Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera or any of the characters.
Chapter Five
'The looks on all their faces. Simply delicious to see such fear on their painted faces.' He chuckled to himself evilly.
"Fondest greeting to you all. What? No formal greeting for your dear Phantom? Such a pity that men and women of your social status can't stutter up even a soft hello." His amber eyes scanned the mass of golden faces, searching for one in particular. His hungry eyes found their prey, and slowly, he began to advance on the helpless victim.
"Did you think I'd left you all for good? Didn't you miss me, good people?" he paused, allowing his figure to be absorbed by the flabbergasted people, allowing the fear to pulse through their bodies.
"I have written you an opera good people: Don Juan Triumphant!" he declared, tossing the bulk of papers to a speechless Monsieur Firmin, who caught them with weak arms.
"I expect this to be your primary project for the remainder of the season, do you understand me, Monsieurs?" he growled in the face of the owners of the opera house. Slowly, their bodies stiffened with horror, they nodded.
"Madame Giry?" His eyes snapped to her, and she nodded obediently.
"Perfect. Now, the lead shall be taken by Monsieur Piangi, so I suggest you lose some weight Monsieur," the fat little man made a face, "and our little leading temptress, shall be played by none other than Mademoiselle Christine Daae, of course." His eyes slowly made their way to the frightened soprano's face. Her heart faltered, and her breathing momentarily ceased. Continuing to draw closer to her, her full form came into clear focus. The cocky smile he'd been displaying disappeared and was replaced by his trademark grimace. His eyes were no longer staring at her pale face, but at her breasts, oblivious to everyone else in the room. His breathing became ragged as he came to stand directly in front of her, his eyes darting from the chain on her neck, to her face, then to the chain again. A mixture of emotions swirled in his eyes, worrying Christine. Unconsciously, he raised his hand, reaching for the wretched chain. In a fit of rage, he tore the chain, along with the enormous ring, off her neck.
"YOUR CHAINS ARE STILL MINE!" he bellowed. Christine's jaw fell open in surprise, apparently having forgotten that the territorial marker of the Vicomte was still there.
"You belong to me," he hissed. Running back to the top of the staircase, he turned to face her once again, and with a swirl of his cape, he was gone.
The Vicomte, who'd disappeared sometime during the whole fiasco, suddenly reappeared where Erik had just stood, determinedly searching the ground. The soft voice of his fiancée and her hand placed delicately, yet heavily, on his shoulder stopped him.
"Give it up, Raoul. You could be split into a million men, and you would still never find him." He turned to her, but she refused to look at him in the face. Worry took over his face as she paled even more, clutching onto his shoulder for support.
'He saw the ring. He saw the ring and now he hates me. There is certainly no recovery from this incident, I will never be forgiven. He must see me as such a filthy harlot…What have I done?'
The entire disaster swelled inside of her, possessing her. The one thing she had dreaded ever since the proposal from Raoul had happened, and she was completely panicked. Suddenly, the situation seemed all too much for the troubled brunette, as she fainted, startling all those around her.
What had she done?
"Christine!" Raoul lifted her gently off the ground, cradling her frail body to his own, searching for anyone who could help.
"Please someone, anyone, please help me and my fiancée. Please!" His eyes scavenged the room, desperately trying to find someone who could help rid her of her spell.
A small, stout man standing next to a beautiful exotic-looking woman stepped forward rather meekly.
"I am a doctor, Monsieur Vicomte. Please, sir if you'd kindly, and immediately, follow me and my wife", he gestured to the stunning woman, obviously with him for his money, "I-I'm sure I could help. All my supplies are in my carriage. P-please follow me, sir…"
An hour later, after the help of some salts to wake Christine and no help from the panicking Raoul, the young Vicomte found himself in front of the door of Madame Giry's room. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand and knocked. He heard murmurs and something fell to the floor with a muffled thud. He barely made out the ballet mistress cursing to herself from somewhere behind the door. The heavy oak door creaked open an inch or so.
"Monsieur?.."
"Madame Giry, we must speak. I need to ask you about something. About-"
"Monsieur Erik, I know. You need not explain, Vicomte. You may enter." She stepped back, allowing him access to her large, yet humble room. He nervously, yet determinedly, walked in, his mind set.
Immediately after she shut her door, he rounded on her.
"What is this Phantom's problem? Why is he completely sadistic? Threatening me, Christine, the people of this Opera house, the entire population of Paris? Why is this monster so indomitable about making my life a fiery living hell? Has he no mind? Conscience? Has the mad man no HEART?" His breathing was ragged, his temper beyond the possibility of calming it down. Madame Giry was another story. She simply continued to sit there, her hands folded delicately on her lap, watching the man with an expressionless face.
She didn't like this man, so her respect for him wasn't something she could boast about either. She'd literally forced herself to tell Christine that she'd be better off with him, but it was out of desperation to protect her from Erik's wrath. Truthfully, she detested him. He poked his head into matters that weren't any of his business every moment of every single day since his arrival. She hated that. Just weeks ago, they'd performed Faust, which, thanks to the meddling Vicomte, was a near disaster. Surprisingly, though not surprisingly (due to her depressed state) Christine wasn't in this show, so it surprised her that Raoul was always there. During one of the scarce rehearsals they had, due to the arrival and readying of the New Year, he'd randomly taken all the ballet rats for some frozen ice and tarts. She was enraged when she saw them all laughing like fools and shoveling sweets into their mouth as he told them a story.
She'd stood there for what seemed like ages watching them like a hawk, waiting to see if they'd spot her.
She'd seen enough.
"You girls, back to practice, now." Under her harsh glare, they scurried back in haste. She turned back to Raoul.
"Monsieur, although you are the Vicomte, and although you enjoy the arts, you do not have the right to steal my students and take them to stuff their faces with sweets. Rehearsals are limited, and we haven't the time to be prancing about Paris."
"Oh, do forgive me Madame Giry, I meant no harm. I'll be sure to leave the stage until the performance. Good day to you," he smiled, excusing himself from Madame Croissant's Shoppe.
She fumed from every vent in her body. He acted as if all was bright and jolly, and he was delivered to Earth directly from God's hands. But she now knew better.
She walked back to the Opera Populaire angry and thoughtful. Something was bothering her, but she knew no one would believe her if she told.
All the while she stood in the shadows of the Shoppe, she saw something that angered her.
The Vicomte had had his hand placed upon the leg of one of her students, and was gently rubbing it. Her teeth gritted at the memory of it. No wonder he was there, regardless of Christine's absence. She noticed his change in behavior since he arrived. Rumors circulated about the populaire, and they weren't pretty. The so called "proper" man was nothing more than a rotten pervert, faking his good-boy persona for Christine.
Needless to say, due to the lack of practice for the play, it had major and minor slip ups, thanks to a certain nitwit.
And now there he stood, expecting pity and understanding from her.
How dare he.
"Well Monsieur, if you want my honest opinion, you are the one who has no heart." He turned to her, shocked.
"He kills innocent people, threatens all those among him, tortures Christine, and I'm the heartless one? You've gone mad!" He was half laughing, half yelling, surprised that she would even think to take his side.
"You judge quickly Monsieur. Joseph, our stage hand, wasn't an angel first of all, and these people could do with a good lesson now and then, their heads being so far up in the clouds in a fairytale world. And of all things, you haven't the slightest clue of what this man has been through. So I suggest you hold your tongue."
"I am trying to rid the town of this pest, protect those in hell's path, and you dare to say that he is the victim?" She nodded, calmly.
"Monsieur, you've had everything you have ever wanted, except for Christine, handed down to you on a golden platter. You stole her from a man who worships her, practically making a new religion out of the girl. He is merely fighting back for the second time in his miserable life."
"Second?"
"Yes, second. You see, you have judged Erik because of what he has done. You have not the slightest clue as to why he is like that." She paused to sigh, leaning back into her chair to get comfortable.
"Years, years ago, when I was training to be a ballet girl, the ballet mistress allowed us all to go out for a night of relaxation. It was one of the older girl's ideas that we should go to visit a traveling fair that had come to town. Bored as we were, we agreed. I thought all was fair and fun, all sorts of treats and sweets that I could ever eat, but didn't. But then I arrived to another part of the fair, a mean, cruel part. A part that I still to this day regret going to for the things I saw, and am grateful for going to because I would unexpectedly help someone that night." She sighed, her eyes glazing over as she reminisced.
"There were so many 'freaks' as they called them, flaunting their grotesque bodies. Some of us dared to go into a small tent with a nastily painted sign reading 'The Devil's Child.' The moment we stepped in, my stomach twisted into a dreadful knot. I walked up to this, this filthy cage that not even a rat would touch, and inside I saw a small, shirtless boy, his body grimy and sullied with indescribable waste, and lined with whip marks. Yet I noticed one thing above all: he wore a worn sack over his head. I almost cried at the sight. Then, this wicked man stomped into the cage, a dirty whip in his hand, tugging at the sack. At last he managed to tear it off, and the boy's face was-was…disfigured, to put it kindly. He continued to whip him, and all those around me laughed and threw old bones and papers at him. When it was all over, I stood there, and he looked at me after he'd put his sack back on. The saddest thing in the world I have ever felt, was when I gazed into his eyes. All the sadness of the world nestled into the small eyes of this, this child. All that pain and torture…" She broke down, sobbing gently into her hands.
Raoul looked at her, dumbfounded, yet still angered.
"Monsieur, he may be mad to you, but he is a man, like you. That night he fought for his freedom, was the first thing he'd ever fought for. I hid him in this opera house, and rid him of the world's cruelty. Yet you've brought all this pain back to him. Men can only take so much pain, and he's had the most of anybody. The only other thing that meant more to him than his freedom, was and is Christine, and you stole that. He is no longer a boy, he knows what he wants. The man is a genius, a composer, an inventor; he's come so far, when most would falter. Yet so much has built up, he was bound to trip and fall into lunacy…and I'm asking you Monsieur, can you blame him? After all the things he has been through, do you still dare to blame him?"
"Yes."
"You don't deserve Christine," she said suddenly. He glared at her.
"I've seen things, heard things, and know things. Let me ask you Monsieur: Has Christine ever once asked for help from this Phantom?" He turned away, blushing.
"No, she hasn't."
"See? Has it ever occurred to you that she may love this man as he loves her? "
"Madame-"
"Has it ever occurred to you that the two have shared more than just lessons?"
"Madame Giry-"
"Have you ever thought of what Christine wants? Have you ever asked her what she wants? Have you, Monsieur? Have you?" Her voice remained calm as ever, yet those last words she stressed with power.
"Enough. I came here asking for help as to how I may rid this house of this madman, and all I received was this blasphemy from a woman equally as mad! Good day to you, Madame!" He stalked over to the door, yanked it open, and disappeared into the shadows.
"Fool," she mumbled furiously, still dabbing at her eyes.
Back in her room, Christine was furiously trying to open the entrance to Erik's tunnel. Her eyes red and streaming, she let out a shriek of frustration. Angry that he'd sealed the mirror somehow, she ran over to her small desk, retrieved a small jewelry box, and threw it at her reflection. It smashed loudly, sending shards of jagged glass into the dank tunnel.
"I'm coming, Erik," she whispered, gathering up the material of her dress.
"Christine?" came the muffled voice of Raoul. He was knocking furiously. Her eyes snapped open wide, and she began sweeping up the broken glass aside with her shoe.
"Christine, open this door right now," he bellowed, worried.
"One moment, I'm not proper!"
A minute later, she opened the door, and he rushed in, his eyes searching wildly about the room.
"Are you okay? How do you feel? Shall I send for another doctor? What-" she placed her hand over his mouth.
"Hush, please. I'm fine; I'm just a bit shaken is all." She smiled, desperately trying to reassure him so that he could leave. He took her hand off his mouth, and kissed it.
"Okay, love." He let her go and idly walked around the room, trying to inconspicuously study the room. His eyebrows knitted together as his eyes rested on the large mirror in the back of the room.
"Christine, why is there a sheet over this mirror?" He walked over to it, his hand outstretched.
"Raoul, wait! Please don't remove it. I-I cannot bear to see myself right now! I'm a mess, and I'll only go into another fit if I see my poor reflection." He stopped inches from the glass, and turned to look at her. Her eyes pleaded for his understanding. He nodded, and stepped away.
"Will you be fine for tonight on your own, or shall I accompany you tonight?"
"No, no I shall be fine by myself. Please, go rest yourself. Goodnight, Raoul." He kissed her, accidently biting her lip.
"Sorry. Goodnight, Lotte."
Once she locked the door, and waited until she heard his footsteps die, she scurried towards the mirror, determination written on her normally soft features.
She would go see Erik tonight, whether he wanted to see her or not.