face that I knew would spark Erik's continuation.
"Yes, oh, yes, Nadir," his eyes shone with weeks of madness, "there is a woman. I shall leave you two to be acquainted."
And with that he left. To haunt the Opera House, or to walk in the cold night air…I did not know. I would not put taking his own life past him at that moment…oh, the insanity in his face….
I collected my thoughts and slowly knocked at the Louis-Philippe room, knowing not what else to do. To my shock, a voice responded. I exhaled. She was not dead. However, when the voice repeated her response again, I realized it was not a voice I recognized.
"Oui? ….oui!"
She did not sound afraid, more as if she was answering some sort of judge in court. Exhausted, and ready to give in to what she knew to be injustice.
Without waiting for a second knock, or even a response, the door opened.
She was surprisingly tall, hair knotted back making the color almost indecipherable and – only slightly -- visibly with child.
"Oh, Allah," I sighed out, resorting to my native tongue. "Dear girl," I muttered in French, "who are you?"
