Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Phantom of the Opera. (looks around) Erik, get back in the closet before someone finds you! (looks back at readers) Nope, don't own Erik at all…
AN: Okay, I know I've been skimping on Erik, so I've decided to try and put more of him in this chapter. I mean, what's a Phantom story without the Phantom, right? So here he is, though he's a bit pissed off. Also, I'm making it so that his natural hair is dark, just like Gerard Butler's, since Erik deserves to look tall, dark and handsome. Enjoy, and don't forget to review!
Chapter 5: Of Anger and Frustration:
A mad explosion of notes burst from the elegant instrument under his fingers, the organ sending forth music that match his shattered heart and desperate need. Hours earlier he had seen Aria Craven reading to a little girl with golden hair, and yet he still had not been able to get the vision out of his head! What was it about this girl, this woman, that made her such a thorn in his thoughts?
Growling, Erik slammed his fists down upon the ivory keys, ending the parade of music with an angry garble of notes. Instead, he stood up and began pacing his home, moving from one side of the cave to another. From first glance, one would never know that this place had once been destroyed by a mob, a group of angry townsfolk out hunting for his blood. He had escaped them, though, slipping through one of his secret passages that led up to the streets.
'At least Madame Giry had followed my instructions and rented that apartment for me,' he thought, running his hands through his dark hair.
Months before the opening of Don Juan, Erik had given his old friend money to find an aboveground home for him, a place where he could have taken his Angel after they were married. But the marriage had not occurred, and instead of the place becoming a warm, happy home, the apartment had become a temporary prison. He had known that he would be pursued by the authorities, but had thought to survive it with his dear Christine by his side; he had not thought to be holed up, alone in the world and nearly friendless once more.
For days he had sat in his hiding place, avoiding the windows and keeping as silent as possible so as not to be discovered. After living this way, sitting in the dark, eating little and sleeping less, Madame Giry had come to him with a panicked look on her face. She had been relieved, discovering him there, alive and relatively well in the place she had bought for him, and had told him of the latest news.
"You have been in here nearly two weeks, Erik," she had said while placing a good, solid meal before him on the dining room table. "I'm sorry that I have to be the one to tell you this, but…Christine has married Raoul de Chagny and they will soon be leaving Paris…perhaps even France altogether."
She had heard his strangled whimper and had put a gentle hand on his shoulder to comfort him. As Madame began to force-feed him, Erik had sat and absently eaten whatever she held to his mouth, knowing he would need his strength. Christine was married; she would soon leave Paris and he would never see her again. She would have a family and forget him as though he had never existed.
When he had finished his meal, Erik came to a decision. "I want to return to the Opera House."
Madame Giry had protested. "But Erik, there is nothing left for you to go back to!" she said. "Much of the Populaire has been burned down, and very few rooms remain intact. If anyone rebuilds it, it will take years!"
He glared at her and watched her quiver underneath his cold, green-gold eyes. "And my underground caverns?" he asked. "Have they burned down as well?"
She had sighed, picked up the dirty plate, and began to wash it. "Meg had gone along with the mob that had pursued you," she replied. "They rummaged through much of your home, though mostly just the front half. Your organ was spared, but many of your valuables are gone."
Erik waved that aside. "I can always buy more things or make them," he said in a dismissive tone. "As long as my organ is intact, that is all that matters."
"Erik…" Madame hesitated. "Why not buy a home in the country and leave Paris, or leave France altogether? Surely there is nothing for you here!"
A fist slammed against the table. "Do you think that people will accept me elsewhere?" he yelled. "I will always be shunned, and I will not leave the one place I have been able to call 'home!'"
In the end, Madame Giry agreed to help him clean up the lair. She bought him new clothes to replace those burned or ruined by the mob, and had helped to deliver food and other necessities that he could not go out and purchase himself. This was because, at night, Erik was able to travel through Paris, purchasing new art supplies and other things that caught his fancy. However, it was during the day that the markets and bakeries were open, so Madame had fetched his groceries for him.
Slowly, over the course of two years time, the former Phantom of the Opera had rebuilt his house beneath the ruins of the Opera House. Then a pair of wealthy bankers had come along, looking to rebuild the place, and the rest was history….
Jolting out of his memories, Erik snapped back to the present. The madness that was Aria Craven was still in his mind, and for some reason he couldn't understand, her name was in his thoughts. The name Aria meant 'music,' and yet she claimed to be unmusical; he had learned that little fact from spying on her in her bedroom.
'Shame on me, spying on a pretty young woman in her bedroom,' he thought to himself with a smirk.
Of course, he had learned so much about her in that way. Mademoiselle Craven had a fondness for books and writing, a rather unusual set of hobbies for a woman of such high class. She also enjoyed looking after her father, who appeared to be the red-haired manager of the Populaire, and loved to be in the audience while the orchestra practiced. For some reason, it pleased him to see her take such pleasure from merely listening to music.
That last idea shocked him. 'Why do I care if she enjoys music?' he thought to himself. 'Fool! Did you learn nothing from Christine's betrayal?'
Snarling to himself, he sat down at his desk to compose a letter.
The morning after their arrival, I took my aunts and cousins out into the streets to go shopping. My aunts had said nothing about my not having a new Parisian gown, but I could tell that they knew about Papa's lack of money. I was sure that Grandmother Caroline had given strict orders for her daughters not to help out their brothers, but we were a close family and my aunts were certainly the types to spoil their eldest niece. That is why, when we stopped at a dress shop, Aunt Mary had instructed me to pick out a few fine things to wear in the future.
"Don't be silly," she said, waving aside my protests. "Besides, your Uncle Geoffrey knows that I'm doing this and approves. You need new outfits if you are going to impress the people of Paris, and you will most certainly need a brand new evening gown for the opening night of the first performance."
Since refusing anything Aunt Mary did was impossible, I chose several new dresses for wearing during the day and one evening gown. One day-dress was pale blue, one crème colored with dark green trim and buttons, and another was a light lavender color trimmed with dark purple. My evening gown was made of white silk, the edges trimmed with silvery-gold-and-blue lace. With each dress came a matching headpiece or hat, purchased by my Aunt Nancy. When I tried to thank them both, they merely gave one of their bubbling laughs and waved it aside.
"It's nothing, dearest," Aunt Nancy said as she checked to make sure Grace wasn't getting too close to the ribbons and playing with them. "Besides, we almost never get to buy pretty things for you; your father never let us, unless it was your birthday or Christmas."
Blushing, I proceeded to walk around town with them, helping Kari and Andrea choose dresses and hair ribbons to wear around Paris and to later show off at home. We stopped by a café for lunch, shopped for new shoes and stockings, and had a tasty treat at a nearby bakery. I was nearly asleep on my feet by mid-afternoon, so we decided to go back to the Opera House and have a nap before gathering together for dinner.
Once I was alone in my rooms, however, I noticed something was wrong. First of all, my father and Uncle were waiting for me, and as they sat on my couch, they both had worried looks on their faces. Also, they looked horribly pale for men who were known for their healthy ways of life. Pulling off my gloves, hat, and light coat, I set them down on my vanity's chair before walking over to Papa's side. He gave me a weak smile as I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Papa, what's wrong?" I asked in a whisper so that eavesdroppers couldn't hear me outside the door. This was an opera house, after all, and people tended to look for gossip at the worst possible times.
My father sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Kitten, we have a problem."
When he held up the note in his hand, I knew exactly what was happening…and what I had to do to stop it from ruining my family.
After we had returned from our family dinner at a local restaurant, each of my aunts had quickly taken their offspring to bed, saying that the day had worn all of them out. Papa and Uncle Gregory had kissed them all 'good night,' then had promptly gone off a little bit of 'bonding,' heading off to their rooms for a glass of liquor and a cigar before bed.
I, however, had other plans. Not wanting my father to know what I was up to, I had to carefully go over my ideas in my head while playing the happy daughter/niece/cousin at dinner. Since that part was over, I was now free to put my plans into action: visiting the one person who could either put a stop to the notes or at least help me with the situation this 'Ghost' had created. That is why I was quietly stalking down the hallways towards Madame Giry's suite in the middle of the night.
Meg had kindly told me the exact hallway and direction her mother's rooms were in, carefully mentioning that she, too, slept there, but only when the other dancers were being too noisy in the dorms. Fearing that Meg would be there to see what I was doing, I was never so relieved to find Madame alone in her quarters after knocking at her door. She graciously invited me inside and offered me a chair, her face full of puzzlement as to the unusual hour of my visit.
"Madame, I'm afraid that this isn't a social call," I said straightforwardly, clasping my hands in my lap as I spoke. "I have come to you for the sake of my father and my uncle."
The ballet mistress sat bolt upright, her face turning blank and cold. "What is it you wish to speak to me about, mademoiselle?" she asked stiffly, as if she already knew, though perhaps she did.
I decided to go straight into the heart of the matter. "Madame Giry, I happen to know that you are the messenger of this so-called 'Opera Ghost,'" I said, becoming as polite and as warm as a statue.
She stiffened even more, if that were possible. "Where have you heard this?" she asked slowly.
"Oh, people talk," I casually replied. "The point that this man, a man who thinks himself a ghost, believes that he can extort money from my father and uncle, both of whom are good men and have every intention of making this place a success. They are good, kind, decent men who would give everything they have to bring the Populaire back to its glory days, and do it happily."
"Then they should have no trouble paying the Ghost, especially since they are so rich," Madame retorted. "Such a payment is probably well within their means."
By now I was angry and ready to show it. "They cannot pay because there is no money to pay him with!" I snapped at her, catching her off guard with my furious response.
She gaped at me in shock. "There is no money?" she whispered. "Mon Dieu, then how are they to pay the workers?"
I sighed and forced myself to relax. "There is money, Madame, and it's all going to pay for several things," I replied. "My father and uncle's fortunes are funding this production, paying your salaries, and making sure that everything runs smoothly. By the time opening night arrives, my father and uncle will have nothing in the bank except a few emergency funds, none of which will sustain us long if we do not get a patron after the first performance."
Now Madame looked as though she were going to faint off of her chair. "You mean that there is no patron either?" she breathed, her hand over her chest.
I shook my head in reply. "The upper classes of Paris are too afraid to invest in the Populaire, fearing it is cursed. Perhaps, if the opening night goes well, there will be a patron and a steady flow of funds into the Opera House. For now, there is only the money my father and uncle have put into this place. Therefore, this 'Ghost' will receive nothing from us." I looked her in the eye. "Will you be able to tell him what I have told you? He deserves to know, if only to know why we haven't paid."
To my relief, Madame Giry nodded, a look of understanding on her face. "I will tell him, though I do not think he will listen," she warned me. "He will think you are lying; many have lied to him about this sort of thing before and it has only made him angry and vengeful."
"If he'd like to see our bookkeeping for this place, he's more than welcome to it," I snapped. "I mean no offense to you, Madame, as I know you to be a good woman. However, if this 'Ghost' can't understand what's going on, then he is a bigger fool than I thought."
Without waiting for a reply, I turned and stalked out of the room.
From his place behind the walls, Erik trembled in fury. How dare this woman pretend that there was no money in her family's accounts? Even Firmin and Andre had had money to pay him off occasionally! Those payments weren't as much as he had asked for, but it had been a good amount, nonetheless. If this girl thought that she could trick the Phantom, then she was all the more a fool. Money was the gateway to power; he needed those funds paid, if only to be sure that the new managers feared him and the things he would do to them if they did not.
'I will show them how serious I am about my salary,' he mentally growled in her direction as she left Madame Giry's rooms. 'I know that you are hiding something from me. You will rule the day you and your family did not do as the Ghost demanded of you!'
With a swirl of his cape, he descended down towards his underground domain.
I woke the next morning feeling a bit better than the night before. After cleaning up and dressing, I went and apologized to Madame Giry about the way I had acted the night before. She had forgiven me and said she would speak to the Ghost on my behalf, though she could not promise any leniency on his part. I told her I understood, and wished her luck before going to meet my aunts for breakfast.
After a morning full of shopping, I was returning to my rooms in the hope of a nap when, on my way past the managers' offices, I saw a scene similar to that of the night before. My father and uncle were hovering over a note, though Uncle Gregory looked a bit more alarmed than ever before. Sighing, I brushed off my clothes and approached them, bracing myself for the worst.
"Aria," Uncle whispered, his voice full of panic and worry. "We've just received another note from the Ghost this morning."
I sighed. 'Well, there go my hopes of the man actually listening to me,' I thought. Out loud, I said, "What does he want, exactly? Is he demanding more money?"
Papa shook his head. "Worse," he groaned, wiping a handkerchief over his face. "He wants his money before opening night!"
"What?" I gasped. "Papa, we can't afford to pay him now, not before we know if the performance will be a success or not!"
"Don't you think we know that, you silly girl?" Uncle snapped as he glared at me.
I flinched; he had never used that tone with me before. Then I realized that I didn't deserve to be treated this way. After all, hadn't I warned him about the Ghost and everything that had happened years ago with the soprano?
"Don't you dare take that tone of voice with me!" I snapped back at him. "I warned you weeks ago, when that first note appeared! I told you that something like this would happen, and you didn't listen to me! 'We'll ignore it,' you said! 'It's just a prank from one of the employees,' you said! Well you were wrong, and it's your own fault, so you have no one to blame but yourself!"
Without waiting for them to speak, I turned and stomped out of the room.
I had spent the rest of the day locked inside my quarters, allowing only Meg inside when she came to bring me food and drink. The other members of the family realized that I was angry and stayed out of my way, knowing that I wouldn't be in the right mood for visitors. The only one I could tolerate was Meg, as her sweet face and humor was most welcome at keeping my dark thoughts at bay. After a while, though, she had to leave for rehearsals, and after promising to come back later in the evening for more conversation, she left me alone with my thoughts.
However, I wasn't alone for very long, as my father saw the opportunity to talk to me as soon as Meg left. His familiar rhythmic knock sounded upon my door the moment I was alone, and since I couldn't refuse my father anything, I let him inside. He took a seat on a chair while I sat on my settee, clasping my hands in my lap as I waited for him to speak.
Papa sighed and reached out to take one of my hands in his. "I spoke with your uncle, and he admitted to hiding the first note from me," he said. "He admits he was wrong in doing so, and wishes to apologize to you tonight after dinner."
I nodded. "Yes, Papa." I wasn't much for talking when I was angry.
My father sighed once more, knowing I was still upset, but willing to continue talking with me. "Kitten," he said, squeezing my hand in a reassuring manner. "The Ghost said something else in his note, something that rather puzzles me as well as your uncle." He looked up to be sure I was listening. "This Ghost declared that, if we do not pay by the appointed time, he will take something that is valuable to me and destroy the Opera House instead."
My hands shot to my mouth, a shocked gasp escaping from my lips. "Oh, Papa!" I said, now beginning to panic. "Oh, Papa, what are we going to do?"
"I do not know, my sweetness, but I am assuming that he means to take something in trade for the money," he said, hanging his head.
Now that was an interesting thought. "Something in trade?" I asked. "Like jewelry or something of that nature? Perhaps some of the bonds you keep locked in your office?"
The two of us quietly contemplated the situation. If the Ghost wanted money, he would have to wait until after opening night; if he wanted jewels in place of money, there was one solution…
"Father," I said, instantly catching his attention; I only called him 'father' in situations like this. "Father, I could sell some of my jewelry in order to pay off the Ghost."
Papa gave me a tender look. "Aria, you don't have to do that," he said, patting me on the arm. "Your uncle and I will find a way to get out of this without the need to take away something of yours."
I shook my head. "You know very well that I care nothing for pretty gems, Papa," I said, giving him a true smile. "Grandmother and Grandfather always give me some sort of jeweled necklace, bracelet or ring that I will only wear once every few years. This means that I have many things to sell or put up for a loan until we can buy it back from the local jewelers. It is fine. I really do not mind, if it will save us from ruin in the future."
Never had I seen him look as proud of me as he did that night, wrapping me up in his arms tightly as he chuckled. "We will get through this, Aria," he whispered to me. "You will see."
I sincerely hoped so, for all of our sakes.
AN: Wasn't that nice of Aria to sacrifice her jewelry collection for the Opera House? Oh, and more Erik to come, I promise! Please review and let me know what you think! Thanks!