Chapter two:
Christine and Raoul were standing in front of her dressing room door with an unspoken tension between them. They planned to run away together the next night after Christine's performance. Raoul couldn't be happier, Christine feared for both of their lives. She knew how irrational Erik could be when he was angry and she was afraid of what he was capable of. Raoul knew nothing of Erik's past, of all the innocent people whom he'd murdered without a thought. He was insane, and in love. He would do anything to be with Christine and she knew it. 'Oh Raoul, heaven help us if Erik finds us.' She turned to him with fear in her eyes and before she spoke he knew what she was going to say.
"Christine, you can't turn back now. You must get out of here."
She smiled at him but he still sensed her fear. She wanted nothing more than to leave now, this night, but she knew it was impossible. Erik was expecting her to perform and to meet him at the strike of twelve. She was completely engulfed by her terror of him. When he was simply a voice he was so harmless but he had become a man. He had become the Opera Ghost and nothing terrified her more than his uncontrollable hatred for the world.
"Raoul, tomorrow night I will in my dressing room just before twelve with all of my things packed. Even if I protest you must not let me stay here. No matter what, tomorrow night, this must end."
Raoul watched as Christine began to cry and it tore his heart in two. He hated to see her cry especially when he knew he could do nothing to stop it. He reached out and put his arms around her, holding her to his chest, and tried to console her. He could feel her frail body trembling with every choked sob that escaped her mouth and it only made him hold her tighter. They would run away together and then he would propose. He had the ring and now he needed only for her to accept his proposal and he'd prayed, night after night, that she would. They'd been playing for weeks that they were already engaged but that did nothing for him except make him crave her more. He was hopelessly in love and nothing would ever change that. His thoughts were broken when he heard Christine's sweet voice,
"Raoul, I must get some rest. Remember, come to my room just before the clock strikes twelve."
She smiled sweetly at him and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her right there. However he knew that Erik could be watching them and he knew what inexplicable horrors were in store for Christine if Erik saw them together.
"Good-night Christine," He spoke with confidence but then, in fear of anyone listening, he whispered, "I love you."
With that, he kissed her outstretched hand and made his way to the carriage waiting for him outside.
Unbeknownst to Raoul or Christine, dozens of floors below them Erik sat at his organ contemplating his revenge. He'd been sitting there for hours before he lethargically made his way up, from the deepest cellars of the Opera House, to the stage itself and set his plan in motion. As he worked intently he calmed himself the only way he knew how, singing,
No one would listen
No one but
her
Heard as the outcast hears.
Shamed into solitude
Shunned by the multitude
I learned to listen
in my dark,
my heart heard music.
I longed to teach the world
Rise up
and reach the world
No one would listen
I alone could feel
the music
Then at last, a voice in the gloom
Seemed to
cry "I hear you;
I hear your fears,
Your torment and
your tears."
She saw my loneliness
Shared in my
emptiness
No one would listen
No one but her
Heard as the
outcast hears
No one would listen
No one but her
Heard
as the outcast hears...
His epic voice bounced off the walls all around him, his only companion, as he worked. He could feel the tears begin to run down his cheeks in torrents as he ran the scene over in his head. 'She doesn't love me' was the single thought that continued replaying itself in his mind. 'She'd rather be with him, that repulsive Vicomte. She hates me, I hate myself!' And he did. At that moment in time, more than any other, he absolutely hated himself. He'd been born into the world and immediately cast aside as nothing because of his repugnant deformation. No one, not even his mother, would love him. Christine had shattered every hope that he'd clung onto, so fiercely for these past few years, with just one action. That damned kiss, the kiss she'd given Raoul and not him.
In some way, he knew things would have played out differently had he not been so hideous. In everything he did he blamed it all on his wretched face. This curse that had followed him for so long eating away at his very soul, it was to blame. He'd prayed so long and hard that Christine could look past it, that she could see him for whom he truly was, but inescapably she was human. No human would ever, nor could ever, look upon him with anything but revulsion and hate.
It pained him indescribably to even think of hurting his precious Christine, his muse, but he had no other option. No revenge that could ever be plotted would bring about so much pain as she'd inflicted upon him that night. She'd broken his heart, and she would pay for it.
Standing back, Erik took in everything he had accomplished and knew that his plan was flawless. Now he had only to put it into action and he would the next night. He laughed, his shrill voice cutting through the eerie silence like a knife, at the sheer simplistic genius of his plan, but there was no time to boast now. He went through a trap door that he himself had built and silently crept through the back passageways until he came about a door leading into Miss Daae's dressing room. Like the ghost that he was he made his way in and out, without making a sound, leaving a single red rose, with a black ribbon tied around the stem, lying on her vanity.
"Good-night Christine," he spoke in his monotone voice, "Sleep well for tomorrow holds many secrets."
He crept through the passageways, back down to his lair and sat himself down at his desk. He rummaged through many piles of paper before finding a scroll on which he could write his letter. He took his feather pen, dipped it in red ink, and addressed his letter,
To M. Firmin Richard, and M. Armand Moncharmin:
Gentlemen, as you well know, this evening is to be an epic performance, in more ways than you can imagine. I intend to be present and I fully expect that my box, box five, will be kept empty for me. Should you ignore my commands and sell my box, as you have done in the past, I will waste no time in 'dismissing' whomsoever I find in my seat. Be forewarned gentlemen, the Opera Ghost will be silent no longer.
He sealed the envelope with his usual red skeleton stamp and made his final trip for the evening to the Manager's offices dropping the note, nonchalantly, in front of the door. With that he went back down to his lair to get a bit of rest before the events of the next day were to unfold.
A/N Constructive criticism is always encouraged.
Twinkle22: Thanks! You were my first reviewer. I'm glad you liked it, but as you can imagine nothing good is going to come of his betrayal.
Anyone who has read the original Gaston Leroux novel should kind of know exactly what's coming, but I'm going to put a little twist into it.
If you read my story please have the courtesy to review. However, do NOT leave a review telling me how awful my story is and what a terrible author I am. If you don't like it that's fine, you are entitled to your opinion, but just tell me what you think I could do better. Thanks for reading!
