Hello there! Thank you for reading and reviewing my new story. I hope I will get more reviewers, but I know that many of my regular readers don't care for the Erik/original woman pairing; but every now and then, I like to read or write something different.
I am going to attempt to clear up a few things. For the sake of my story, the fire at the end of the movie was not as large and untamed as the one in the movie. Erik's past and his history with Madam Giry are not as they were in the movie; the details of this will slowly be revealed within the contents of my story.
AGES:
Erik 30 when Don Juan Triumphant is performed; 34 when he returns to Paris after the disaster.
Lavanya 24 years old when she and Erik meet
Christine 16 when Don Juan Triumphant is performed; 20 when Erik comes back into her life.
Raoul 19 when Don Juan Triumphant is performed; 23 when Erik returns.
Annette 36 when Don Juan Triumphant is performed; 40 when Erik returns.
Meg 17 when Don Juan Triumphant is performed; 21 when Erik returns.
Tarrah 15 when Erik rescues her and begins to train her
Sharad same age as Erik
Enjoy my lovelies!!
DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS
CHAPTER 2
After all of the chaos had finally settled and everyone was accounted for, Annette Giry made her way back to her small apartment nestled on the third floor of the opera house.
Meg followed her, careful to conceal the white half-mask she had confiscated in the Phantom's lair. There was more to her mother's knowledge of the Phantom than she had ever told Meg; and she wanted some answers.
Meg had known for some time that the Phantom was a man and not an apparition. She had heard his voice in the still of the night, echoing through the corridors of the opera house.
Many feared him, and seemed to have good reason; but Meg had never felt the terror within her that the others felt.
Just how close had he and her mother been?
As they entered their apartment, they were relieved to see that it remained virtually untouched by the fire, as were most of the outer-lying areas of the large building. The fire fighters and civilians had worked diligently and had managed to contain the fire; only a few of the main areas of the opera house had been burned badly.
"Desperate measures, Erik…even for you."
Annette mumbled angrily under her breath, not caring that her daughter overheard her. He had remained a mystery from her for too long. Now, everyone knew who he was and many were out to kill him.
It was obvious that he had escaped the opera house unnoticed, a bit of good news amidst the tragic events of the evening. If Annette was honest with herself, she worried incessantly about him – his dark demons often got the best of him and he had no one to help tame them.
"Christine and Raoul are safe; they came out a mile or so down the river – wet…but in good health." Meg assured herself as well as her mother. "Christine looked rather distraught and Raoul looked as though he had had a scuffle with the Phantom, but he seemed to be alright."
Annette pondered over what Meg was saying – questioning Erik's motive for releasing them after he had gone to so much trouble to abduct them.
Meg felt a slight betrayal within her. Why hadn't her mother trusted her with the details of the Phantom?
"I deserve to know, Maman." She calmly demanded, "Who is he?"
Annette headed toward the small, corner kitchen and put some water on to boil. She needed a strong cup of tea and discerned that Meg could use one too.
"He is someone who means a great deal to me, Meg…a man who has been an outsider all of his life and has little knowledge of love."
She turned toward Meg after putting the kettle on the stove, and than sat down at the tiny table to rest the weariness that had begun to settle in her bones.
"I will say no more, for he wants no one's pity and his story is his own."
"I saw how he looked at her…but then, he let them go…it makes no sense."
Annette just shook her head acceptingly and sighed loudly.
"I think he loved her very much." Meg whispered.
Deep down, Meg envied Christine. She had two men who loved her deeply – each willing to die for her and each willing to fight for her – both of them beautiful in their own way.
"Yes, I fear he loved her very much…and she only saw him as a great teacher and musician, or perhaps a father figure."
Annette had somehow missed the transition Erik had made in his feelings toward the young Daae girl. He had been such an attentive and patient teacher with the child as she had grown over the past few years. Erik had never done anything inappropriate toward her nor compromised her in any way.
However, his recent behavior would indicate that he had developed deep feelings for her, perhaps feelings of great love; and he did not know how to handle such a strong and powerful; highly volatile emotion.
"I think I will go to bed, Meg…I am so tired."
She started down the short hallway and then turned back toward Meg.
"Did Christine say where she was going?"
"I assume she was going to the de Chagny Estate…Raoul seemed determined to hide her away."
"That is highly inappropriate." Annette huffed, her voice and face showing her disapproval. "She knows better."
The last phrase was whispered as the older woman made her way toward her bedroom. She turned up the lamp as she entered, feeling the warmth of the room and the need to rest.
As she headed toward the washroom, she noticed a box sitting on her dresser, and there was a note attached.
The box was wooden and beautifully carved; she knew it was Erik's craftsmanship…the intricate design and the attention to detail – he was the most gifted man she had ever known.
She picked the box up in her hands and noticed how heavy it was; but first, she read the note.
Annette,
I am finally gone, you may breathe a sigh of relief; you no longer have to put your life on hold for me and my idiotic whims. What an interesting night it turned out to be. I am a fool, I know this, and I can visualize your head nodding in agreement. I will continue to write to you for as long as you write me. Should there come a time when you cease to return letters to me, I will discontinue my correspondence, knowing that you have lost interest.
I have no idea where I shall end up; I just know that I am not cowardly enough to take my life – I know that would probably make many people happy, but I will not give them the satisfaction of my death. I will continue to fight my demons – slashing at them in hopes of finding some semblance of humanity within my pathetic existence.
I will entrust you with my whereabouts, once I have settled somewhere. What you do with this knowledge is entirely up to you.
You were always good to me; for this, I am thankful.
Erik
P.S. Use the money however you see fit, it was the least I could do after destroying your home.
A wave of relief washed over her upon seeing his sweeping and elegant handwriting; but his words cut her like a knife. He had left; leaving the life he had made for himself, a life he had tried to share with another – only to have it blow up in his face.
The gift he had left for her was very generous, but it did not make up for his absence. She felt it profoundly – and he hadn't even been gone a full day.
"Where have you gone, Erik…what will you do?" Annette spoke into the shadows, trying to settle her own nerves.
She had to rid her mind of him; that was what she had to do. He had been such a part of her life for the last ten years – a part she had come to cherish – and knowing that she may never see him again – never hear his beautiful music – was almost more than she could bear.
Finally crawling into her bed, Annette did not drift into sleep easily. Her mind was riddled with images of a half-dead man lying face down in the muck of the streets. His hair riddled with lice, and his body badly beaten; it appeared that he hadn't eaten in a very long time, and his skin was the color of death.
Ten years had passed since that day, ten years of growth and awareness; ten years of the most beautiful and inspiring music the opera house - and all of France – had ever heard. Ten years of hiding him away from the world because he thought he would never be accepted by it - enough was enough – Erik deserved more.
♥♣♠♦
The funeral for Piangi had been especially quiet and less emotional than many suspected. Carlotta was not the remorseful, abandoned lover that many had assumed she would be. Everyone attended the closed casket service and fewer watched as the casket was lowered into the cold ground.
Raoul and Christine had taken a few days off, after the fire, and recuperated. Raoul had taken her to the family estate, much against the advice of his elder brother and parents.
The managers had also taken a few days, examining the damage and talking about the financial strain of rebuilding. There wasn't much structural damage, and the interior could be revamped in a few months; but finding the money to do these things was an issue.
About two months after the fire, Richard Firmin and Gilles André found themselves in the living quarters of Annette Giry; Meg was out, so they discussed the opera house in full detail.
"Madam Giry, in your humble opinion, would the Viscount be willing to help finance the rebuilding of the opera house?"
Firmin was unsure about how to proceed, knowing that Madam Giry had a close relationship with the young Christine; who in turn, had just married the Viscount de Chagny.
Annette eyed the tall, dark haired man and revealed little through her hard stare. She was tired of the games these men played. They had considered their talents and knowledge superior to that of the Phantom's; and in the end, it had cost everyone – dearly.
André squirmed annoyingly as he stood beside the larger figure of his business partner. They were both at wits end and could see no other way out of the hole they were in than to have the Viscount continue to support them.
"Just whom do you propose to get to write the original musical scores – or choreograph the dance sequences - or design the sets?"
Annette was trying to keep from sounding angry, but it was growing quite difficult.
"Did it not ever seem strange to either of you that you never met the composer of the new musicals and operas, or never met the choreographer or set designer?"
Both men stood in a befuddled stupor, not finding the words that they were certain needed speaking.
"Madam…."
"Gentleman…I will do what I can, but you must find the proper personnel needed to make this work – we have suffered a tremendous loss."
They glared at each other, knowing that she spoke the truth. They had turned to Monsieur Reyer in hopes that he was the mysterious composer of the unknown music – but he had quickly dismissed this, telling them that the various scores simply appeared out of thin air…and they were brilliantly written and designed.
"Madam…he was a murderer."
Annette narrowed her steely gaze and made each man feel the size of a mouse. They fidgeted beneath her stare and could not hold eye contact.
"So it would seem."
Gilles suddenly got the courage to scoff at her doubtful tone.
"Surely you do not believe otherwise?"
Annette sighed and turned from them, growing weary of the verbal banter.
"It matters not…he is gone."
She walked over to the large window overlooking the streets below. Her silence made them even more nervous, but they refused to bow to her small but intimidating figure.
"I said that I would do what I could, but Raoul is away on his honeymoon…it will have to wait."
They left as silently as they had come, leaving her to wallow in her thoughts.
Christine and Raoul had married a couple of days ago, amid the discouraging disapproval of his parents and the outright belligerent anger of his elder brother.
She would get the chance to talk to Christine about Erik…but it, too, would have to wait. There had been so much chaos following the fire and there were many decisions that needed to be made.
She sat down at the small writing table and took out the letter she had received earlier that day. Her hands were shaking as the elegant, familiar handwriting beckoned her.
May 27, 1872
LondonEngland
Annette;
I hope this letter finds you in good health.
I am as well as can be expected for a living corpse. I have begun to build a new existence for myself – hopefully, one that will be devoid of the petty human emotions that have been the bane of my existence.
As I am sure you expected, music has called me back into her service. I answered with eager hands and a bleeding soul; and I may have found a place where my music will be heard and appreciated.
There are a few desperate souls determined to drag me, kicking and screaming, back into the life of the theater; this time I shall take on a legitimate role in the everyday running of the opera house.
After taking a good, long look at myself in the mirror – the first time in many years - I ask myself what I was thinking when I began wooing Christine – it is laughable when I look back on it. I am a monster, inside as well as outside, and forever shall be.
Enough of that, I am sure you have other things to do besides read my letter. For what it is worth, I write my music, operas, and plays, and those I am in business with, see to it that my work is heard and that I receive the proper compensation.
I suppose it would be safe to say that I have come to peaceful terms with myself. I finally realize that if my own company is what I shall live with all the days of my life, than I should begin to be true to myself and not live in the hope of having a family someday, it is an unrealistic and unobtainable dream.
Well, before I start to bore you – if it is not already too late for that – I shall close. Take care, Annette, and I hope that Meg is well.
Erik
Annette rested her letter against the small picture frame that held his likeness; a rare time when she had actually gotten him to allow a picture. She wiped the quiet tears from her eyes and smiled. He was in England - London, to be exact…and he was as lonely as ever.
"Erik…come home." Annette ran her finger softly over his image, missing him profusely with each passing day. "Do not give up on your desire for love….I beg you."
She placed her fingers to her lips and then touched the picture, turned down the lamp, and left the room.
TBC