02/27/07
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY DADDY!! HE'S 78 YEARS YOUNG TODAY!!
I see that many of you believe that Annette is secretly in love with Erik. There may have been some romantic notions in the past, but there are none right now. He is like a brother to her - or her dearest friend.
I see this story being quite long, should I be successful with putting my ideas on paper. Hopefully, with the help of my wonderfully talented Beta, Mlle.Fox, I will be able to accomplish this harrowing feat.
The Erik in this story is rather untamed. He can be tender and compassionate, should the mood strike him; or he can be dark and brooding - and he will switch between the two very effortlessly. It will get better over time, but he has never had a reason to be any different - except for a brief few months when he was trying to win the love of Christine.
He has no need of a wig, as all my Erik's, and if you wish to have a picture of how Erik looks in your head - picture Gerard Butler's portrayal of Dracula in "Dracula 2000" - now put the white mask over the right side of his face. (My eyes are popping out of my head and I am drowning in my own drool!!)
DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS
CHAPTER 3
London, England, November 1873
Erik sat in the far section of the theater, watching the rehearsal with mixed feelings. They had had a particularly difficult year, having lost their main soprano to a short, but deadly, illness.
Much against his wishes, Erik had been appointed to find a replacement – and quickly. As luck would have it, he happened upon a young, Irish, orphan girl whose voice was pure and untamed. She was quite young, actually – perhaps too young for the harrowing task of diva; but Erik tutored her with a strict regiment and she took to the schedule like a fish to water.
Was she ready? That question remained unanswered. Tarrah Sheldon was a gold mine, that much he knew. She had the makings of a great soprano – but Erik had learned long ago not to push his vision of the future on another – they often did not share the same insight.
She seemed to manage the stage quite well, for one so young. Erik couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at how well she had adjusted to the demands of the theater. Strangely, she clung to him as a young child would a parent or older sibling; something Erik found dreadfully annoying, but at the same time…intriguing.
He had approached his new position from a new angle; in one revealing moment, during a staff, crew, and cast meeting, Erik had removed his mask and allowed himself to be exposed and on display. It had apparently been the right thing to do.
Every time they had someone new come in, he would do it again. Everyone was used to it and there were never any awkward moments. However, Erik still avoided everyone on a regular basis.
As he watched the performers practice and heard the music fill the auditorium, Erik's mind drifted back to the first time he saw the inside of the Italian Opera House.
FLASHBACK
March 1872, London
The dark figure climbed the decorative stairs and opened the large front door. He removed his hat and cape, cast his eyes around the large foyer, and smiled knowingly at the familiar scent of paint and makeup. Until this moment, he hadn't realized how much he missed it.
The large room was well lit and the tremendous carvings that adorned the ceiling and walls were breathtaking; angels and other celestial beings looked down on him from the vaulted ceiling and Erik suddenly felt very exposed.
A man approached him, coming down the winding staircase with his hat in hand.
"I am here about a job."
Erik hadn't intended for his tone to be so abrupt, but he seldom dealt well with people. He attempted a smile, but wasn't sure if it came across as a smile or a grimace.
The rotund man stared at the masked man with a curious stare, but maintained his stern façade. He was French…interesting; and there was something disturbingly familiar about him.
"Are ya, now?"
Erik noticed the man's thick Irish brogue and couldn't help but smirk. He hadn't had many dealings with the Irish, but he knew enough about them to know they were a fiery race – in passion and temper.
Hammond looked the younger man up and down. He noted the tall, lean frame and the strong, arresting features – hidden slightly by a white half-mask. The most alluring feature about the man was his intense, green/gold eyes. They held a keen intelligence that Hammond had not seen in a very long time.
"Ya would not be from across the Channel, now would ya?"
Erik hoped the panic he felt in his chest hadn't made its way to his face. Somehow, Erik got the distinct impression that this man knew who – or rather what – he had been.
"I am; is that going to be a problem?"
Hammond Lambert couldn't help but grin at the sharp tone he heard in the young man's voice. It was apparent by that tone that he expected rejection, ridicule, and resistance.
"Nay, what sort of work are ya seekin'?"
So far, Erik determined, this had gone better than he had expected. The man was still talking to him, that had to be a good sign.
"I compose and write – operas, musical plays, plays, music scores – I play the piano, organ, and violin fluently and will learn other instruments if need be; I am a set designer, costume designer, choreographer, singer…" Erik looked into the eyes of Hammond Lambert and saw shrewd interest – and a dose of curiosity.
"My, my…is there anythin' ya cannot do?"
Erik couldn't determine if the man was being mocking or inquisitive…he chose to think the latter.
"I am sure there is."
Hammond lifted his chin and stared at the man through narrow, questioning eyes.
"Tell me, Monsieur…"
Erik knew he waited on a name; and he had one ready to give. After much thought, he had decided to use his mother's surname.
"Erik…Erik Lacroix."
Hammond smiled, "Tell me, Erik, do ya wear that mask only to conceal the scars, or your own insecurities as well?"
Erik's head dropped as did his heart…this man knew him. Fear crept into the fragments of his being, weakening his resolve, but not his determination.
"How do you know me?"
Hammond approached Erik, showing no sign of fear or contempt.
"Anyone who is someone has heard of the Opera Populaire and the events that happened a month or so ago. I have been to the Opera Populaire many times, the music was beyond any I have ever heard. I heard the talk and the rumors about the Phantom that lurked in the dark corners and the Ghost that haunted the rafters."
Hammond held his hand out for Erik to take, a greeting of acceptance.
"I am Hammond Lambert, manager and financier of the Italian Opera House. I do not listen to gossip and hearsay, I do not care about rumors and whispered doubts, all I care about are facts."
Erik tentatively took the plump hand and managed a scrutinizing smile.
"You have a job here, Mr. Lacroix, should you choose to take it. Your past is of no consequence and I know the quality of work you produce – I have heard it first hand."
Erik dipped his head as a sign of his thanks.
"Thank you, Monsieur Lambert, I will do my best."
"I have no doubt that ya will; now…about that mask, the only way to start over, my boy, is to be honest and straightforward with the people ya will be workin' with."
Erik felt the familiar rush of dread enter his heart and the rage that often followed it.
Hammond noticed the immediate change and put his hands up in a defensive surrender.
"Erik, I am not suggestin' ya walk around without it, but I am suggestin' that ya allow the others ya will be workin' closely with, to see what they are naturally goin' to be curious about, and allow them to deal with it…in the mean time, prove yourself through your work."
Oddly, everything he said made sense, and Erik took his advice.
END FLASHBACK
That had been over a year ago, and some were still adjusting. He wouldn't go so far as to say they thought of him as a friend or even a co-worker, but they at least tolerated him…that was more than he had gotten in a very long time – since India.
Women actually talked to him without fear in their eyes and voices, he did not allow them too close, but he enjoyed hearing their feminine voices and watching them from his reclusive perch amid the shadows; he would not make the same mistake twice, but that did not stop him from admiring beauty when he saw it. .
His work had become quite popular, and he even took curtain calls along with the actors. He felt more at ease among these people, although he did not feel like he was one of them.
"So, Erik, do ya think she'll be ready for openin' night?"
Hammond had silently come to set beside Erik, something that never ceased to astound him. How could such a large, overly round man, move so silently?
"I think she will be; we have been working long and hard to get her ready."
Hammond stared at the stage, watching the young girl move about with grace and agility that belied her years.
"She is a pretty young thing, isn't she?" Hammond announced.
"Quite." Was Erik's clipped reply.
Without saying another word, Erik knew where Hammond's thoughts were leading.
"I have no interest in her in that way, Hammond, I assure you."
Hammond placed his strong, plump hand on Erik's forearm, causing the younger man to look his direction.
"So what if ye did, ye are only human, Erik."
Erik cast his eyes toward the young woman, and only saw a child with tremendous talent. He could not afford to see her, or any other woman, as anything more than art.
A dark, humorless, quiet laugh filled the dimness.
"Human! I have never been part of the human race. I tread monstrously through their territory; giving only what I must to their existence…they care not for me or what I can give them."
"That's the Phantom talkin'…" Hammond responded curtly, "…I have no room in this theater for the Phantom! I hired Erik Lacroix, and it is his genius and his talents that have led this theater into its most successful season ever…" Hammond narrowed his pale blue eyes at Erik and managed to make the younger man drop his steely gaze, "…be careful or ya will lose yourself to him again."
Erik stared into the darkness that surrounded the walls of the theater. He battled his demons every day…and some days were worse than others. He knew it would be a long, hard journey to a place he could not even fathom…a place he would feel content.
Erik closed his eyes and mouthed a silent, "Forgive me".
Both men sat and listened to the young soprano maneuver the music like a seasoned professional. She finished the final song and took her bow, searching the seats for the man that had made her what she was.
She smiled into the blackness, and hoped he knew that her smile was for him. He wore his invisible, hard, steel armor around his heart – impenetrable and opaque; but she was determined to break through.
He had found her, wasting her talents in a small Irish pub in Dublin – entertaining drunks and scoundrels – many nights, she barely escaped with her virtue intact. It had been the only way for her to make money.
She had no desire to turn to prostitution; too many young girls took that road – and lost their souls in the process. Tarrah wanted something better – and the need of it had made her chest ache.
When he had blackened the door with his tall, elegant figure, Tarrah had known – immediately – that he would change her life. He sat down and listened to her, never taking his beautiful eyes from her.
After her performance was finished, she smiled at him. His masked features had softened at the gesture – but only for an instant; she soon found him to be a formidable, combined force of staunch perfectionism and cool reserve.
He was quite handsome, even with the mask and Tarrah found herself drawn to him – not certain if he was her salvation or her damnation.
He turned out to be the former, although he fought it with every exasperated scowl and every arch of his dark, sculpted brow. He pushed her away from him, distancing himself from any possible relationship.
His deep, lulling voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
"Well done, Tarrah…I do believe you are ready."
Erik had emerged out of the shadows and Tarrah graced him with a bright smile full of amusement and laughter.
"Thank ya…" she looked up into his stormy green eyes, hoping to see a smile soften his handsome features. "…I have been thinkin'…"
Erik raised his chin in thought and then arched that famous brow.
"That could be dangerous." He droned with a slight smirk.
Tarrah swatted him lightly on the arm. She had learned through steel determination that he had a well-hidden, astute sense of humor…one just had to know how to provoke it.
"Ya know the courts are goin' to be appointin' me a guardian and they have asked that I recommend a man or woman of me own choosin', I was hopin'…."
Tarrah formed the next word, but Erik interrupted.
"If you are about to suggest what I think you are about to suggest…do not."
Of course, she ignored his polite suggestion and continued.
"…that ya would be ma guardian."
He flared his head back and stared at her down the long, narrow, perfectly shaped slope of his nose. His eyes were two green orbs of annoyance glaring at her with disbelief.
"Tarrah…" he warned.
"Erik, stop fightin; this…ya owe it to me."
At those words, Erik laughed with vigor; a sound that no one had heard before. Tarrah thought it made him even more appealing.
"I owe it to you?"
His tone was full of teasing sarcasm, and Tarrah threw him a side-ways grin and winked at him.
"Yes. Ya were the one who pulled me out of me safe environment…" his jaw dropped at that ludicrous statement, "…persuaded me to sign me life away to the Italian Opera House…." he raised his brow, closed his eyes, and shook his head at her, "…and subjected me to a rigorous, torturous trainin' schedule every day."
It seemed he was rendered speechless, not believing that he had allowed himself to be cornered – and worse yet, bested – by this tiny slip of a girl!
"I know nothing about being anyone's guardian, and even less about the female of the species…why would you want me?"
If Tarrah wasn't mistaken, she sensed a tremble of fear in his voice. He was terrified at the notion of letting her in.
"Because ya make me feel safe and I know I can trust ya to look out for me best interests."
He scoffed at her words; dismissing the simmering boil of hope that started churning in his soul; the hope that he might have someone with whom to spend his evenings, for whom to cook a meal, and with whom he could share his thoughts.
Hammond overheard what they were discussing and knew that Erik hid his attachment for the girl; he did not want to admit he felt responsible for her welfare. Now, it seemed, Tarrah wasn't going to let him forget his feelings.
"The courts will never appoint me to be your guardian…I have nothing to offer."
Later that week, he stood – astounded and shocked – as Tarrah was assigned to him as his ward. She was to be his sole responsibility. He was to house her, feed her, educate her, and find her a suitable husband – when the time came.
It was minutes after they walked out of the courthouse, that Erik felt the panic creeping into his bones, someone else depended on him for life lessons; him – who had no experience in real living!
All he wanted to do was crawl under a rock.
♦♠♥♣
The success of his operas and musical plays was making Erik a wealthy man. He had invested what money he had arrived with, in the Italian Opera House and had received it back, many times over again.
He was a well-known figure in and around London, and most of England. He did not linger at parties or social gatherings, but did allow Tarrah the coming out ball that was expected of a young woman her age; and he timed it to fall on her sixteenth birthday.
"Erik, this was a wonderful idea…and I think ya did a marvelous job of plannin' it."
The number of people that had come to the ball impressed both Hammond and his wife, Winifred. By the looks of things, it was a success; and Erik stood boxed in the corner like a caged panther.
"Well, Tarrah had to help me a great deal; I know nothing about what society expects or the needs of young people."
The large ballroom was part of the opera house and Erik had designed the decorations himself; but he had hired many men to actually do the work.
The finest chef catered the food, and Erik was pleased with the looks of things. Tarrah's favorite color, yellow, adorned the walls and yellow and white roses were brought in to add exquisite beauty to the decorations.
"Come dance with me."
Tarrah insisted on pulling him, practically kicking and screaming, from out of the corner. She stood defiantly in front of him with her hands on her hips and a look of anticipation on her face.
"I think not." Erik stated, firmly.
She pouted her lips and playfully rolled her eyes.
"I could pitch the equivalent of a female fit and embarrass ya immensely."
He dropped his chin, looked at her through his dark, sultry lashes, and cocked his head slightly to the right.
"You wouldn't dare."
She lifted one side of her mouth and started toward him.
"Are ya willing to take that chance?"
He looked toward the heavens, closed his eyes, and sighed loudly, feeling sorry for himself.
"I thought I had the manipulating thing down to an art form, but I think you have me beat."
She quickly stood on her toes and placed a kiss to his exposed cheek; he smelled like leather and spices – completely and utterly male.
His broad shouldered, graceful stance and elegant moves captured the attention of many female admirers as he whirled around the dance floor with Tarrah as his partner; of course, he saw none of that – all he saw were eyes staring at him and the uneasiness began to settle in the pit of his stomach.
"Have you enjoyed yourself?" He asked.
"Immensely…thank ya."
He inclined his head and gave her waist a slight squeeze of assurance.
"You are certainly welcome, child…I am glad you enjoyed it."
His beautiful voice never ceased to ease her tense muscles or warm her parched soul…he was an angel on earth – at least to her.
"Ya are never goin' to meet anyone standin' in a corner, pretendin' to be holdin' up the wall."
Erik scoffed pleasantly and gently pushed a stray strand of ash blond hair out of her eyes.
"I have no intention of meeting anyone, so I shall continue to play wallflower."
She gave him a slight shove and a disgruntled stare.
"Ya are quite attractive, and if ya would just accept that as the truth, ya wouldn't always be alone."
Erik felt a tug at his heart; she never ceased to make him feel special, even if he knew her words were spoken just to make him feel that way.
"You see me in a different light than anyone else – I am not attractive in any way – and besides, I am not alone…I have you."
He tweaked her nose again, and smiled broadly down at her. There was no room for discussion or debate, but Tarrah knew he suffered from bouts of utter loneliness; his eyes spoke of it and his music was the most haunting she had ever heard.
She wanted him to be blissfully happy, and a special woman would do that for him. Not any of these insipid, money-hungry crones that frequented the theater; Erik needed a woman with the same fire and passion he had – a woman with an independent streak that would challenge his own and make him see the wonderful man that he is.
However, he seemed determined to isolate himself from them – all of them.
"Someday, ya will not be able to hide – love will find ya."
Her whispered words made her smile; she would be patient enough to see the day when a woman would capture his heart, as he would hers.
TBC