The Perfect Solution

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

DISCLAIMER: I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in The Phantom of the Opera or Phantom, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

Antigonish

"Yesterday upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn't there.

He wasn't there again today.
Oh! How I wish he'd go away!"

William Hughes Mearns, 1899

Chapter Seven – The Man Who Wasn't There

Erik exhaled noisily as he exited the room, placed his hand to his lips and stared blankly into space.

"I cannot believe what just happened in there! We kissed! We touched! Oh my God! We just did those things in front of Meg and her mother! Merde!"

The look on his face half smirk, half grimace.

"She touched my face and still, she smiled at me and kissed me."

The smirk and the grimace replaced by a look of stunned realization. His eyes slipped closed. He relived and reveled in the memory of her touch upon his marred flesh. He shivered and gooseflesh ran up and down his arms. She had lit a fire within him. Just the thought of her or the memory of her sweet face caused his chest to ache and the lower part of him to throb. He knew he wanted more. His body needed more. Just the thought of her made him feel breathless and his entire body hot, hard and ready. He did not know what to do. Well, he knew what he wanted to do, but thought he would never be able to act on those feelings. Those feelings were ones he had never expected to experience. Her kiss had been his first. He hoped it would not be his last. An errant thought crossed his mind.

"I wonder. Was that kiss her first kiss too?"

Somehow, the answer to that question seemed very important, but Erik knew he had no way of discovering what the answer was. At least not at the moment. Hopefully, he … no, they would be able to meet again and he could ask her.

"And, how precisely do I go about asking her. Excuse me, Mademoiselle Daae. I am completely inexperienced in the art of love and I would like to inquire as to your level of expertise. Oh, that would certainly win her heart. Erik, you are such a fool. This woman could never love you. She was either feverish or she was toying with you. I do not believe the young lady is the type to dally with a man's affections. So, I wager her actions were due to the ramblings of a fevered mind."

He squeezed his closed eyes even more tightly shut.

"Oh, if I could have but one wish, but if wishes were horses, beggars would ride."

It was only at that moment that Erik realized that someone had taken hold of his shoulders and was shouting into his face.

"Erik! What happened? Are you well? My God, man, what happened in there? I know that you are normally five shades paler than most men are, but you look so pale I believe you could be mistaken for a marble statue!"

Quickly composing himself, Erik opened his eyes and found Raoul standing before him. The young man's pale blue eyes staring intently at Erik with his hands firmly gripping Erik's shoulders. He gave Raoul a sheepish smile and gently disentangled himself by stepping away from him. He held up his hand and shook his head.

"I hardly know where to begin, Raoul. Please, I need to think. I am sorry, but …"

"What ever you need, Erik. After all, what are friends for anyway?"

The young man smiled gently, moved to the other side of the corridor and leaned against the wall. He folded his arms across his chest and after silently observing his friend, cocked his head thoughtfully.

"Take all the time you require, but if you should need an ear to bend, I am always willing."

Erik smiled gratefully at his friend.

"I know, Raoul. Ever since we met, you have always been a true friend."

The man leaned back against the wall across from the young Vicomte. He closed his eyes and remembered the first time Raoul had acted as his friend.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Fromage de tête! ¹ That's what his face looks like! Monsieur, you have the face of fromage de tête and, quite possibly, smell like one too!"

The boy snickered and roughly shoved Erik as he mocked him. His friends laughed as Erik's ankle twisted on the edge of a cobblestone and he stumbled. The group of boys encircled him, pushing and pawing at Erik, but he continued to walk unheeding along the street.

"Nah! He don't smell like fromage. Fromage smell too good. This one, he smell like he dead! Hey! He even look like a corpse with that rotten face. Ah, mon dieu!"

A second boy jeered at Erik and kicked him in the back of his knee.

Erik took in his situation. A group of four boys had begun to follow him and make comments on his face almost as soon as he had stepped off the train and onto the platform at the station. The boys were unkempt and dirty. They most likely were living on the streets of Paris and making their way through life committing petty thefts. He wondered how long it would take before the group of boys tired of tormenting him. He hoped it would be soon.

"Why is it that I always seem to cross paths with people like this? Why can I not be like the man who wasn't there? I should have stayed in Milan for the summer. Italians are so much more accepting of people who are different. The way these boys act, makes me ashamed to be French. Just ignore them, Erik. Keep walking. They will tire of you soon enough."

Unfortunately, for the young man, the moment that thought crossed his mind was the same one that a fifth boy joined the group. This boy was unusually tall and burly. The only feature that told his age was the lack of stubble on his face. Otherwise, Erik would easily have mistaken him for a man older than Erik's own 21 years. Erik immediately sensed that this boy with his unruly red hair and ruddy complexion was truly dangerous. The entire situation suddenly seemed to shift from one of a juvenile prank to something much more ominous.

"Merde!"

The redhead lazily strolled alongside Erik and began to inquire.

"Monsieur Corpse! My associates and I are in grave need of coin. Surely, a fine gentleman, such as yourself can spare several sous or, perhaps, a few francs. Would you care to act as our patron and provide the means for my associates and me to spend a night at Madame Bollock's bordel?"

Erik found the boy's request for money absurd, but knew that whether or not he complied with the request for money, he would not walk away from this encounter unscathed. His eyes scanned the area and although he was on a main street in the middle of the day, not a soul was in sight. The early summer heat had driven most people inside. He was alone. Inwardly, he sighed and readied himself for the impending fight. The sudden silence of the group caused Erik to realize that the redhead was waiting for Erik to respond to his demand.

"Silas, maybe he be deaf and dumb! Sure! His brain be just as twisted as his face."

The group laughed, but the redhead silenced them with a glare.

"Well, Monsieur?"

"It is with the utmost regret that I must decline your gracious invitation to act as your patron. I am newly returned to Paris today. I find my funds severely depleted by the cost of my transportation. However, perhaps, if you direct your attention to those persons gathering near the opera house, you would find persons with more means than me." Erik gave a mock half-bow. "Good day, Messieurs."

For an instant, the redhead stared dumbly at the young man before comprehension slowly dawned in his eyes and caused his fists to clench in anger. Then his eyes narrowed and a feral smile slid across his features.

"Monsieur, you will come to regret your decision and your regret will not be a long time in coming."

Erik shrugged his shoulders and replied.

"Believe me, Monsieur I already regret my decision to return to Paris. However, I hope that you may retire this day with a few regrets of your own."

The young man's body tensed as he readied himself for the confrontation he now knew was unavoidable.

The redhead's arm shot out and nearly connected with Erik's jaw, but the bulky body of the boy did not move nearly as quickly as the young man's slender body. Erik nimbly dodged the blow and moved into the street.

"I will not be so lucky next time. Here they come!"

And just as the young ruffians began to fall upon Erik, taking hold of his arms and pinning him to the ground another voice rang out. The voice, while young, was definitely of a higher class than the urchins attacking him were.

"Stop! Unhand him! Phillipe, you must make them stop! Five against one? I would hardly call that fair."

Erik swore he heard a soft chuckle.

"Yes, Raoul. That is hardly fair. Would you like me to do something about it?"

"Of course! We cannot turn our backs on this man! That would be dreadfully unthinkable! Please, Phillipe? Please?"

The sound of a steel blade sliding from its scabbard cut through the midday air and the group of boys scattered like leaves in the autumn wind.

"That showed them! Thank you, Phillipe! Are you alright, Monsieur?"

Erik looked up from the ground and met a pair of gentle, earnest pale blue eyes.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Erik shook his head and found the same pale blue eyes staring intently at him. He could feel the silent questions, Raoul wished to ask. He gratefully accepted his friend's patient silence.

"I should tell him …."

Opening his mouth to provide his friend with a complete report of the events that took place within Madame Giry's home, Erik's words were cut short by an agitated Meg Giry throwing open the quarter's door.

"Raoul! Maman requires me to go to Cook and request the things on this list. Would you care to accompany me to the kitchen?"

With a courtly bow, Raoul warmly responded.

"That would be an honor and a pleasure for me to do, Mademoiselle Giry."

He offered his arm to the ballerina and turned to escort her to the kitchen, but the girl hesitated. She turned back to Erik.

"Monsieur Destler, my mother requested the honor of your presence … now!"

When the man remained rooted to the spot, Meg, in a sudden and unconscious imitation of her mother, placed her hand upon her hip, arched her eyebrow high upon her forehead and her voice became that of a martinet.

"Monsieur Destler, I would appreciate it very much if you would act before my mother grows another day older, please?"

He nodded numbly.

"But, of course."

And with that, Meg and Raoul hurried away to the kitchen and Erik cautiously slipped back inside the Giry home.

¹ What is fromage de tête? Quite simply: lunch meat, but maybe that's too simple. Fromage de tête consists of chunks of meat, fat and skin taken from the head, and sometimes feet, of the pig, and occasionally of veal or sheep, that are "glued" together with gelatin. Fromage de tête takes one of two different shapes. Either wrapped in pig skin and shaped like a fat sausage or formed using a simple tart mold. The way to eat Fromage de tête is cold, often with some mustard and maybe a few cornichons. However, your vegetarian authoress finds this recipe about as appealing as haggis!
Author's Note: Please read and review!