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.
The Touch of the Master's Hand
'Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But held it up with a smile.
"What am I bidden, good folks," he cried,
"Who'll start the bidding for me?
A dollar, a dollar. Then, two! Only two?
Two dollars, and who'll make it three?"
"Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;
Going for three..." But, no,
from the room, far back, a grey-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
then wiping the dust from the old violin,
and tightening the loosened strings,
he played a melody pure and sweet,
as a caroling angel sings.
The music ceased, and the auctioneer,
with a voice that was quiet and low,
said, "What am I bid for the old violin?"
And he held it up with the bow.
"A thousand dollars, and who'll make it two?
Two thousand! And who'll make it three?
Three thousand, once; three thousand, twice,
and going and gone," said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand.
What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply:
"The touch of the Master's hand."
And many a man with life out of tune,
and battered and scarred with sin,
is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd
much like the old violin.
A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
a game – and he travels on.
He is going once, and going twice,
He's going and almost gone.
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd
never can quite understand
the worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
by the touch of the Master's hand.
Myra Brooks Welch
Chapter Thirty-Two – The Touch of the Master's Hand
Her voice soared to the heavens along with the birds, which longed for the freedom found only in the sky. It told of the thrill of following one's dreams, of the beauty one can find in defying the odds, but most of all, her voice sang of hope.
The young woman's voice echoed through the caverns beneath the cellars of the opera house, dwindling away into silence. She opened her eyes and found, much to her astonishment, that her angel's eyes were streaming with tears.
"Angel?" She asked hesitantly. "What is wrong? Was the song a poor choice? Or, was my singing that out of tune from disuse?"
"No, child." The angel smiled. "It is simply a joy to hear you sing once more. For a moment, when you sang, I remembered how it felt being your Papa. It was wonderful. The feeling is gone now, but I do remember that you made me very proud, Christine. Your voice is truly a perfect instrument in every way."
Embarrassed, she turned away and studied a mote of dust on the floor. After a moment, she spoke quietly.
"Angel, I need to be with Erik. I am very worried about him. He should have awakened by now. Where is he? Your room or mine?"
Wiping the tears from his cheeks, the angelic young man replied.
"He is in your room, child. I shall await you here. Call for me should you require anything and I will come straight away."
"Thank you, Angel."
She turned and walked down the short hallway. She stopped in front of the door to the room, which was her bedroom when she lived in this house with her Papa. She smiled, raised her hand to the door and allowed her fingers to trace over the rose blossom carved into the center of the door. Pressing her hand to the rough-hewn bloom, she bowed her head in silent prayer. Then, removing her hand from the door, she touched a kiss to her fingertips. She placed her hand back on the carving of the rose and turned her eyes heavenward.
"Help me, Lord. Help us both." She beseeched.
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
Erik raced through the dark alleys of La Rochelle. He could hear the angry shouts of the crowd chasing behind him. Disobeying his mother's rules, he had stolen out of his room and had visited the city under the sheltering cloak of nighttime's darkness. It was not the first time he had done this, nor was it the first time someone took note of his presence. It was simply the first time anyone actually caught sight of his masked face and was able to grab hold of him. Of course, his problem became infinitely more complex as the person holding his wrist refused to let go. By delaying his escape, his captor had the perfect opportunity to awaken the entire town, or so it seemed to the small boy.
He watched as an enraged mob responded to the cries of "Help, monster!"
The growing number of people caused him to panic. He twisted free of the old man's grasp and ran as if pursued by demons. He could hear the cries growing louder as the distance between him and the townsfolk decreased. Panting, he turned down an unfamiliar alley, only to find a dead end. He turned to retrace his steps and leave the alley to find his way blocked by the mob. The frightened child huddled in a pile of debris lying in the corner of the alley's end. He placed the masked side of his face against the brick wall and began to pray to God for someone to save him. He raised his hands over his head to protect himself from the onslaught he knew was coming. He peeked out between his arms to see that the first pursuer was almost upon him. He cowered lower into the corner, pulling a sheet of soggy newspaper over his head and felt his body begin to shake. Suddenly, time froze as the plaintively sweet sound of a violin wafted through the night air. After a moment, the sound of a woman's voice floated to join with the strains of the violin. The mob turned and became an entranced crowd. The boy lifted his head, batted the newsprint from his face and watched as the people slowly drifted back down the alley following the music away from him. He was alone, but for the angelic music, which surrounded him. He let the music flow through him and become one with his soul. The music allowed him to take wing and leave his pathetically frail body and twisted face behind to soar to the heavens. He forgot that he was a monster while he listened to that song and became simply, Erik. Nothing more, nothing less. All too soon, the music ended, but just as the final note faded, the voice of the woman spoke.
"It is time to face the music, Erik. It is time to face the fears and hurts of your past. It is the moment, when truth shall rule over lies and love will conquer all. Give yourself to the music. Follow the music that lives in your soul and you will find me there. We must find one another for it is only together that we shall truly hear the music again. With the music, our souls will join forever to soar free."
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
Erik's first thought was of the thing, which tickled his nose. His next thought, which was much more pleasant than the first, was that something delightfully soft, warm and desirable lay curled around him. He pulled the mass of tangles and curves close to his body and felt himself stiffen in response.
"Christine?"
His voice rumbled in his chest. He sneezed, which caused him to brush her curls away from his nose.
"Ma chéri? Wake up. It is morning. We need to go to the opera house today and take care of some unfinished business. We also need to check in with Madame Giry. I do believe she will think I have you trussed up and am holding you prisoner here in my bed. She may think that I refuse to allow you to leave my home if we do not visit her today. Christine?"
The woman mumbled and wrapped her arm tighter around his waist and threaded her leg through his.
"Ten more minutes, Madame. Just ten more minutes, s'il tu plait?"
Erik chuckled. He felt awareness creep into his wife's sleeping form and she stiffened when she realized that a male body lay next to her.
"Erik?"
He laughed quietly as she slapped his arm and he pulled her closer to press a needy kiss on her mouth.
"I had the strangest dream last night."
Erik fell silent and pulled back to look down into her face.
"I had two disturbing dreams myself, but I prefer not to think about them at the moment."
He nuzzled her neck and elicited a surprised yelp from Christine as he gently nipped along the length of her throat.
"What I would prefer to concentrate on right now is making love to my wife."
"Oh, Erik." She giggled as she playfully took him in her hand and squeezed him gently.
"Oh, Christine." He moaned. "You are the most incredible woman. I never dreamed I would ever find a woman willing to be with me, much less marry me. And then, I met you. I love you!"
"Well, Monsieur, it feels like you may be ready to show me just how much. I think I am ready for the touch of my master's hands."
He snorted and then his lips muffled her words and the room was quiet, but for the sounds of the lovers' cries of passion and pleasure.
Author's Note: Hmmm … so, was it a dream or was it real? Kinda like ... was it live or was it Memorex? Next chapter, a visit to the opera house and hopefully, some answers. Thank you all for your great reviews. I appreciate them very much! Please continue to feed the kitty by reading and reviewing! MEOW! --ny