A/N: This is the Christmas chapter, which is now a month and two days overdue. Many apologies, I had a lot farther to go than I thought I did. It seemed so short in my head, but writing it was a different matter altogether.
The story Erik is going to tell in this chapter closely mirrors Susan Kay's Phantom.
Juliet sat up in bed with a novel that Meg had lent her. Her friend had been beside herself when she discovered that Juliet had been hurt. They'd talked for about an hour until Madame Giry had called the girl away to help with chores.
Suddenly, a rustling sound came from her door. She dropped her book and inched back on the bed carefully, feeling nervous. A piece of paper made an appearance. She waited a full minute to make sure it wouldn't explode or grow fangs or something else unpleasant and potentially dangerous before she cautiously got up and padded quietly over to the folded parchment.
Unfolding it slowly, her examination revealed Erik's elegant script. She almost decided against reading it, but her curious nature made her eyes see the words. Her resolve to never have anything to do with him was growing weaker by the sentence, but it was still there. She needed to know more about him before she made any decisions about his character. That would require speaking to him in person instead of communicating through pen and ink.
She was sitting in bed again when Madame Giry came hustling into her room worriedly. "We need to speak," she said quietly, taking a seat at the end of the bed. In her hands, she held a copy of that afternoon's newspaper. Juliet tried to read it upside down. Seeing this, the older woman handed it to her. Juliet's mouth dropped further open with every word she read.
"Eight Dead in Opera House Fire; Opera Ghost Strikes Again!
"Last night at roughly ten-thirty pm, a massive fire started in the basement of the Opera Populaire and quickly consumed the whole building. Of the ten people in the building at the time that it started, only two survived. One is Monsieur Gaston Rosseau, the other the elusive man known only as the Opera Ghost or the Phantom of the Opera.
"Of the eight who perished, six were stagehands, one was the Vicomte Phillipe de Chagny, and the last was the newly named Prima Donna; Mademoiselle Juliet Leroux, a Normandy native."
Juliet dropped the newspaper in shock. "What?" she yelped. She was most certainly not dead.
Madame Giry looked remorseful and a touch angry. "It seems our leading man has been doing some storytelling. I should have never hired him," she sighed, looking suddenly tired and much older. "And you haven't come to the worst part yet."
Apprehensively, Juliet picked up the newspaper once more and found her place. Her brow furrowed further as her brain struggled to comprehend how so many lies could exist in just one newspaper article.
"Saddened and infuriated by the loss of his friend and a woman he had been close to, Monsieur Rosseau has gone to the police who have issued a warrant for the arrest of the man who calls himself the Opera Ghost. He is wanted dead or alive and the reward is 20,000 francs. It is not recommended you advance on him should you see him unless you are trained in some form of combat. He is reported to be armed, mentally unstable, and extremely dangerous. He is described as tall and thin, and dressed in all black. A very distinctive porcelain half-mask covers the right half of his face. Do not hesitate to contact the police if you have information of any sort.
"Citizens are reminded that he is now considered a fugitive and anyone who is found to be giving him aid of any sort shall suffer consequences."
Juliet slowly et the newspaper down, anxiety gaily tying her stomach in knots. "Madame Giry, what are we going to do?" she whispered.
The ballet mistress looked up, firm resolve in her eyes. "It's not safe for either of you to remain in Paris," she said. "When you're well enough, I'm sending both of you to Normandy. I can wire your father in a few hours to tell him he may be gaining two new house guests and also to dismiss any and all rumors he may hear of your death." She seemed to sense the uncertainty in Juliet's thoughts and added, "I know you and Erik aren't exactly on the best of terms and I will inform him that he's free to do as he chooses once you arrive in Normandy but until then it is too dangerous for him to be on his own."
Juliet had a brief but intense discussion with herself and found herself asking, "May I speak to Erik, please?" She supposed it was better now than later.
One of Madame Giry's eyebrows rose marginally in question, but she nodded and left to fetch Erik. For about five minutes, Juliet was left to wrestle with her thoughts and tried to convince herself that this was a necessary conversation to have. When he entered the room, he walked as though he were treading on a rather thin sheet of ice and Juliet almost lost her resolve, but she steeled herself.
"Bonjour, Erik," she said, her voice scarcely above a breath. "Please, sit down." He delicately lowered himself onto the edge of her bed and clasped his hands together, studying them intently. "May I ask you some questions?" her voice caught in her throat like it was protesting about what it was being made to say and she coughed.
He didn't look at her once, but merely kept his head bent forward. "What would you like to know?" he inquired.
"Well, firstly, I'd like to be able to look you in the eye," she said gently. He obliged, shifting his weight so his body faced her. His liquid brown eyes darted across her face and he seemed to be forcing himself to keep looking at her. "I want to know more about you," she said. "You can start from the beginning, if you'd like."
He huffed out a gusty sigh. "Mademoiselle, that is an extremely long story that is arduous both to tell and listen to."
"I'm trying to decide what to think about you and I don't think I can make a rational decision unless I know more about you," she said.
"I want to know more about you in return, then."
He was making her a deal. Knowing that it was the only way to hear any of his story, she nodded in consent and Erik began to tell the story of his life.
"My father died before I was born," he began. "Why or how, I do not know, but I do know that it caused my mother much grief. This may be why I look like I do. When I was born, she wanted nothing to do with me whatsoever. She made our priest name me after himself and this is why I am unsure of my last name. I never knew either of their last names and wasn't sure which one I should take even if I did. I believe my mother was equal parts terrified and disgusted by me. The first and only real present I received from her was a mask to conceal my face." Erik's voice was bitter and the words jerked from his mouth like he was spitting a foul-tasting substance out. He clenched and unclenched his fists before continuing.
"I wasn't allowed out of the house much, not even for mass. Even then, I was looked on as a child of the devil. My only real friend at that point was a dog named Sasha that my mother owned. She was the only one who didn't judge me for who I was or what I looked like, you see. As you might imagine, I didn't like having to hide all the time and soon, by age ten I believe, I ran away and was promptly captured by a band of gypsies headed by a man named Javert. When they discovered my unusual appearance, they put me in their traveling show ans showcased me as the genius freak as they found I was proficient in both architecture and music. The Living Corpse, they called me. The scars you saw on my torso were from the times I misbehaved or tried to escape."
Juliet's hand seemed to gain a life of its own and it slid across the bed to cover Erik's slightly shaking one. He inhaled sharply through his nose. "I did escape, though. One night, Javert caught me trying to run away and took me into his tent. He tried to..." He swallowed convulsively before continuing, squeezing his eyes shut. "He tried to rape me and I stabbed him with one of his daggers. It was the only way I could've escaped and I came to associate murder with being the way out of a frightening or difficult situation. Eventually, I met a man, a mason, named Giovanni. I was in Rome at this point. When he saw that I showed promise in his work area, he took me in as his apprentice. Those few months were the happiest I remember being, ever most likely.
"But, like all happy things, it came to an end, and rather abruptly. His daughter was very much used to getting what she wanted all the time and in one way or another I believe she was somehow attracted to me. The details of this are fuzzy, but a long struggle on the roof over whether or not I would remove my mask resulted in Luciana dying by my hand. I spent the next several years wandering until I made it to Persia.
"There, I was employed by the shah of Persia to be his personal 'magician, if you will, and also to entertain the khanum. I created a maze of mirrors that functioned something like a torture chamber for her. She had a rather, perhaps sadistic would be an appropriate word for it, personality and drew great pleasure from watching people being tortured to extents that I have no care to recount. There, I met Nadir and the details of why exactly I left are faint. I believe I may have said something they deemed 'extremely inappropriate' under the circumstances. A warrant was sent out for my arrest and Nadir helped me to escape. For reasons I do not know, he has chosen to stay with me and I came all the way back to France and into Paris. There, because of a competition, I began to assist in the building of the Opera House, eventually taking over the project. Sometime after it was done, I bet a young Siamese kitten who became my companion, also known as Ayesha. Her collar belonged to the shah's favorite cat. I liberated it before I left. And, I think you know the rest of my history as well as I do." He seemed to have finished speaking, as the room lapsed into silence.
"I am unsure whether I agree with some of your decisions, but I do understand them now," Juliet said, wincing quietly as another pain arced through her side from the wound.
He noticed this. "You should rest," he insisted, helping her to lie back on a pile of pillows and tucking a blanket around her gently. "Do you need anything else?" he asked.
She shook her head slowly. "No, I'm all right," she said. "I have one more question, though." One of Erik's hands rested on the night table beside her bed and she took it between her own hands, examining it. The thick, white scars still remained, confirming that it wasn't her overactive imagination. "What happened to your hands?"
"Ah, these," he nodded , a weary note sliding into his voice. "It's quite simple, but sad. At some point in my young life I became aware that I was the only one I knew who had to cover his face with a mask. As a result, I became rebellious and refused to wear it to dinner one night. My mother became angry with me and shrieked that I was never to go without my mask again. When I defiantly asked why, she yanked me in front of a mirror to show me my face. At the time, I had no idea it was my face. I thought it was a monster and smashed my hands against the mirror, breaking it. Our housemaid, who cared more for me than my mother ever did, spent an hour and a half pulling glass shards out of my hands and bandaging them. My mother never helped once."
Juliet's eyes filled with tears of sympathy for the man. "That's horrible," she whispered, gently tracing her fingers over the thick white tissue. He carefully tilted her chin up and wiped her tears away with his thumbs.
"It was a long time ago," he murmured. "Don't trouble yourself with it. You should sleep now." Still holding her hand, he began to hum a tune that Juliet didn't recognize. When she fell asleep, it was with Erik's hand wrapped securely around hers and the sound of his mesmerizing voice growing faint in her ears.
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In a few days, Doctor Frederic okayed Juliet's traveling and Madame Giry began to plan their trip to Normandy. It would be three days by train, but she managed to find a route that would have only one stop halfway through the second day. Both she and Erik would be heavily disguised since one of them was presumed dead and the other was a very much wanted fugitive. She packed copious amounts of clothing for both of them despite protests of it being too much from each recipient. Ayesha would be traveling with them on the train and Caesar would be in the livestock car. He almost would have remained with Nadir, but Erik recalled his run-in with Gaston while riding Caesar and the decision was made to send him along.
On the day of their departure, Meg and Madame Giry bade their goodbyes to Erik and Juliet, as did Nadir. "Write to me, won't you?" Meg whispered as she and Juliet hugged.
"Once a week at least," she promised the blonde dancer.
"Good luck." They embraced one last time, and Meg was careful not to hurt Juliet's side. Now it was Madame Giry's turn to hug the girl.
"Watch out for Erik, now," she murmured. "And don't let him go. You don't find men like him every day." Smiling gently she moved to hug Erik, leaving behind a confused Juliet. She watched the ballet mistress firmly grasp Erik's arms, kiss his cheeks, and whisper something to him that made him silently open and close his mouth in protest while Madame Giry looked on with a knowing look. Juliet wondered what she said.
Nadir kissed Juliet's hand and clasped Erik's shoulder, gruffly promising to write and visit as soon as he could.
Finally, they boarded the train and began to speed away from the city that had become so dangerous to them both. Erik was silent, staring out the window intently.
Juliet spoke first. "I never did tell you about my life, did I?" she questioned.
"You don't have to if you don't want to," he quickly replied.
"A promise is a promise," she said, shifting on her seat to get more comfortable. "Just don't laugh when you hear about how normal my life was compared to yours." She proceeded to tell him about being shuffled from school to school, her somewhat uninvolved father, the fact that her mother had died in childbirth, her friends, and Lola's full story. She took pride in the fact that she only choked up twice during the recounting of Lola's story.
"Your life wasn't exactly normal or easy, don't pawn it off as such," Erik told her, touching her hand. Juliet felt a small bolt of electricity zip up her hand and gave him a small smile in return. Their conversations turned to lighter topics after that. When they weren't sleeping or eating, it seemed they were always talking about a wide variety of things. The three days felt to Juliet as though they had passed in the blink of an eye. Erik was a fascinating person and she was sure she could spend an entire lifetime talking to him.
At the train station they shed their disguises and Juliet's childhood friend, Bridgette Laux, was waiting for them. "Julie!" she cried, rushing to hug her friend.
"Careful!" she giggled, stopping the hug a bit short so she wouldn't jostle her stitches at all.
"Ooh, sorry," she apologized. Wow, you look great! And this is..." she trailed off as Erik came into view. Juliet could tell by the look on her friend's face that she couldn't decide if she found him attractive or frightening.
"Oh, right. Bridgette, this is Erik. He's a friend of mine," Juliet explained, allowing them to meet. He took the slightly scared girl's hand and kissed it gently.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle," he said. She flushed bright red.
"And you as well, monsieur," she stumbled over her words a bit. "Your father is waiting for both of you at his home.
"Thank you, Bridgette," she said. "I'll come by to visit once we get our things dropped off." They loaded, or rather, Erik loaded their luggage into the carriage and Juliet directed the way to the house in which she had grown up. Once they got there, she trotted up the steps as Erik pulled the luggage out of the carriage. She knocked at the door and her father opened it quickly.
"Julie, you've grown," he murmured into her hair as they embraced. She inhaled the comforting scent of him.
"Papa, I haven't gotten any taller. Perhaps a bit wider, though," she joked, stroking her fingers through his graying hair. He chuckled, patting her arm.
"Oh, mon ange, that wasn't what I meant!" he protested. "I meant that you've matured gracefully into a beautiful young woman." She held him at arm's length and grinned.
"Thanks, papa. Erik's just going back to the train station to collect his horse." She paused, remembering something. "Oh, and papa? Erik is a wonderfully kind man, but he's quite shy and wears a half mask. It's to cover up a disfigurement he's had since birth and it embarrasses him. Please don't mention it," she pleaded, the words coming forth in a burst.
"A man's pride is his most prized possession. I won't do anything to hurt his pride, word of honor," he stated. Juliet smiled at her father's dramatic way of speaking. He seemed to have matured into a more caring person in the last few years.
They waited in the sitting room until Erik knocked on the door. "That'll be him," Juliet commented, getting to her feet and opening the door to let him in. He hesitated in the doorway and Juliet gently clasped his wrist, pulling him into her home.
She turned to see that her father had come into the room and had his eyes locked on Erik. His gaze flitted from Erik's face, to his mask, and to Juliet's hand on his wrist. She could see by his expression that he didn't approve. Not at all.
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Despite Andre Leroux's disapproval of Erik, he did allow him to stay at his house. Thankfully, no awkward conversations had happened, but Juliet knew they needed to talk at some point. But at that moment, it wasn't Juliet's primary concern. The annual Christmas party that was held by her family friends was that night and she was pawing through Bridgette's closet for a costume.
"So, what's Erik wearing?" she asked eagerly as Juliet searched.
"I don't even know if he's going," Juliet replied. Bridgette gasped, looking dumbfounded.
"You mean he hasn't asked you?" she cried, throwing her hands in the air dramatically. "Why not? It's plain as plain can be to see that he likes you."
Juliet shook her head as she pulled it out of the closet. "I don't think he does. He had a bad experience with love a while ago and a bad experience with a party as well. He gives both a pretty wide berth nowadays."
Bridgette rolled her eyes. "Nonsense, you can't just stop wanting to be in love or be loved, and this party is far too much fun to miss." She got up and perused her closet. "And, you just sort of admitted that you like him," she added, pulling a deep pink, floor length dress out of her closet and nodding approvingly.
"I did not!" Juliet protested, taking the dress and agreeing that it would work.
"Yes you did." Bridgette smirked, flipping her brown hair over her shoulder. "And I don't blame you, even with the mask he's stunning. In fact, it almost adds to it." She tapped her chin pensively and gave Juliet a knowing look.
"Oh shut up and help me button up this dress," Juliet grumbled, holding her hair out of the way.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
"Erik, won't you even consider coming to the party tonight?" Juliet pleaded, standing by the door wearing the borrowed gown.
"I'm not much for parties, they tend to go somewhat awry when I attend," he reminded her. She sighed loudly, allowing her eyes to do a full circle in their sockets.
"That was Paris, this is Normandy. Please? I don't want you to spend Christmas Eve alone." She tugged at his wrists gently. His steadfast stance seemed to crumble a little bit.
"Just for awhile, yes?" he conceded. "I think your father could do with a bit of a boost of confidence in me."
"Probably. Come on, I promised Bridgette I'd stop by the orphanage before the dance. She works there and she says it does the children a world of good to meet people from the outside." Juliet pulled her hood up over her head and stepped outside into the gently falling snow. Erik followed behind her.
When she got there, she knocked and was met by a small, angelic looking girl with bright red curls bobbing along behind her and wide green eyes. Her tiny rosebud mouth opened in a little 'o' at the sight of Juliet an Erik. "Madame Laux!" she squealed. "There are angels at the front door!"
Juliet and Erik looked at each other for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Bridgette came hurrying around the corner and scooped the dreamy eyed girl up into her arms. "Didn't I tell you?" she inquired. "I told you that angels would come visit on Christmas Eve, and here they are! Go tell the others, alright?" She set the girl down and she went scampering away.
Bridgette grinned. "That was Caroline," she said. "She's a daydreamer, always thinking about fairies and things like that."
Juliet couldn't get over something Caroline had said. "Madame Laux?" she asked in disbelief. "Since when?"
She sighed heavily, shifting her weight onto her left leg. "Not anymore. I was married to a stupid oaf named Joseph. He was a drunk and killed a man in a bar fight about a year ago. He'll die in prison, and given the amount I got hit by him, may God rot his soul."
Juliet wrapped a comforting arm around her friend's shoulders. "I'm so sorry, mon ami," she said. The girl tried to shrug it off, but it obviously hurt her. Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a barrage of small children running at their ankles and latching on like limpets on a rock beside a body of water. Erik stiffened as they clung to his shins and grinned up at him happily.
After a few minutes of playing with them, Juliet noticed a little boy sitting all by himself. Gently disentangling herself from a pile of young ones, she made her way over to sit by him. "Hello there," she whispered.
He didn't look at her. "This is my first Christmas without my mama," he said quietly. "Santa always forgot about me, and even though we didn't have much money she always got me something small at Christmas." Juliet's heart nearly broke in two at the sight of his quivering lip and chin. "Why did Santa always forget about me?"
"Santa never forgets," she told him softly. "He helped your mama buy those gifts and I'm sure he'll leave you something special tonight," Juliet promised, pulling the little boy into her arms gently. He looked up at her, blue eyes wide with wonder and sniffling a little.
"Really?" he whispered. She nodded, ruffling his hair.
"Really," she confirmed, setting him down softly and getting up to walk over to Erik. He was looking at her curiously. "What?" she asked.
"What did you say to him?" Erik asked.
"No child deserves not to have a proper Christmas," she said, her hand finding Erik's and squeezing it. Surely he didn't have many, if any at all, Christmases he could look on fondly in his memories of childhood.
Soon, they were at the party and Juliet found herself introducing Erik to everyone she remembered from her younger years. Most of them seemed to like him, but every once and awhile someone would give him a discreet look of disdain and Juliet would take Erik's hand and pretend she'd seen someone else she knew.
"I feel as though I'm getting mixed reviews," he said as they stood off to the side a little. "Doesn't it bother you that some of your friends and relatives don't like me?"
She shook her head firmly. "It wouldn't matter to me if all of them didn't like you. They don't know what they're missing." Abruptly, she turned red and ended the conversation by starting another one. "I like this song," she said, the sound of the familiar waltz bringing back memories. "It was the first song I learned to dance to. Would you like to join me?"
Erik fidgeted uncomfortably, avoiding Juliet's gaze. "Oh no, no thank you. I'm not much for—" Her searching gaze made him stop.
"Erik, do you not know how to dance?" her voice was soft.
"Once a long time ago, but not anymore," he admitted. "It's been so long."
"I'll show you, it's easy," she said, taking his arms and positioning them around her body. She felt him tense with nerves and whispered, "Trust me."
Slowly, she guided him across the dance floor, murmuring instruction when needed. He must have remembered part of how to dance, and soon the pair was gliding across the floor, limbs flowing from movement to movement like water.
Soon, slower songs began to play and Juliet drifted more closely into Erik's arms. Cautiously, she laid her head on his chest and listened to the beating of his heart. A decision was forming within her, but she waited another song and a half before she voiced her thoughts.
Craning her neck back to look into his eyes, Juliet said, "Erik, I don't quite know how to put this, but I have this feeling whenever I'm around you. It's not possible to describe it, but—"
Erik abruptly stopped dancing and held Juliet at arm's length firmly. "Juliet, please think about what you're going to say," he pleaded, eyes holding a note of sadness. "You could do so much better than me. I don't have a job, I couldn't provide for you, I look like a monster—" Juliet clapped a hand over his mouth. H was always so quick to insult himself and Juliet couldn't, for the life of her, understand why.
"Erik whatever-your-last-name-is, in case you haven't noticed, I don't care about any of that!" she said fiercely. "If I did, would I have stayed with you for this long? If I truly thought you were a monster, why on Earth didn't I leave you when I had the chance?" For once, the Phantom of the Opera had no words. "And believe me," she continued strongly. "I had a chance. A lot of them in fact, but I didn't. I'll tell you why. It's because I cared about you! And I still do. In fact, I think I love you!" To stop any further comment, Juliet kissed Erik for all she was worth. Right there in the middle of the dance floor. In front of everyone. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let the room around them disappear.
Finally, breathless, she pulled away. Her eyes were shining brightly as she looked at Erik. "I—" he mumbled, cheeks, or at least the one that was visible, flaming bright crimson.
"Erik?"
"Yes?"
Juliet leaned in again. "Do shut up." It was truly the best Christmas she had ever had.
A/N: *beams* This was way too much fun to write. And also the longest chapter I've ever written for this story. But if you think the drama is over, believe me. It's not.
Aren't Erik and Juliet cute? :D
Review?