Hello my readers! This is the chapter you have been waiting for! Excitement and romance and murder all wrapped into one! Will any one survive? Will this be the end of Belle and her love? This chapter contains both Erik and Belle's POV. Feel free to leave any reviews and comment that you may have. I could really use them to help project the rest of the story. I remain your obedient servant
~The Southern Rose~
I spent the next 3 days asleep, and apparently I had a few visitors. Conner and Lukas begged Erik to let them see me, both of them crying at my bedside. Once I finally awoke, there was a large meal and wonderful company awaiting me.
"Hello my love…" I hear as I stir. My eyes slowly open, Erik's wonderful face coming into view. His soft lips gently press to my forehead, making my heart melt along with the pain. Erik refused to leave my side for more than a moment, caring for me like a newborn. We lay in bed, my head on his bare chest with my hair spilling over his chest and arm, lost in my book. Erik was happily scribbling down a new composition, occasionally looking down and kissing my head. I knew when he would be lost in thought, his free hand would idly play with my hair, nearly putting me to sleep. Erik had a stack of books by the bed, letting me read to my heart's content about the knights of the round table and far away cities in Italy. "May I ask you something?" I was once again lulled to sleep by his alluring humming and his fingers combing through my hair. I look up at him, his smile my favorite thing in the world. "Sorry to wake you my angel, but I've talked to Meg, Badeaux, Leroux, and Madam Giry, and none of them have been able to answer my question. And when I asked it, they were wondering the same thing." He paused to gather his thoughts, softly sighing "You live and work in an opera house, are an incredible musician and dancer, but yet you are the only one who does not sing, not even humming. Not backstage, in ballet practice, why is that?" I froze in mid-paragraph. I closed my book and drew in a long breath,
"Because, I don't sing." I rolled away from him, hoping he would get the point.
"But Ma Cherie, I've heard you sing and it makes angels jealous."
"What do you mean you've heard me sing?" My face hot "I've never sang!"
"I can hear everything that happens in your room. It echoes through the corridor; those nights you sang Conner to sleep, when you sing while bathing, you truly have a gift. So explain Ma Cherie, why do you not sing in public?" I could feel the tears in my eyes, but I forced them back as he pulled me to him, turning my chin to his face.
"For the same reason Conner hasn't spoken in the years since our parent's death."
"Which would be?"
"My Father and Mother were killed many years ago by a drunken man." The tears were beginning to make reappearance. "Mother was on her way to get Father and to tell him that she'd found him another job, this one as a grounds keeper at another church. 2 years prior, he had a job in Her Majesty's Royal Orchestra, but he was soon replaced by a much better flute player, one who was a native Englishman and not an immigrant. From then on, no one would dare higher a man who was rejected by the English queen. Once Father was replaced, we were forced out of our home and had no place to turn. With the money Father had, he bought us tickets to Paris in hopes of playing in the Opera Garner. The night before his audition you burned the place to hell, sending Father into a drinking and gambling fit. Anyway, after much persuasion by Mother, they left the saloon where Father was gambling and drinking away the last of our money. Just outside the saloon, a man heavily drunken, tried to rob them. Mother refused to give up what money she had left. He offered a handsome sum of money in return for a night with Mother, but she spat in his face and called him something ugly, at least that's what the prostitute said when she screamed for the police. Enraged at Mother, he shot them right then and there; the police were of no help. The man was never found, and my brothers and I spent the next five years paying off Father's debt with interest. Our family tried to run away; Father changed our last name from Winner to Fabre, but somehow that monster found us and cut my brother's tongue out, making him mute forever. I was eighteen when it happened; Father was the one who taught me to play, but it was Mother who could sing. Her voice made angels jealous. Though she was no soprano, the tone she had with her mezzo voice rivaled even Christine. Not singing was my way of grieving for her. When she died, so did my voice and now there is nothing that can bring back my voice. During the first few years, singing was the only thing to help Conner sleep at night." Erik was taken aback. I was doing my best not to cry, but I was trying to win a losing war. "I'm sorry, I'm not supposed to cry but" Erik cut me off.
"Your brothers aren't here; I don't think you ever had a time to grieve, truly grieve for them. You were too busy trying to keep everything together. Now mon bel ange, just let it go." I curled into his chest, soft, slow tears sliding down my face as he ran gentle fingers through my hair. As I began to regain my composure, he sang a soft melody that I'd heard in the opera house before. I knew the melody by heart, for he constantly played it while I was recovering. Suddenly I felt an overwhelming desire to sing, and like a bird, soared over the notes. At the end, instead of settling in on the middle note, I hit the octave note above. I couldn't believe it; I was really singing again. An idea popped into Erik's mind. "I need to speak with the two 'owners' of my opera house. Come with mon Belle, I want to show them something." We dressed and walked hand in hand to their office where someone was waiting for me, and he was not happy, especially since I just sliced his leg wide open like a Christmas turkey.
"There she is! The little thief, she owes me money." How he got here I don't wanna know. His partner had a ledger in his hand, and an evil smile across his face. Badeaux walked over to the door and shut it. Erik had not entered the room, he didn't want anyone beside Badeaux and Leroux to know who he was or that he was alive. Then Leroux cleared his throat and asked
"Is this true Mademoiselle? Do you owe this man money?"
"Not anymore, I paid off my father's debt months ago; I kept track of it in a ledger that this man signed every time I paid him. Now he's saying that I still owe him?"
"You do owe me! According to my ledger, you've still to pay me!" he yelled back. Badeaux stepped in
"Enough Monsieur, now where is this ledger of yours?" DuPont gave him the ledger and he looked it over, flipping several pages. A confused expression covered Badeaux's face as he showed it to Leroux. "Mademoiselle, show us your ledger please?" We filled out of the office and headed for my room. I opened the door and lit a candle as Badeaux, Leroux, DuPont and Foss came rushing in like the wind.
"I kept it here in my dresser." I opened my dresser and pulled it out, but something was missing. "Wait, where's my drawing journal?" I closed the drawer and handed my ledger to Leroux, who nodded his head. He took the ledger from Badeaux and handed it to me.
"Is this your journal?" I turned the pages to see all of my drawings, people I saw, many of the Opera Garner, and many more of Erik.
"Where did you get this?" I said, focusing my attention on Foss and DuPont. They grabbed me and stuck a knife at my neck in one swoop.
"Get back, everyone! Or she dies." When we left the room, I could hear shoes chasing after me. This man was hell bent on having me for his own.
"Stop him!" I heard Leroux say. I screamed and swore as I was dragged away like a slave. I clawed at Foss, my nails leaving shallow marks on his skin. As we ran to the door, I struggled to set myself free. We burst through the front doors of the opera house, the steps wet with the melting snow when cold steel made its mark on my side. I screamed, then a cape came flying out of the shadows and one by one, DuPont and Foss came crashing down. Leroux arrived first, then sent Meg to get the police. The last thing I remember were snowflakes, soft and cool snowflakes, but the ground beneath me was warm.
(ERIK)
Just when I thought she was safe, now this. When I saw the man's face, I knew who he was. He was the man who shot that poor couple in the street five years ago. The voice was the same voice that was talking 'business' with that little ballet rat Marie. Now here their daughter was, beautiful and hardworking, and she's laying here, an unfeeling, cold piece of steel sticking out of her like a turkey on Christmas. Once the police arrived, I picked her up and carried her down to my lair. Every second counted now, the more I waited, the closer she grew to death's door. I took her pulse, it was weak, but still there; suddenly she stopped breathing. I ran as fast as my legs would run, hoping that I could save her. My feet stumbled over loose stone, hidden cracks in the walkway, and rats. I laid her on my piano bench and took the knife from her side, which bled profusely. I took my sewing needle Antoinette gave me and sewed the wound closed. I wrapped the wound to stop the bleeding, and it took a few moments before it was contained. Her body lay cold, lifeless on the bench, and that is when I broke down. I couldn't take much more of this. First Christine, now Belle, the difference between them was Belle loved me, truly. Christine I got over, she made her choice. She chose that wealthy, dazzling Vicomte de Chagny fop. So I didn't have the dazzling looks she desired, but gave her all I had; my music. Belle well, hers was made for her, and she sacrificed her life to save her brothers. She provided for them, gave them a home and helped them make a living. How many women can dance like a snowflake in December and make a bedframe from solid wood? The only one I knew lay cold before me. Checking her pulse again, and again, and again before I realized it was gone. I knelt by her side and cried; my life couldn't go on anymore, not without my beautiful angel Belle. I prayed to God "Please, Lord Almighty, return her to me. Your work through her upon this Earth is not complete." I continued to sob, checking her pulse one last time, still nothing. I got up and walked to the water's edge, grabbing my lasso. I ran my hands over its rough fibers. How fitting for the Phantom of the Opera to die by the noose, his very own noose. I had the rope in my hand, ready to end all of the pain when life was breathed back into her and she was gasping for every breath.
(BELLE)
I woke up fighting for every breath. After coughing a few times and trying sitting up, I was able to see clearly. I was back in Erik's hideaway and for some reason; he had a noose around his neck he was going to kill himself. He loosened it where he stood and ran to my side, crying like an infant. He picked me up and embraced me in never-ending warmth. I reached up and took his mask from his face, a soft smile on my face as leaned in to kiss his deformed cheek. "Erik…I feel weak…and so cold…" He took me in his arms and lay me in his bed, wrapping around me. I awoke to Erik lifting my dress and cleaning my wound.
"You usually ask permission before lifting a lady's dress" His head snapped up and was redder than his bedsheets. "Your wound…I…" I gave him a weak smile, placing my hand on his bad cheek and rubbing my thumb across it.
"From now on, no more wearing the mask when it's just us. I love all of you, not just the good parts." He took my hand, kissing it softly as he put aside the bloody gauze from my wound. Seeing that much blood, MY blood, made me sick at my gut. I turned away, trying not to ruin Erik's sheets. I could feel him pull the covers back, and him slide beside me.
"It's alright mon amour…I'm right here…" I feel his hand under my chin, turning my face to his. I open my eyes, his smile making everything else melt away. He kisses my forehead, his lips soft and velvety as a rose. He lay back in bed, pulling me into his chest. I let the rhythm of his heartbeat lulling me to sleep.
