Chapter 18: The Telegram

- Somewhere near Tehran, Persia:-

Erik stormed out the back flap of the abandoned shack, his trembling hands forming into tight fists at his side. He followed a small trail that curved to the front of the caravan where his carriage awaited, away from the others. He didn't wish to see anyone: not a guard, not a crew member, not even his Christine. Instead, he wanted to destroy everything in his path. He had waited a little while in the hut, trying to process the electricity that burned through his veins before leaving in utter frustration. Why did her eyes widen when he held her? Why did she put her hands on his grotesque form? Was she terrified of him or did she…

No. That was impossible.

To quell his rage, he kicked the wheel of his carriage, ignoring the sharp ache on the balls of his foot and the crack of wood beneath it. Watching that fat oaf put his slobbery lips on her awoke a deep feeling of anger within him. Though he knew it was all an act, one neither were too keen on, it made his blood boil. At first, it was controllable, but when he dropped her, it was as if the chain had broken and a wild animal within him had broken free. He didn't even process his actions until he was overcome with the feeling of soft curls and skin. This lustful desire would be the death of him.

"It went that badly?"

He didn't even turn to look at Nadir, already certain a smug smile was plastered on his face. It was a sight he didn't need to see.

"It went well." Erik growled.

Nadir chuckled. "I'll say. She seemed quite… glossy eyed."

Erik snarled. Though he wore a mask, he knew that the daroga could sense his indignant scowl when he turned to face his colleague. Regardless, the old fool stood with his arms crossed and a large grin emerging from his bushy beard. For the entire trip, Nadir had annoyed him with near constant comments on his former student. It was not helping him maintain his composure.

"Don't be ridiculous." Erik spat. "Did you have anything important to tell me or have you satisfied your childish impulses?"

The daroga chuckled, raising his hands in defense. "I only jest, my friend. I just came to inform you that the caravan is ready to continue to the capital."

Erik nodded. The city border was only a few hours away. They were, unfortunately, ahead of schedule. Erik straightened. Soon he would have to confront the Shah and argue to save the crew's life. It was a drastic change of plan, as well as characteristically unlike him, but now completely unavoidable. Yet, the closer they came to the palace, the less confident he became. Even Nadir had pointed out that success was unlikely. But what other choice did he have but to try? If he failed, she would die. If they died, she would never forgive him. The latter would be unfortunate, but in the end, still a success.

"Has she figured it out, yet?" Nadir asked, pulling his friend from his thoughts. Erik knew exactly what he was referring to. Does she know who you are, dear Phantom of the Opera?

"No." Erik responded. He straightened his tunic. He stepped away from the carriage, sure that the managers who had been locked inside it all day were attempting to eavesdrop. "And she never will if I have anything to do with it."

Nadir followed him. "And why is that?"

"She has talked about me...about the old me. Her angel of music. Though I do have my regrets, I think it would be best for us both if she remains oblivious. As much as I have hurt her, the truth would be unbearable."

Nadir clasped his hands behind his back, shaking his head slightly. "I disagree. Yes, the truth may sting at first, but it would give her the chance to fully heal. For so long she has believed you abandoned her because of something she did. She bears the blame in her soul, a poison that clearly has ramifications. If she learned the truth, the entire truth, she would understand. Then, she would heal."

"How could she understand, Daroga? She would learn that throughout her entire life, the angel she believed was sent by her father was a monster who hid in the shadows. How the hell would that help her heal?"

"If you explained your past she would understand why you lied. She has a kind heart, dear friend, a heart of gold that gives her the ability to sympathize."

"I don't need her sympathy!" Erik spat. He towered over the daroga, who stood unflinchingly. "I will never tell her the truth. Yes, she bears guilt for her supposed betrayal, but when she thinks of me she still imagines a soul. All of her memories are of friend, a companion. She is the only person in the world that has one good thought of me. She sees me as something pure, something... worthwhile."

The daroga didn't say anything at first, though there was a sadness in his eyes. Erik didn't care. Although he may deny these claims, he had seen Erik at his worst. The past 5 years had given him power, control, possibly even freedom, but all at the cost of the little humanity he had left. The people he had killed, the blood he had spilt, all for some dream of a somewhat normal life. Erik still wasn't sure if it was worth the cost, but that didn't change the fact that he had murdered hundreds. For all these years, the daroga had stood by and watched him as he spiraled into darkness, unable to change his destined course into hell. Despite his kind words, Erik knew that he had seen within his black heart and knew of his devilish soul. Nothing could change that.

But Christine was unaware of the horrors he had performed here and in his past. She knew him as an angel. In the whole world there was just one person, one soul, that thought of him tenderly. As selfish as it was to continue to lie to her, there was nothing he wouldn't give to die knowing that one person would weep for him. One kind, beautiful woman. If she ever learned the truth and saw him for who he was, she would hate him. Though he was used to mankind's enmity, hers would surely kill him.

-Somewhere near Paris, France:-

The Chagny residence was a picturesque château of French Aristocracy. It was located on the outskirts of Paris, seemingly hidden by a perimeter of thick woods. The long road that led to the elegant main doors previewed the well kept gardens of the estate. Charles de Chagny enjoyed admiring them from his office window. It was perfectly located. From here, he could see all who entered and exited the estate as well as the glamorous display of his family's fortune. It reminded him of his duty. Wealth was chained with strenuous responsibility.

"Whiskey, Minister Carnot?"

Minister Marie Francois Sadi Carnot, tutted as he sat in one of the elaborate mahogany chairs on the other side his friend's desk.

"Come now, Charles. We have been friends for too long to cling to such formalities in private. But yes, Vicomte de Chagny, I would love a small glass of whiskey."

Charles smiled. "I presume I should omit the small talk then as well?"

He passed a glass to Minister Carnot, who took it with a small nod of gratitude. Charles sat at his desk.

"Of course. I am afraid I don't have the stomach for it nor do I have the time."

"You're the Minister of Finances for the French government, old friend. I am afraid you must stomach much of it."

Minister Carnot laughed. "Unfortunately, you are quite right." He took a swill of whiskey. "But that doesn't mean I have to put up with it from you. Now please, what has been troubling you? I am afraid I do not have much time."

Charles pushed forward a folded newspaper. "Have you read this morning's edition?"

"I have. Are you referring to the attacks near Turkey?"

Charles nodded. "You cannot deny that this Shah of Persia grows more defiant the more we stand by. The French government should stand against his tyranny."

The Minister rubbed his forehead. "Look Charles, there is nothing I can do. Persia is the gateway to the east, physically and figuratively. Damaging our trade deals with Asia could topple our economy. It's too risky."

"People are dying, Marie. Will any form of government overlook economic prosperity for the well being of man?"

"Economic prosperity is the well being of man."

Charles sighed. "French nationals were killed in those attacks. You know this, though the paper neglected to report it. The Shah and his league of assassins are dangerous. What if one was to infiltrate Paris?"

"There is no evidence this attack was carried out by a supposed 'league of assassins' or even ordered from the Shah. There are rebellious forces within Persia that are against him. His own son is leading them. It seems as though our French nationals were caught between a quarrel between father and son."

"A violent quarrel. He is a tyrant, not just to other nations but his own people. He must be dethroned. His son has been more than vocal of his support of treaties between Europe, Asia, and Persia. If he became Shah, we wouldn't have to worry about appeasing a volatile brat and we could still have economic prosperity." Charles took a swill of his drink before continuing "That man is a tyrant and meddlesome in global affairs. Honestly, Marie, I am surprised that you are not more outspoken about him."

"Politics is like chess, Charles. You only tell them of your intentions when you declare 'checkmate'."

"Clearly I am not patient enough for politics." Charles huffed.

"Finally something we can agree on." The Minister chuckled. "You've always been fascinated with the idea of playing the hero, Charles. But I am telling you, a war with Persia would be anything but heroic. Though I do agree, the exiled son would be a more manageable Shah, the fact of the matter is that we cannot take action without grounds."

Charles scoffed. He took a large gulp of his whiskey.

"Speaking of Persia, I heard that opera of yours is travelling abroad."

"Yes. They left last month."

"And now they are in Persia?"

"Against my wishes."

Minister Carnot chuckled as he rubbed the edges of his long mustache. "They are aware how candid you are for that country?"

"I do not dislike the country, just their leader. And to clarify, I am more bothered by him than disgusted." He corrected.

"Regardless, I am surprised you let them go that far east."

"I didn't seem to have much of a choice. I was told they had some old friends there that they wanted to perform for. Some wealthy chieftain that had previously visited the Opera. Besides, I was reminded many times that 'Music has no borders nor politics'."

Both men laughed. Their grey hairs and years of experience in politics were firm contradictions of the managers whimsical statement.

"How naive." Minister Carnot sighed. "Well, I hope they will be paid well for their travels."

"Oh yes. They made 15 stops along the Mediterranean, each one of them completely sold out. They are making quite a profit from their journey. But their urge to go to Persia...troubles me."

"Troubles you?"

"As you said, I am candid on my views on the Shah. I fear they may meet some unsympathetic loyalists who know of our affiliation."

The minster waved his hand dismissively. "I doubt the common Persian would know of your beliefs, let alone that you are a patron of the Opera. It would only be members of his court or the Shah himself who may have heard of your objections."

"Precisely." Charles replied grimly.

Minister Carnot scoffed. "You mean you fear the Shah himself would order such an attack? On a simple travelling Opera? Surely such an act would be denounced by the Shah? Otherwise, it could be seen as an act of war."

"Yes, you're right. An attack on them would be an act of war." Charles took another sip of his whiskey, his tone lightening. "Though I doubt the Shah would be so irrational."

"I agree. That would definitely complicate our alliance. It may just be a travelling opera, but they are the best in the world. On top of that, the beloved Italian diva is with them, is she not?"

"Ah yes, Carlotta Guidicelli. You know they cannot perform Hannibal without her, it just wouldn't be the same."

"Nor would she let them." Minister Carnot countered with a smirk.

"Of course not." Charles chuckled. "But regardless of their importance, I fear the Shah's bitterness may overpower the little rational thinking he is capable of."

"You need to relax, Charles. I am sure they will be fine."

"I do hope so. Regardless, I gave Monsieur André a messenger hawk before he left, in case he needed to send anything urgent. I know a trusted handler in Italy who would then send me a telegram. Those creatures are quite extraordinary."

"Ah yes. A clever assurance on your part."

Charles nodded. A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. A butler entered.

"Monsieur Phillipe wishes to speak to you, Vicomte Charles."

"Ah yes. Please tell my son he may enter."

Both men stood. Charles shook his friend's hand warmly. "It is always good to see you, dear friend, even if it is for a short time."

"Likewise. Before I go, I must thank you again for your tip regarding the Élysée. I will make sure to look into this Mr. Wilson fellow."

"Of course. Anything to help a friend such as yourself. Please let me know if you find out any more information"

Minister Carnot nodded. "I expect the same with your Opera. I am curious to see how Persia treats them."

"As am I."

Phillipe entered as the Minister exited the office, both exchanging a brief greeting.

Charles had returned to his seat. He stared at his eldest son as he entered quickly. Usually, his eldest would only sulk in if he was in trouble or needed to talk business. Yet today, Phillipe seemed to be on edge.

"Phillipe? Is all well, my son?"

"I am afraid I come with a telegram."

"A telegram?"

"Yes. From Sergio Bianchi."

André, Charles thought. He took the small envelope from his son and opened it quickly.

"Phillipe, call for Raoul." Charles muttered, reading the telegram with wide eyes. "I am afraid this is worse than we could have ever imagined."

A little history for you. Jules Grévy was the President of France at the time. He resigned in 1887 when his son-in-law, Daniel Wilson, was caught trafficking 'legion of honour' medals. In a way, Grévy was blamed because Wilson only had access to them through his father in law, especially since he was allowed in the Élysée (house of the president, like downing street or the white house). Minister of Finances Marie Francios Sadi Carnot succeeded him as President. There is no indication that he had help getting his place in office, but I figured it would make a great tie in for the story. Hope you enjoyed it!

YinuoTong: It definitely does count as fluff and do not worry, there will be a lot more to come. Thank you!

Phantomgirl24: Thanks for the review! They have a lot to talk about and that moment is coming up very soon.

Lucyole: Reiner definitely dropped a bombshell. Should I incorporate a Piangi workout plan haha. Just kidding. Thanks for the review!

WolfShadow1: Haha 2:30 AM shows dedication! They are currently in Persia through out most of the story, though the flash backs and the second hafl of this chapter take place in France. Hope that clears things up!