The Perfect Solution
An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story
Nyasia A. Maire
© 2007
Mature Material contained in Erik's section of this chapter . . . Consider yourself warned!
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.
The House on the Hill
They are all gone away,
the house is shut and still,
there is nothing more to say.
Through broken walls and gray,
the winds blow bleak and shrill:
They are all gone away.
Nor is there one today
to speak them good or ill:
There is nothing more to say.
Why is it then we stray
around the sunken sill?
They are all gone away.
And our poor fancy-play
for them is wasted skill:
There is nothing more to say.
There is ruin and decay
In the House on the Hill
they are all gone away,
There is nothing more to say.
Edwin Arlington Robinson
Chapter Twenty – The House under the Hill
Christine felt a slight movement in the air around her. The flame of her candle briefly flickered and then burned steady once more. After a few moments, the girl thought she heard the sound of music somewhere in the distance. Opening her eyes, she decided to follow the path where the gust of air originated. She held her candle high as she began her search for the source of the heavenly music and her feet carried her ever deeper into the cellars of the opera house.
The sweet strains of a masterfully played violin wafted up from the cold depths of the opera house. If the girl had kept count on her journey down to the source of the music, she would know she had just passed the level of the fifth cellar. However, so intent was she on discovering the source of the music, she gave no thought to keeping track of her steps. She was no longer within the confines of the opera house, but in the caverns below its foundation. Gradually, Christine became aware of a sound other than the music and realized that dripping water now accompanied the violin. She rounded a bend in the path and halted abruptly at the unexpected sight before her as it registered in her mind. A large lake or wide, slow moving river ended the path she followed. Christine groaned in disappointment.
"I am so close! If I can just find my way to the other side, the source of the music must be there! I just know it! Dammit!"
She stomped her booted foot in an unusual fit of frustration.
"Ow!"
She cried as pain shot through her foot. She hobbled back a step and shone her candle over the offending area.
"I do not believe what I am seeing!" She muttered.
She bent down and picked up a piece of black, glass-like rock.
"Obsidian! What is this doing here?"
Shrugging the thought aside for the moment, she placed the rock into her cloak pocket, leaned against the cavern wall, picked up her injured foot and examined the bottom of her boot.
"Well, that is most fortunate! At least it did not slice open my boot. The edges of that stone rival those of a knife."
She returned her foot to the ground and carefully shifted her weight, to test whether she sprained her ankle. She grimaced only slightly, but after working her weight back and forth, the pain lessened.
"I am in luck. My ankle is only slightly strained. I do not wish to think what would have happened to me if I had hurt it seriously. Perhaps, my coming down here was not the wisest of choices."
As if in response to her thought, the plaintive strains of the violin suddenly ceased.
"Wonderful! Now the music is gone as well." She groaned.
She glanced around, saw a large rock on the shore of the lake and decided to rest before she began her return trip up to the opera house. Gathering the bottom of her cloak about her waist to avoid wetting it in the lake, she sat on the rock. Carefully, she removed the obsidian from her pocket and placed it on her lap. The dark stone glittered like black diamonds in the pale light of her candle.
"This is amazing! It looks like someone shaped this, but why would someone fashion it with three edges? If I wrapped a leather strip around the wide end and refined the point on the other, this would make an excellent knife. Hmm …. I do believe that is exactly what I shall do. I would have to wet the leather, of course, so it would …."
The sound of soft, rhythmic splashing interspersed with creaking wood, interrupted the girl's thoughts. Quickly, she returned the stone to her pocket, retreated around the bend in the path and snuffed out her candle. She bit her lip and consciously quieted her excited breathing. Pulling the hood of her cloak low over her face and pressing her small body into the cavern wall, she peered cautiously around the bend. She listened to the steadily approaching sounds and desperately tried to ignore the pounding of her heart.
Alone in the dark, she listened and waited.
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
Erik sat on his bed staring at his mother's wedding band. He loved the rosebuds, which encircled the antiqued gold band.
"When I place this ring on her finger, I am giving her roses that will never die."
He smiled gently, closed the small box and placed it on his bedside table. Removing the pin from his cravat, he tossed it onto the table next to the jeweler's box. He loosened his cravat as he lay back on his bed. He stared unseeingly at the ceiling, his mind lost in his reminisces of Christine's sweet lips on his.
"Such passion and innocence! How will I resist her?"
His eyes slipped closed as he slid deeper into his memories and his body hardened in response. He shook free of Christine's ghostly lips, stood and readied himself for bed. Sliding between the sheets and under the blankets, he allowed himself to return once again to his musings. Images of the sunlight glancing off her curls, the faint smell of her bath soap, the taste of wine on her lips and the sound of her divine voice all served to send his body into a highly aroused state. Unknowingly, a growl of desire escaped his lips as his body remembered the feel of her in his arms. His heated body could take no more and overrode his normally proper mind. His hand moved down and grasped his straining need. With thoughts of Christine whirling inside his overheated brain, his hand began moving. Throwing the bedclothes from his body, he slid half out of his bed to rest his feet on the floor. His hips arching up to meet the downward stroke of his hand and his head pressed back deep into his mattress. His breathing ragged, he moaned Christine's name, as his hand moved up and caressed the wet tip with the palm of his hand. His hand continued its motion and paused only to spread the moisture about his tip. Several times, he lightly squeezed the tip between his thumb and forefinger to delay the moment and increase the ultimate pleasure. However, an errant thought of Christine's tongue battling his caused the tempo of his hand to cease and his hips took over as he thrust harder and faster, pounding his way toward release. He felt the familiar tingle and tightness building and knew his moment of completion drew near. The image that pushed him over the edge was that of Christine lying in her bed from the night before, gazing at him coquettishly. He cried out her name as he spent himself into his hand. His hand once more taking over and pulling at his hot, slick and twitching member. He lay there spent and physically sated, but his mind longed for the woman that inspired his need. Slowly, his body calmed. With a somewhat disgusted sigh, he leaned over to his bedside table, opened the drawer, removed a handkerchief from the drawer and wiped away the results of his exertions. He rose, walked to his bathroom, rinsed the soiled cloth, tossed it into the hamper and leaned forward resting his hands on the vanity top. Although he extinguished the lamps in his room, the moonlight provided adequate lighting for him to see his reflection in the mirror above his sink.
"Well, Monsieur, I reiterate, how will you ever be able to resist her?"
The man stared into the mirror and after a moment, shook his head.
"That is exactly what I thought. For all of the alleged brilliance of your mind that is one question for which you have no answer. Yet, that is the one question I need answered most desperately."
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
Antoinette Giry paced across her parlor for what seemed to her, the hundredth time that evening. The last 24 hours had been emotionally trying for her and she saw no end in sight to her current state of upset. Two sets of lovers – one so blissfully in love that their passion threatened to overthrow their good sense and the other so dangerously repressed that the moment their passion caught up with them … she shook her head. Both of the couples faced the same results, the emotions leading up to the end differed, but the result was the same.
"Christine wants to know about wifely duties and Meg is so randy that she may have …. No! I would know if my own daughter had …. Would I?"
Her pacing halted abruptly and her head cocked slightly to the side.
"I would know. My interruption last night caused them greater embarrassment than it did guilt. I will know if they cross the line if I ever see guilt in Meg's eyes. I am a fortunate mother. My little Meg wears her heart on her sleeve."
Antoinette began pacing again.
"No. Raoul and Meg do not truly worry me. It is Raoul's parents. Now, they are the true source of my concern."
Shaking her head, she sighed and continued her pacing unabated.
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
Christine swallowed carefully to relieve the tightness in her throat, which threatened to choke her. Fortunately, for the girl, she had no fear of the dark and after her years spent prowling the hidden passages of the opera house, Christine found she could see better in the dark than anyone she knew. Meg had once informed her that her eyes seemed to glow an unearthly red in the dark, so Christine held her hood to make certain her eyes would not give her away to the occupant of the small boat that rowed toward the shore.
"Whoever is rowing that boat is very strong. I do not believe I have seen them or heard them pause a single time in their strokes."
Suddenly, Christine heard the words inside her head, "Keep your hand at the level of your eyes!"
She bit her lip.
"From what fantasy did that thought come?"
She shook her head slightly to clear it.
"I already am. Can you not see my hand holding my hood? Thank you for your help but I really need you to be quiet right now! I need to concentrate."
Her internal conversation halted as she heard the sound of the boat grating against the rocky shore and the perturbed hiss of the boat's occupant.
Christine watched as the dark shape in the boat released the oars, stood up and grabbed the lantern hanging on a post at the boat's prow. The cloaked figure moved with a careless grace that Christine found somehow familiar as they hopped out of the boat and onto the shore. She held her breath as the figure turned and pulled the rowboat higher onto the shore. The shadowy figure straightened and spoke without turning to face Christine.
"You are quite safe, my child. I do not intend to harm you. Please come out. We have much to discuss and not a great deal of time in which to do it."
Christine released the breath she held as the well-loved voice washed over her ears. She smiled, stepped away from the cavern wall and went to face her past.
Author's Note: HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!!! Please note that I performed a minor re-write of the first chapter and added poems to the beginning of the first four chapters, so they now follow with the overall theme I established in the subsequent chapters. Due to Mother's Day, my family allowed me to spend all day yesterday and all day today writing!!! Whoopee!!! So, you now have two updates in as many days! I shall endeavor to post Chapter 21 - If ... no later than Wednesday. To all you fluff fans, this fiction earned it's "M" rating with this chapter ... sorry, it's a solo scene, but this Erik is too proper for premarital sex! TTFN! --ny