Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.
Summary: ErikRaoul slash.
Warning(s): homosexuality (that's what slash is people)
Pairing(s): ErikRaoul
Author Note: Not many votes, but that's no biggie. I guess we'll see what happens.
Story Note: Erik's part was pretty small last time, but he's back with a vengeance. :)
o.o.o.o
Imaginary Friends
Chapter 22 – The Past
o.o.o.o
By: Lucifer Rosemaunt
o.o.o.o
Last time: The only thing that matters is that Raoul finally hears the story from Philippe! Well, okay, there's also: Christine worries about her angel, the managers and Carlotta are in cahoots (I love that word, btw), the kidnapper somehow got away to talk to the Comte, and the Comte still thinks there's a fake OG (which there is, Carlotta).
o.o.o
"Our hands are tied," Firmin tried to explain, "We cannot do anything to the Comte that would seem like a threat since we need his money."
Carlotta huffed. "What does this have to do with me?"
Firmin hadn't wanted to use this, but it was a last resort and Carlotta had not been swayed yet, "He has a certain fondness for Mlle Daae."
"Christine?" Carlotta screeched. The managers winced and looked apologetic. "That little toad?"
"Y-yes," Andre replied, "they were introduced."
"So you see," Firmin hoped to capitalize on Carlotta's jealousy, "It's in all of our best interests if we work together."
"I see why I would be interested," Carlotta said, "but I have yet to see why you are so interested. You get his money either way."
She would have liked to let them in on her secret because their help would truly be indispensable; however, they only wanted money and their main qualm with the Comte was…
"He has not killed the opera ghost."
She had to stifle a groan. The ghost charade was the only way that Carlotta had to ruin the man, and she would make him see just how far she would go to ruin him. Had he been a good and attentive Comte, then none of this would have happened. He deserved to have a hard time with the managers. She knew that the 'ghost' would keep him busy enough so that he would stay away from Christine.
Shaking her head, Carlotta ushered them out of her room, "Gentlemen, I do not wish to be part of your ploy. Not with the ghost around."
"But," Andre was cut off.
"Are you going to perform tonight?" Firmin asked. Carlotta was acting strangely. Her reaction to the news about Christine, though shrill, had seemed too calm. The woman hadn't raged, which meant that she probably already knew all about it. Firmin had a feeling she had a plan already in action. He just had to get her to share it, but he wasn't going to get far if he kept pushing.
Carlotta shrugged. "I still do not know how well I feel."
Firmin nodded and ushered Andre out.
o.o.o
"How?" Raoul stared at his brother in disbelief. He swallowed through the lump in his throat. "How do you know all this?"
Philippe was searching Raoul's expression for something other than shock, recognition maybe, but he was simply surprised. Raoul had listened quietly throughout the ordeal at the carnival and Philippe's perspective when he'd seen Raoul with the Devil's Child. "You told me everything afterwards."
Raoul had never heard such a story before. It sounded so fantastical that it couldn't be true. A child kidnapped and kept with the Devil's Child? The ghost was the Devil's Child.
Then, his dream about the boy in the alley with the deformity had been an actual memory.
"I'm sorry, Raoul," Philippe cut him off from his musing.
"Sorry?"
"For everything." Philippe would have changed their past if he could have. He would have done so many things differently; he had failed his brother so many times that he'd long since lost count.
Raoul shook his head and focused on Philippe instead of his thoughts. "There's nothing to be sorry about, brother. You got me back, right?"
Philippe smiled back sadly, "I allowed you to get kidnapped. I didn't help Erik escape…"
"Wait," Raoul raised a hand to stop him. "Erik?"
"Yes," Philippe nodded slowly before realizing that he'd only ever used the 'Devil's Child' in his story, "His name is Erik."
"His name is Erik?" Raoul repeated.
Well, what a coincidence! Erik had been silent throughout the story, taking it all in just as Raoul had been, but at that piece of information, he couldn't keep his silence any longer, My name's Erik, too.
Raoul could only stare at Philippe; his mouth was slightly open. That's…
That's what I've been telling you. He said smugly.
That's uncanny. He might have toyed with the idea that Erik and the ghost were the same person, but he'd never thought that they'd actually have the same name. It was almost disturbing.
You remembered me somewhere in that brain of yours.
"Raoul? Are you okay?" Philippe asked. He looked at his brother, concerned. Maybe telling him right this moment had been a bad idea. They were both fatigued and Raoul was still sick.
Raoul nodded. "I'm fine. I really am. I'm just… I'm not sure what I am right now."
I'm embarrassed would be a good response. Erik supplied.
Embarrassed? Raoul asked.
He replied, Yes. Apparently, as a child, you didn't know how to censor your stories.
What?
You kissed me. Erik had to be grinning. We're married. He taunted.
Raoul ran a hand through his hair. That was something he could worry and be embarrassed about later. He was still just trying to let the story sink in. Not right now, Erik.
Erik laughed but didn't say anything.
"Do you remember?" Philippe had to ask. His brother was taking this very well, considering what had happened.
Raoul sighed, when what he really wanted to do was scream. "No. I don't." That was the real problem he was having. He heard the story. He was certain that Philippe wouldn't be lying to him. After all, his brother would not have been able to make up such a good story.
"No?" No? Erik and Philippe asked at the same time.
"It doesn't feel like my past," Raoul tried to explain, "It just feels like another story."
Erik groaned loudly in his head. Please tell me you're lying.
Do I seem like I'm lying? Raoul responded in annoyance. He was just as frustrated as Erik was. He thought hearing the story would trigger something in his mind. It's not fair. Why can't I remember it? There was nothing there; no matter how hard he tried to pull something from his memory, there was only this blank spot. Not one part of the story felt like something he'd experienced. Even his dream didn't feel like his past so much as it felt like something his mind just came up with. He had only connected it because there could be no other deformed individual that he could possibly know.
Maybe you're trying to force it. Erik suggested.
Force it?
Yes. Erik asked, You were already remembering things, right?
Raoul thought back, There were moments where I felt close to remembering things.
So, maybe now that you know what happened, those moments will occur where you actually do remember them instead of just being close.
That made sense. Maybe Raoul was worrying too much about remembering things immediately.
Or maybe, he said deliberately, maybe you aren't supposed to remember it.
What? Raoul couldn't believe he said that. We've always been trying to figure out what happened.
Well, we've learned what happened. Now that you know your past, you can move forward without it bothering you. Erik thought of Raoul's present reaction to the ghost instead of what he had heard in Philippe's story. It doesn't mean that you have to keep Erik out of your life.
Raoul would not accept that. It felt wrong that he couldn't remember it himself. There was something wrong. Didn't you hear what Philippe said? He said that I meant something to him. That when he let me go, it was as though he was losing the most important thing in the world. He must've meant something to me too if I made you up just to keep me company. Shouldn't that affect how I act around him now?
He finally thought to ask, "Does he remember me?"
Philippe had been dozing since Raoul seemed to want to think things through. It took him a second to respond, "From what I've heard, yes."
Raoul looked at Philippe. His brother could barely keep his eyes open. The tray of food was sliding sideways. Grabbing the tray, Raoul set it down. "Do you think you can make it upstairs?" He asked.
His brother snorted. "No, I don't think I can tackle stairs right now. I'll just sleep down here. How are you feeling?"
"Confused," he replied honestly.
Smiling gently, Philippe ignored the pain and reached out to put a hand on Raoul's forehead, "You still have a slight fever. You should sleep it off in your bed."
Raoul frowned. "I'm not leaving you brother."
"I think you'll get better faster if you slept in a bed," Philippe insisted.
"Same goes for you," Raoul retorted.
"Fine, stay down here if you want," Philippe gave in, which attested to how tired he was. Raoul helped him take away the extra pillows and blankets from behind him. He thought he had won until his brother nonchalantly added, "But if I get sick because of you, you'll have to listen to my every beck and call."
Raoul hadn't thought that he might get his brother sick. He paused to look at Philippe suspiciously. "That's sneaky, brother."
Philippe grinned at him before trying to look innocent. "I think I may be coming down with something. Feel my head. Does it feel warm to you?"
Raoul mock glared. He sighed loudly as he settled the blanket around Philippe. "I guess I'll be upstairs."
"Good," his brother closed his eyes too tired to do anything else but sleep.
Raoul was feeling a little better. The sleep and the food had done him some good. His head ached a bit, but he wasn't sure if it was because of the story or the fever. As he left the room, he passed the butler. The man had been lingering by the door for some time.
"I'll watch him and call if something happens," he assured Raoul. Raoul smiled his thanks.
Climbing the stairs was a trial, and by the time he reached his bed, he was tired once more. Still, he couldn't fall asleep.
He wondered what the ghost had been thinking that first time they met. They had kept running into each other, and the ghost hadn't said anything.
Because you didn't remember him. Erik answered his unasked question of why. Because you wouldn't have believed him.
Maybe. Raoul knew Erik was right though. He wouldn't have believed the ghost. It was only now, after he'd been kidnapped and saved and Philippe had been shot that he could actually believe such a story could be true. How can I face him now? With a memory that's only a story to me?
Just tell him you don't quite remember yet.
Raoul frowned. I think he's been waiting for me to remember.
You really don't remember?
Hearing that story was just like hearing a fairy tale. It didn't feel like my life.
Erik asserted, But it is.
I know it is. Raoul replied, I understand that. It just doesn't feel like it.
Even after all the coincidences: my voice sounding the same, the deformity, the dream, the fact that he sings and he's courteous to you. You honestly don't feel a connection to your past? Erik said, frustrated. The pinky swears! Of course, he remembers you. Why else would have pinky swore?
Raoul looked down at his hands, I promised I wouldn't forget him, that we would leave together. What must he think of me now that I've broken those promises?
Erik was silent for a moment. He risked his life to save you. I think you've already been forgiven.
o.o.o
The ballet girls screamed. The sound pierced the air for what felt like the hundredth time.
Carlotta smiled beneath her hooded cloak. This was much too fun. The managers had left her alone after their conversation and sneaking out of her room had never been too difficult, not when everyone generally avoided her.
It wasn't hard to scare the girls. Carlotta tried to stay away from the stage because there were simply too many people there that could possibly see her. There was no way that she could go unnoticed. However, she knew which halls the chorus walked through often, and she had stolen a large supply of rope. She didn't know how to make a noose, but that hardly seemed to matter to her victims as she draped a poorly made one on a doorknob and blew out some candles – for presentation purposes of course. She ruffled through their things and ruined some of the dresses. They were small things, but they were proving to be very effective in creating chaos in the opera house.
Her favorite part however, was the actual sightings that she performed. She couldn't actually wear the mask, refused to really. So, she would wear her heavy black cloak, hide her face, and hold up the mask. The safest place to do a sighting was Box 5. So, as she observed the curtains being hung back up properly, she waited to be spotted. When the pointing and cowering began, she quickly fled.
She was running away when she collided into someone who yanked her back into the box, hand held firmly over mouth to prevent her screams from being heard.
o.o.o
The kidnapper didn't know what he should do next. He had thought that the Comte would have provided him with some sort of protection from the ghost, but now he was alone. He was tired and the sweat from having run so much was quickly cooling on his body. Clouds had blocked the sun, and the wind was beginning to pick up again. His breath was easily seen in the air. Staying was not an option though; he turned away from the opera house and ran.
He didn't even make it to the edge of the building before someone grabbed him. He didn't need to look to know who it was. He screamed and tried to muscle his way out of the ghost's grasp. It did nothing to slow the ghost down. He had a fleeting thought that the ghost had allowed him to scream for fun because soon his mouth was muffled with a hand and a rope had dropped around his neck.
The rope tightened, choking him. By the time his hands were bound, he realized that this was going to be the end. He struggled even harder slipping out of the ghost's grasp and falling onto the floor. Though he tried to scramble away, without his hands, it made it near impossible to keep his balance long enough to stand. The ghost simply laughed, a sound that made the kidnapper cringe; the ghost kicked him to the floor one more time before binding his feet.
He was picked up and tossed over the ghost's shoulder before they disappeared into the opera house. It was completely dark, but the kidnapper knew that they were heading up, ever higher up into the opera house. His screams only echoed in the darkness. His struggles had proven to be fruitless and by the time he felt fresh air again, he had exhausted himself; yet, he was nowhere near closer to freedom.
Looking around, he saw that they were on the roof of the opera house. His heart skipped a beat. The ghost was going to throw him over the edge of the building.
"No," he tried to croak, his throat long since dry. Instead of walking to the edge of the building, the ghost threw him onto the back of one of the horse statues and proceeded to tie him to it.
"You stay here" were the first words the ghost said to him.
It was the first time that he had seen the ghost's face again after he had run. Thankfully, the ghost had bandaged up the deformity. The kidnapper couldn't help the shudder that ran through him at the thought of the ghost's real face. He focused instead on the graying sky. It looked like it would snow again tonight.
"I did exactly what you wanted," he begged, "please let me go."
"You did. I must commend your ability to lie," Erik rolled his eyes and he wrapped the roped around the horse several times. It wouldn't do if the kidnapper freed himself.
"Please. Let me go. You said…"
"Who said I was going to let you go?" Erik asked. He cocked his head to one side and looked at the man disdainfully.
"But you said…"
"I said I'd make it less painful."
The kidnapper began to beg, again.
"You almost killed someone dear to me," the ghost sneered, "His life was something you took into your hands."
The kidnapper shook his head trying to explain about the Comte, but he was just babbling, the words unintelligible.
Erik ignored him. The Comte would get what was coming to him as well. He spat out, "You have no right to touch things that are not yours."
"What-what," the kidnapper stammered, "are you going to do to me?"
Erik looked up at the darkening sky and the clouds that covered any sight of the endless blue. He took some extra rope and gagged the man so that he would not be able to scream for help.
"It was cold and he was alone." Erik stated conversationally, "At least I'm giving you a nice view."
With those words, Erik left.
o.o.o
Christine stared at the rose. It couldn't be. But the black ribbon around it told her otherwise. Her angel had seen her performance. He had simply been waiting.
Then she saw it, beneath the rose was a note. This was new. He only ever spoke to her. Greedily, she broke the seal and read.
My Angel
I am always watching. Until you truly need me again, I shall watch from above. Let your song take flight so that I may always hear it.
Your Angel of Music
She clutched the note to her chest, tears clinging to her eyes. Her angel was gone. No more lessons. No more assurances. But she wasn't alone. Her angel was watching. She picked up the rose and smelled it. She'd never felt so happy as she did right then. Though she was no longer worried about his reaction to her performance, she was determined to make tonight's opera perfect. Dedicated to her father and her angel.
Erik hadn't known what to write in that note to Christine. He hadn't thought about her once since his fight with Raoul, which at one time in his life would have been inconceivable. He'd been distracted by Raoul since the Vicomte had first arrived though. Even though he fought against it, his mind had focused solely on Raoul, but Christine… he had wanted Christine so badly at one time. How she could be easily forgotten was not a mystery to him though. He knew now that everything he once felt for Christine were emotions he had wished to feel for Raoul but hadn't been able to.
Christine had been an excuse to keep on living. Like Raoul, but not – could never be Raoul. The desire to give her whatever she wanted was simply an extension of his inability to give Raoul what he wanted.
He wanted to laugh at himself for how things had turned out. He had spent one day with Raoul and more than a decade with Christine. Yet, everything he felt for Christine was a borrowed emotion. It paled in comparison to the briefest thoughts of Raoul. He had a room of paintings that were filled with Christine's image; he had several rooms, a whole gallery, just for Raoul. He taught Christine how to sing; every note he sang, every song he ever composed was dedicated to Raoul. He could remember how it felt to have Christine in his arms; he could still feel Raoul in his arms, on his lap, on his lips. And when he and Christine parted, as he knew they would, it would be nothing like having been separated from Raoul.
Some part of him knew that it hadn't been fair to Christine; he had used her, but nothing was fair. He didn't feel remorse. She had gotten what she wanted most. She was able to sing like her father wanted her to. She had met her 'Angel of Music' and become the prima donna. Yet, he knew that he must have felt something for her. It had been a spur of the moment act. The note he left was unlike him; he couldn't help that some part of her still reminded him of Raoul. He hadgiven her everything she had ever wanted.
Now, he was going to get what he wanted. He didn't look back once as he left her room.
o.o.o
"Sorry, gentleman," Firmin walked into the office, closing the door behind him, "I went to see how the repairs are going for the stage. It looks like we'll be alright for tonight."
Andre looked pleased at the news, but the Comte's displeasure didn't lessen.
Once everyone had settled into their seats, the Comte stated, "The ghost has not been killed."
Firmin rolled his eyes. Andre saw the expression and looked at him oddly. He thought that they were supposed to treat the Comte well until they could figure out what to do. Firmin seemed to be ignoring their plan.
"We know that, Msr," Andre said slowly, "the accidents…"
"Have been caused by a saboteur," the Comte finished.
"So we have two ghosts now?" Firmin shook his head, and asked patronizingly, "And how would you know that?"
The Comte glared at Firmin. "The man that was supposed to kill the ghost came to me this morning. He had been held captive by the man until just lately."
Firmin muttered, "How convenient for you."
Andre coughed and cleared his throat to cover what he had said. The narrowing of the Comte's eyes told him that his coughing did nothing.
"I understand," the Comte said in an even voice, "that you do not believe me."
"As we shouldn't," Firmin replied.
Andre gasped beside him.
"Our deal means nothing until I see proof that the ghost is dead."
"So, you seek to renege on our arrangement," the Comte said.
"I seek to ensure the safety and income of this opera house," Firmin shot back. "And you've done neither to help so far. We've kept up our end of the deal. You have not."
"I will catch the saboteur," the Comte stood up, "and I will kill the ghost." He stormed out of the office.
This was a matter of pride. The Comte had unfortunately not kept his end of their arrangement because of the worthless kidnapper. Their agreement was merely verbal, but if anyone found out that he had gone back on his word, they would no longer respect him. They would see him as weak. He was not weak. He would show them, and the rewards for completing this task were great.
Once he cleared up this mess, he would be able to have free reign to do whatever he wanted with the opera house. The managers would not be able to complain about anything. He was the sole patron and would be able to spend more time with the young Mlle Daae and the chorus girls. Everything would be perfect. Now, he had to figure out how to catch a ghost.
Andre turned to look at Firmin, "What have you done?"
"Do not worry," Firmin tried to assure him, "the Comte will not take his money away. He will simply tire himself out with trying to catch a ghost. In the mean time, we will have his money and have him out of our business."
Andre didn't look very convinced, but he trusted Firmin to know what he was doing.
o.o.o
"Madame Giry," Christine called as she skipped to a stop in front of her.
Taking in her demeanor, Madame Giry said, "I see you are feeling better." She looked over Christine's shoulder and saw the man that was trailing her. She didn't think that Christine had even noticed him yet. He was rather discrete, but his presence actually made Madame Giry less worried about her charge.
"Yes," Christine felt like she could fly, "Is everything going to be ready for tonight's performance?"
Madame Giry looked at the stage. It had seen better days, but everyone was working hard. "It looks like it will."
She didn't want to tell Christine about the recent string of problems. The ruined costumes were being fixed as they spoke and the other costumes were being kept under a watchful eye. The chorus girls had all decided that moving around the opera house in groups was the safest, and the screaming behind the walls, the screaming had gone on for quite some time. It sounded as though someone was being tortured.
Madame Giry looked at Christine's obliviously happy demeanor and didn't think the girl would have noticed if the ghost dropped right in front of her.
It occurred to her then why Christine could be so happy. She asked discretely, "Did you receive word from your Angel?"
Christine smiled at her, "Yes. He is proud. Will always be proud."
Madame Giry wondered at the last part of her statement. "Did you speak with him?"
"Oh, no," Christine shook her head, "He is with father now."
Madame Giry looked at her in confusion. Before she could ask more questions, Meg came and pulled Christine away. Something was happening with Erik if he was saying his good-bye to Christine. Madame Giry swore to keep her eyes open to everything that happened in the opera house.
She wondered if he finally found his purpose from all those years ago to leave the opera house.
o.o.o
"Is there a performance tonight?" Philippe asked.
The butler started at his voice, "I didn't realize you were awake, Comte."
Philippe had woken feeling much better. He was a little sore and felt more than a little stabbing pain whenever he moved too much, but he knew that he wouldn't have been able to rest for very much longer. He may have been injured and unconscious for a while, but he was still unbelievably angry. The person who had tried to hurt his brother was still out there. He couldn't just sleep it off.
"Is there one?"
"Are you planning on watching the opera tonight?" The butler asked suspiciously.
Philippe replied, "Perhaps."
The butler shook his head, "I do insist you remain reposed for the next few days."
"It was a simple gun shot wound. You cleaned and closed it," Philippe fought through the pain as he sat up.
"There is no such thing as a simple gun shot wound," his butler replied, "we need to recheck your bandages."
Philippe was silent as his butler saw to the wound. He looked at it for the first time after the cauterization. It was going to leave a very nasty scar, but that hardly mattered. The wound reminded him of what the Comte de Montmartre had tried to do to his brother. He felt himself getting worked up. He had to look away, but he thought of ways to get his revenge. A duel was simply too honorable for that vile underhanded man.
"Perhaps dinner," the butler asked, "before I send for the carriage."
Philippe nodded, smiling. He couldn't let Erik have all the fun.
o.o.o
Raoul stared at the ceiling of his room. He had managed to doze for a bit, but his mind refused to rest.
What do you think he's doing right now?
Erik replied immediately, Killing the kidnappers.
Still?
Maybe, Erik smirked. I was angry.
Raoul frowned. You would torture them?
I would make them understand the errors of their ways.
Scoffing, Raoul commented. I hope he returns soon. I want to speak with him.
He'll return. Erik pointed out, He pinky swore, remember?
Raoul wondered, Do you think he's going to deal with the Comte?
I am quite certain he will.
Yes? Raoul rolled over in the bed. I've been thinking.
And?
Maybe we should help him out. Raoul suggested. He mentally categorized how he felt. He could probably ride to the opera house easily. As long as he bundled up, he wouldn't have to worry about the cold. He felt his strength returning to him already. He could fight, maybe not for an extended period of time, but he wasn't going to just walk up to the Comte. He could be sneaky, too.
Erik needed clarification. What are you talking about?
We should help the ghost… Erik… you. Whoever. Raoul frowned when he tried to think of the ghost.
You want to go… Erik prompted.
…to the opera house, of course. Raoul finished. We can ensure that the ghost comes home and that the person who hurt us and Philippe is brought to justice.
Erik hesitated. I don't know about this idea of yours. You're sick.
What if the ghost needs help? Raoul couldn't just stay in bed and wait. He was the reason that everyone had been put in danger in the first place. It was his right and responsibility to fix things. We aren't going in without knowing our enemy this time.
Erik gave in. He was always ready for a fight. No more getting into strange carriages?
Raoul smirked and stood to dress up. I promise. No more strange carriage rides.
o.o.o
o.o.o.o
End Chapter 22
Word count: 4,875
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o.o.o.o
A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!
Chapter review: Can Raoul be any more stubborn about remembering? He knows now though and he's going to help Erik out! Wow, I guess everything will happen in the opera house since everyone's heading that way anyway.
Vote: As stated in the previous chapter: your vote… Masked Series part 03 or Imaginary Friends continuation… honestly, they'll both have happy endings (I'm sure you were worried about that with respect to the Masked Series, but I said I'd give a happy ending) and I'll eventually write both of them, but it's your choice. Or, if you want another story, why not vote for that too… if there's a tie, I get to pick w/e story I want. :)