Disclaimer: I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.
Author Note: Dear fellow fanfictioners... I am so monumentally sorry for the lack of updates recently. Over the last few weeks yet more commitments were added to my already insane schedule and so I barely even had time to get my school work done, let alone take a few hours out to type up a chapter of this story. The problem is, and always has been with me and my writing, that I pre-write all my stories...on paper. And then, as I'm typing them up, I add a few details here and there, embellish the plot a little, and before you know it I've spent five hours on one chapter. I love writing, but as it is a hobby, sometimes it has to take a back seat.
Long story short, I'm hoping that updates will start to become regular again, but I can't promise anything. This story is all pre-written and I am continuing it; it just might take a bit longer to finish. :-) Thank you, lovely readers, for being patient.
And also, thank you lovely reviewers! TMara, MarilynKC, phantomslove01, Billy4Me, Ammaviel, Filhound, your reviews are all very much appreciated. It's interesting to hear your thoughts on Raoul and his actions-if you're wondering my thoughts behind his behaviour, I put it down to shock and guilt. He's just realising that the man he hated and blamed and tried to kill a year ago is actually not that bad at all, and so he's trying to make up for his ignorance...of course, the fact that he is still competing for Christine makes the whole set up a little unsteady...
And now enough of my rambling- onto the chapter (at last!)
Seventeen- The Makings of an Excellent Plan
For the first time in the twisted, tormented life of the notorious Opera Ghost, everything was going according to plan. For once, there was no major disaster looming,, or a sinister death threat lingering in the shadows, but if Erik were to be entirely honest with himself, the should-be positive outlook was doing him more harm than good. His life, and the various unpleasant people and occurrences he had come across, had left it's macabre stain in his mind and no matter how he tried to do as Nadir always so irritatingly encouraged and stop worrying about the endless depressing things that could occur, he always seemed to end up back in the deepest, darkest corner of his mind where all the foulest thoughts and memories and feelings lay waiting to ensnare him. Too many years ago to comfortably recall, Nadir had- during one of Erik's many hysterical breakdowns- persuaded his tormented oaf of a friend to mentally lock away the things that kept coming back to haunt him.
"Imagine you are banishing them to the deepest, darkest corner of your mind." Nadir had urged in a desperate voice, exhausted by the outburst which- Erik seemed to recall- has lasted many hours and resulted in the destruction of several household objects. "Leave those memories in the dark, where you can't see them or hear them or even recall what they are. Your past doesn't need to dictate your future Erik."
Of course what Nadir hadn't known, or could ever know, was that the dark place at the back of his mind was the place Erik retreated to every night without fail. He was a creature of darkness- he sought the comfort of complete senselessness and the numbing sensation it could bring. But lying in wait, in that dark void, was every single horrific moment of Erik's life and he knew he would never be able to properly escape them. They were ingrained too deeply, flowing in his blood like a bitter poison, tainting everything.
Ever since they had stumbled across Christine and discovered her predicament, Erik had been torn between a deep sorrow and pity for the girl, but also a bitter envy. Her slate had been wiped clean- the burdens of the past were not hers to fret over; the darkest corner of her mind was impossible for her to retreat into, even though occasionally a bad memory might leak out into her dreams, turning that sweet escapism into a terrifying nightmare. Even though she was trapped in her ignorance, Christine was also free from at the soul destroying distractions of regret, of hate, of being terrified by old memories that refused to die. And it was this that made Erik so scared about returning her memories to her- for memories were both good and bad. If she was returned to her old self, that darkest corner of her mind would re-open and she would no longer be protected from it all. To be bombarded with such nastiness, all at once- surely she would be overwhelmed? She would hate it, she would be utterly miserable...
"Erik." Nadir's voice cut through the spiralling panic, and Erik jumped and took a deep breath, as if he had been held under water and had at last managed to make it to the surface. "Stop it. Now."
"Stop what?" Erik was infuriated to hear how guilty he sounded, and he scowled darkly from under the brim of the fedora, hoping that the sight of yellow eyes burning made Nadir regret his bossy words. He irritably yanked on the reigns of his horse and immediately felt guilty. "Actually, don't answer that Khan. It wouldn't do for me to throttle you in public and get myself arrested. You can save it for later."
Nadir rolled his eyes but made no comment, guiding his mount into the courtyard of an inn, climbing down from the saddle and immediately beckoning over a stable boy, talking animatedly to him and passing him some money with a beaming smile. Erik watched without focus, staring far beyond this menial conversation into nothing, only lithely descending from the saddle when Nadir grumbled and yanked his leg to get his attention. With their horses cared for, they left the inn and turned down the main road, instantly surrounded by the invigorating rush of traffic and people, the sights and the sounds and the smells all so similar to those in Paris that Erik had to force himself to stop scouring the skyline in search of the gothic grandeur he so adored about the capital.
They were in a large market town, oddly nestled amongst the rolling fields and woodland of this part of the country, and it was this strangely perfect location that gave the reason for their visit- this town was only a mile or two away from the location the gypsy clan had planned to travel to, as told to them by Pali. With Christine now aware of the plan of action for her rescue, and with the unlikely team of rescuers in agreement that the idea of stealing her away in plain sight during a performance of some kind was the best course of action, it was now time to start arranging the logistics of the operation.
The gypsy clan would be moving to their next location, near to this market town, in just over a weeks time. It would be difficult, to find a venue and persuade Emilian and prepare the great escape within such a short amount of time, but both Erik and Nadir were already adamant just from looking at this vibrant town that such an opportune location could not be missed. Knowing Emilian, he would be reluctant to remain camped so close to such a large settlement for any real length of time, so the plan would have to be carried out within a day of the clan's arrival. The thought that Christine could be out of the vile clutches of Emilian and his slavery circus within the fortnight was enough to make Erik giddy- or as close as a tormented, once Opera Ghost, melancholy fool could get to being giddy.
With the money of Raoul de Chagny lining their pockets, and Erik well concealed with a pulled up scarf and a low brimmed fedora, Nadir and Erik began their walk through the centre of the town, neither of them willing to admit that they felt oddly out of place, having spent so long now among the company of hairy men, scantily clothed women and tents. Erik appreciated the surge of traffic and the crowds that shoved and yelled through the market stalls far more than Nadir, who had never taken to city life and preferred quiet seclusion where one might relax and enjoy peace and quiet as opposed to the rush and often violent shoving of crowds. It was odd really, that Erik- whose face meant he could never go out and about on a whim and whose preferences had always been isolation and night-time over company and daytime- enjoyed the rush of the city, but he knew that it was a contrary part of him that longed for the feeling of inclusion, of being like everyone else, that made him enjoy the crowds. And the fact that if some lout did knock his mask, he could get away with tripping the idiot without being hauled off and punched in the face, because who would ever notice such a sly manipulation of the feet amongst the shoving masses?
The colourful goods that spilled from the market stalls, the feel of cobbles under his feet, the shouting of carriage drivers to potential customers, the angry exchange of insults over a collision or a failed attempt at bartering- Erik found himself helplessly lapsing back into imagining that he was home, back in Paris. He kept expecting to turn a corner and be greeted by the palatial expanse of the Opera Populaire, as grand and ostentatious as he remembered. He even began to feel a little homesick, if it could be called that, when he peered frantically around every corner and remembered that this was not Paris, and he would not find what his heart was searching to see. Nadir cursed darkly under his breath as a man roughly brushed past him, and Erik wordlessly reached out and shoved the man forwards so that he stumbled and flailed like a fool. Nadir grimaced and yanked Erik along, hoping that the man would not turn and see exactly who had sent him off balance like that.
"I think you take a little too much enjoyment in the shoving and the pushing that comes with crowds." Nadir muttered, straightening his jacket, and Erik shrugged- he wasn't going to deny it. "So, what exactly is it we're searching for in this place?"
"Don't ask me Khan- it was you who conjured up this idea."
"Ah, so helpful Erik. I'm so glad you came along to assist me." Nadir rolled his eyes again. "I suppose what would be best is a theatre of some description, or an auditorium. Somewhere with seating and a stage. It must be somewhere that we can easily modify to suit our needs...and have an owner willing to let us hire it, of course."
"You honestly think that anyone will refuse us, with all the Vicomte's money we have to offer them?" Erik scorned, his eyes sweeping over the busy street and honing in on a likely looking place. It looked a little grubby, with some peeling paint here and there, but it seemed to be a well used establishment, considering the various posters swamping the exterior, many with the words 'sold out' scrawled in block capitals. Erik walked a little faster, still staring at it with interested eyes, and at last the name was visible- 'Théâtre de Rue Marché'. "Look at that one there, Khan. It seems to look a respectable establishment, but a little grubby, which should make our offer of money all too welcome. I think it would be enough to convince Emilian, don't you?"
Nadir caught up with Erik- cursing the man's long legs, for his stride could not be matched- and looked at the building in question with harsh scrutiny. He was very aware that Erik wanted to secure the details of their plan as soon as possible, so that he could go to Christine with good news and see her smile, but Nadir was not prepared to risk the success of their plan by simply randomly picking the first theatre they laid eyes on and declaring it was perfect. He frowned- the theatre resembled more of a gentlemen's club, but who knew what lay inside? Providing it had a stage and a trapdoor, would it matter that it usually catered for types of people that Nadir found, to be frank, repulsive?
"I take your point. Shall we?" Nadir motioned, agreeing to venture forward with only the slightest hint of disappointment in his voice. Erik pretended not to hear it as they darted across the muck strewn road, dodging the fast and angrily driven carriages and ignoring the grasp of little children who clung to their legs in order to drag them towards the market stalls in hope of a sale. The whole town was, as expected, distinctly less sophisticated than Paris, which had always seemed to radiate grandeur and iconic status, even within the slums. Here there were no ladies swanning around in fashionable attire, nor were there establishments catering for the aristocracy intermingled with poor, derelict housing for those suffering in needless poverty. This town seemed to exist for just one class, one type, and Nadir found it both perplexing but satisfying.
Upon reaching the theatre, Erik realised, sheepishly, that the only advertisements pinned haphazardly on the peeling doors were in fact cheaply made and badly drawn posters describing performances for men only. Nadir shuddered as he read the descriptions, not knowing from experience but being able to guess all too well what antics would occur in such performances. He was about to turn to Erik and tell him that this was all a bad idea, and that they should really look somewhere else, but then he realised that this sort of establishment would appeal to the gypsies no end- Christine's performances in the clan were likely to be milder versions of what happened at this theatre anyway.
"Erik, I am going to ask that you keep calm and do not let your temper get the better of you when we are inside and talking to the management of this establishment." Nadir said in a low voice, watching warily as Erik stared at one particularly gaudy poster, with a faint blush colouring the exposed side of his face. "We may have to imply to these people that Christine will provide the sort of act they are used to. I understand that you must be horrified by the thought of such a thing, but I am asking you now that-"
"Yes, yes, Khan you don't have to treat me like an imbecile. We will pretend that we are of their filthy sort, that Christine is one of these dancing prostitutes, and we will throw our money at them and hope they accept." Erik snapped, and Nadir stared at him, not quite sure if he had heard entirely correctly. "What in God's name are you staring at, you blockhead?!"
"Nothing, nothing..." Nadir muttered, and Erik furiously gestured that they should go inside.
It would be a crime, pretending that poor sweet Christine- who was more of angel than anything, and further from these racy performances than anyone could be- was one of the usual acts to grace the stage of this theatre, but Erik was willing to make sacrifices. If it meant she could leave that festering clan sooner rather than later, he was all too happy to go storming into the foyer, yelling out to the world that he was the manager of a singing stripper. He had not been blushing, contrary to Nadir's smug opinions, because of the poster- it was the thought of Christine doing that sort of thing that made him uncomfortable and fidgety. Nothing like that had ever occurred between them- there had been kisses on that bittersweet night that felt so long ago, and those had been enough to make him believe he was in heaven, but nothing more. It would be a lie of the greatest proportions to say that he had never thought about that sort of thing regarding Christine- he was madly in love with her, so of course that meant he desired her too- but unlike some of the disgusting young gentlemen he had overheard in his time as the Opera Ghost, Erik was not driven only by the thought of what delightful things might happen between him and Christine in the privacy of the bedroom.
Hastily brushing these thoughts aside, and hoping that he wasn't still bright red and awkward, he followed Nadir through the doors, which wheezed open obligingly. In the entrance hallway they were more posters of the sort that had occupied the exterior of the building, but there were also descriptions for a passable collection of the normal mime, acting and musical arrangements from various playwrights and composers. This was comforting to see- and hopefully proof that they weren't entering some sort of daylight brothel- and with a nod to Nadir, Erik pushed open the next set of doors which opened out into the foyer.
"Come along, Khan." He motioned, stepping into the shabby but respectable looking room, spying a bored looking young lad of maybe thirteen, sat behind a wobbly table and chewing something that appeared, on closer inspection, to be some crude form of tobacco. Erik waited for a moment, watching the boy and wondering if he was ever going to stop picking his nails and notice them, and then, giving up, he coughed.
The boy looked up, startled, and upon seeing that he had visitors in his foyer he stood up straight and turned his head, spitting the tobacco out onto the dirty carpet behind his table. Nadir gave a delicate shudder, which made Erik want to hit him, for being so prissy, even though he too was mildly disgusted by such open demonstrations of dirtiness. He had lived in a cellar for many years, and yet he had always remained clean, tidy and presentable- it could hardly be difficult to do the same, but at ground level.
"Good day to you, my dear Messieurs." The boy leapt over the table and landed beside them, extending a grubby hand for them to shake. Erik shook it, conspicuously touching the brim of his hat to ensure it was still pulled low, and Nadir hastily shoved his own hands into his pockets and made no sign that he was going to remove them. "How may I be of assistance to you today? We have a wonderful selection of shows on offer that would surely appeal- this afternoon, for example, a great little showcase by a Madame Fleur, whose antics on the stage are famous-" (Erik smothered a laugh, imagining that this particular lady's famous stage presence was not due to a good voice or talent for ballet, but something else altogether) "- or perhaps our evening orchestral line up, of Handel's greatest works, might appeal?"
Tempted by the thought of Handel, Erik very nearly accepted the man's offer and was infinitely grateful that he had Nadir beside him to yank him backwards and take over the conversation, assuming a haughty, peculiar tone that made Erik realise that the Persian was clearly enjoying himself, fashioning an elaborate character and story. It had been a long time since the days of just the two of them had travelled and been a bickering, bitter yet unfailingly loyal duo, and Erik realised with a feeling of gratitude rising up in his throat that Nadir had probably missed being Erik's right-hand man, the one he always turned to and relied upon. Maybe , with all this mess with Christine and the annoying Raoul and Pali from his past, Nadir had been neglected? Erik wouldn't admit it for the world, but the Persian was the closest thing he had to family, and he valued the patronising fool more than anyone in the world- maybe, rarely, even more than Christine.
"Though your offers do tempt us, we have come to your establishment today not to sample your entertainment, but to inquire as to whether your fine auditorium might be available to us to hire, for this week and next." Nadir rattled off in rapid, sophisticated French that made Erik nod in amused approval, wanting to slap the Persian on the back to congratulate him. "Might we speak to the management?"
"Indeed, you may, Messieurs." The boy looked and sounded astonished- clearly he had never come across this sort of request before. But then neither had Erik- he had never witnessed strangers coming off the street into the Opera Populaire to ask if they might hire the auditorium for a few weeks. Any such requests would have been turned down, anyway- the Populaire had a reputation to uphold, and would never risk tarnishing it's international status as a throne for the arts by allowing any old fool to put on a show. But this theatre... "Though why do you want to hire a theatre?"
Erik, inspired by Nadir's acting, took over the conversation smoothly, deciding that it was his turn to have some fun. As a skilled manipulator of the voice, who had painstakingly taught himself the arts of throwing the voice and ventriloquism, Erik loved creating odd accents- this time he decided upon a mash up of Italian, French and Spanish, and as he began to speak he noticed that Nadir was struggling not to smile. It really was like the old days.
"Let me introduce ourselves. We are managers to a fine young lady, stunning in a number of ways, and surely the sort to command even more attention than the so well known Madame Fleur you speak of. This young woman is blessed with vocal chords from heaven, the talent of dance from the angels themselves and a body that has never ceased to delight." Erik spoke without a pause, though his mind was rebelling against that last unfeeling description of Christine. It doesn't matter, he told himself harshly, you're going to get her out of that barbaric slavery circus within the fortnight and everything will be back to the way it was. "Despite her talents, and her notoriety, our venue within this region has cancelled our booking just this morning. We had not dared to ask you before, aware of your fame in this district as a veritable throne for the arts, but now we must risk your refusal and come to you on our knees, asking that you might let us hire your splendid theatre. We respect that you have a reputation to uphold, and thus we have managed to acquire a wealthy patron..."
Erik's overzealous words had clearly confused the boy- he had stared blankly at the pair of them throughout the little speech, and upon hearing the shabby theatre called a throne for the arts, Nadir had sworn he'd seen the lad smother laughter. But no matter how perplexed he might be due to Erik's rather ridiculous vocabulary, he certainly picked up on the words 'wealthy patron'. His eyes lit up and he was dashing for the manager before either Erik or Nadir had time to conclude their role play, and they looked at one another with huge grins as soon as the door slammed shut.
"Excellent, Erik, as always." Nadir chuckled, noticing that amidst all this childish behaviour, Erik seemed to have lost that tense, haunted expression he had been carrying around with him for days now; his eyes were shining, his face was flushed and his whole demeanour seemed relaxed and happy. This Erik, the man who could joke and laugh about bad acting and money-obsessed businessmen, was the rare side to his friend that Nadir often worried might disappear altogether, what with all the stress and the anxiety and the constant fury. The happy side to Erik was delicate and would easily be smothered by his temper, or his hysteria or even just his tendency to obsess. Nadir found himself willing the theatre lad to be held up in the offices, to have to run out and fetch his employer, just so that he could savour this rare, golden moment where he and Erik were just laughing and talking, rather than plotting or yelling or tearing their hair out with the constant stress and unhappiness.
"Naturally, Daroga." Erik replied smoothly, laughing at himself, before starting to pace in the grubby foyer. Nadir watched him, discreetly watching his face and seeing that far-away gaze...what did Erik think about when he lapsed into gloomy silence? Was it good memories, such as those of Christine, or bad memories from throughout his horrific life that occupied his mind in those silent seconds? Nadir couldn't tell from looking at Erik's expression- his face was blank, devoid of emotion, and there was no telling if he was happy, or sad, or anything at all. "This place...quite a come down from the Populaire, isn't it? I can't imagine that jumped up oaf in the foyer of the Populaire ever spitting tobacco or running off and leaving potential customers 'hanging around' like fools."
"Don't be so critical, Erik, please." Nadir rolled his eyes, neglecting to mention that he had been thinking the very same thing ever since they had entered the odd little place. "You must remember that this isn't Paris- this is a small town theatre that clearly caters for very specific audiences." He could not help but glance back at one of the many posters, clearing his throat noisily. "As long as they let us hire the place, and so long as the stage has some sort of trapdoor to a lower level or even just under the stage, it will suffice. "
Erik would have replied to Nadir's comment, but then the boy came charging back into the foyer with a colossal crash of the peeling doors, followed by an older man who- given his striking resemblance to the boy- must have been his father. He was equally tatty, though he had messily combed what was left of his straggly hair and had a beaming smile plastered over his face. Clearly his son had told him that there was money to be made, for he came straight over to them and extended a hand, pumping their arms enthusiastically as he babbled something unintelligible. He boldly took them each by an arm and ushered them into some sort of office, a dingy little room that stank of alcohol and seemed rather too pokey and grimy to be the seat of the management. Wistfully thinking of the Populaire, with all its lavish decor and sophistication, Erik peered through the smoky air and found the withered armchair that the man was gesturing for him to sit upon- once sat, he tried valiantly not to move, for whenever he did the chair gave a loud and painful squeak. Nadir was perched on a wobbly stool, and by the looks of his gritted teeth and deep scowl, he was none too happy about it.
"Good day, Messieurs, good day to you! I hope you are perfectly comfortable, I have only recently decorated-" the man exclaimed cheerfully, leaning forwards slightly over his sticky desk, and Erik heard an irritable grunt come from Nadir, clearly referring to the man's idea of decorating. "Luc, here-" he gestured to where the boy was now hovering at his side, looking smug. "-tells me that you and your patron wish to hire my humble theatre, no?"
"It may be within our interests, yes." Nadir nodded, speaking in a dull tone, trying not to convey their desperation to get the place hired and that element of the plan out of the way. The man was now leaning so far forwards, his chin would soon be in contact with the desk. "But there are several places under our consideration, you understand. We would need to insure that your establishment would meet our requirements, in that it possesses certain features..."
"Oh of course, Monsieur, of course!"
"Such as," Erik cut in smoothly, adopting his perfectly crafted accent with flawless precision, "adequate seating, a large enough stage, sufficient rear access to the backstage areas, a trapdoor..." he let the words hang, seeing the man nod with each requirement. "I take it then that the auditorium is well equipped for our needs? You have a trapdoor, which opens to some sort of lower level?"
Luc's father, who had yet to even tell them his name in his money lust trance, wrenched open one of the drawers in the desk and began to frantically leaf through files and files of paperwork, muttering to himself as he looked. Scraps of paper came flying out in his frantic searching, and one landed on the desk- some little love note, with the lipstick stain of a kiss in the corner, stinking heavily of a musky female perfume. Erik laughed and passed the note to the man, who took it back with a sheepish grin, searching again but this time with a blush on his face. Clearly he was also entertained by the ladies who performed here, though Erik certainly couldn't see the appeal- it made him want to laugh again, considering the lives some people lead.
"Ah! Yes, yes, here are the blueprints for the theatre!" the man smiled again, handing them over with an artistic flourish. "As you can see, there is one central trapdoor, leading to a cellar level below the stage. Will this be appropriate for your needs, Messieurs?"
"Yes, I believe it will." Erik quickly glanced over the blueprints, smiling in satisfaction as he realised that they could not have made a better setting for the plan themselves. He carefully laid the grubby paper down, glancing up at the ecstatic manager. "Regrettably, Monsieur...?"
"Monsieur Cartefour, Messieurs."
"Monsieur Cartefour. As much as my companion and I would like to sample one of your great spectacles, I am afraid to tell you that we cannot linger even an hour. However, we would be very interested in hiring your fine establishment, for this week and next." He paused, letting the words hang. Monsieur Cartefour was almost salivating. "Before we proceed with the necessary documents and the exchange of funds, just to be sure of ourselves, may we please view your no doubt stunning auditorium?"
"Indeed you may, dearest Messieurs! Luc? Luc! Take the messieurs to the auditorium and see that they have full access to whatever they require to see- ensure they can appreciate the full glory of the place!"
Erik felt Nadir pat him lightly on the shoulder as they rose from their awful seating arrangement and followed the grumbling young boy without a sound, not exchanging glances for fear of dropping their assumed and apparently unnecessarily haughty roles, but all it took was that brief moment of almost brotherly appreciation to make Erik feel more like his old self than ever; powerful, in control, sealing the deals and smoothly assuming any role, any character, in order that they could talk themselves in or out of anything. He chose to ignore, in this moment of glory, that the Vicomte's money was more the deciding factor than his acting skills, as why else would the manager be so overzealous and obliging, but that fact did not even touch his consciousness as he held his head high and walked confidently into the auditorium. It was pleasantly laid out and decorated, far better than the grubby foyer or the stinking office, and Erik nodded in appreciation of the raised walkway that ran around the perimeter of the room, as well as the extensive backstage and cellar levels. This theatre was clearly a great deal more sophisticated in its technology than the manager appreciated- if he understood the sort of establishment he had at his fingertips, he would no doubt be staging better productions than provocative dancing and strip teases.
After exploring the backstage area- a good size with plenty of access points- and peering into the cellar levels under the trapdoor- a tight squeeze but perfectly manageable, given their requirements- Erik began to consider the less vital elements; the stage was fine, as was the seating. All relatively clean, large enough to make an impression on beastly Emilian, suitably dramatic for the performance. Erik hadn't even considered looking up, as their plan relied upon sub levels rather than elevation, but as he did glance up at the ceiling the sight that met his eyes made him freeze where he stood, gazing up and feeling the wonderful sensations of his brain seizing onto a random thought, a wild fantasy, slowly thinking it over and becoming more and more fascinated by the concept-
He began to laugh under his breath, smiling wickedly with the thought. For there above him, hanging suspended from the centre of the ceiling with such excellent potential, was a huge, black, wrought iron light fixture. It was a crude impression of a chandelier, a mere skeleton of the wondrous one that dominated the Opera Populaire, or rather had dominated, as it lacked the glittering jewels and dripping crystals. But who needed ostentatious decor? It was still a huge, heavy, suspended light fixture, hanging in that perfect position above the audience, so aptly it would be a crime not to take advantage of its presence.
Slowly, not wanting to make any wrong calculations in the excitement of the moment, Erik assessed the distance between the basic chandelier and the stage. The way it was hung was exactly the same as at the Populaire- if it were to come loose, and go tearing through the ceiling in angry descent, no doubt a pendulum motion would bring the contraption crashing down onto the stage in a rather spectacular manner. Maybe simply opening the trapdoor under Christine's feet mid performance was too risky...what was needed was a distraction, something that would send the whole place into such a frenzy, no one would be able to notice what had happened, let alone come after them.
And what a better distraction that having that great thing come plummeting down into the stage? Erik knew, from bitter experience, that such a thing would create chaos. The only issue would be how to ensure that Christine didn't end up squashed in the process...
Unless...Erik felt dizzy to contemplate it, given what happened the last time, but it seemed too good to ignore. He could be onstage with Christine, he could sing with her, and then when the chandelier broke free he could make sure that they escaped unscathed. What a distraction, what a chance!
Emilian wouldn't even know that it was him- the disgusting brute wouldn't be able to make the association between the ugly child who killed his father so many years ago and the civilised masked man singing on stage. Christine could wear a mask too, if Nadir decided to fret that it was an issue. He thought of getting to see Emilian's face as he whisked Christine away before his helpless eyes made Erik throw his head back and laugh, the sound maniacal and edging towards evil but also triumphant. It felt so good to be back in the devious, cunning, superior role of the Phantom. Almost too good.
Nadir turned to look at him, to see what all the noise and excessive evil laughter was about, and Erik merely pointed at the mock chandelier hanging from the centre of the ceiling. Nadir stared at it for a moment, frowning, and then his face pooled with understanding and he turned to Erik, mouth opening to ask something, but then closing again. He was speechless.
"Are you, by any chance, thinking what I'm thinking, Khan?" Erik murmured, grinning darkly, looking up again at that colossal metal contraption that was now a symbol of destiny in his excited mind. Nadir nodded slowly, his face not displeased by the idea. "Emilian won't even realise what's happening until it's too late- he will be helpless, watching everything he so meticulously planned, falling into ruin. And I will be able to see the look on his face, and in his eyes, as he realises he has lost- and I have won!"
It felt odd, leaving the theatre and going into the sunshine. Erik, feeling as if the Phantom had been reawakened within him, had almost expected to climb back into the darkness, just as he had done in the past.
Nadir watched Erik as he stared at the daylight around him, and said nothing. Because for a moment, one horrific moment, he had seen the look of the Phantom back on Erik's face.
And ever since the horrific events in Paris, Nadir had known with sickening certainty that he had never wanted to see his friend so look so mad, so malicious, so evil ever again. And yet there he was, in broad daylight, and Nadir could not help but see it.