Disclaimer: Even if I had the entire cast chained up in my basement, I still wouldn't officially own The Phantom of the Opera.
Title: Peccata Mundi
Summary: The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.
Assignment 1: The Nightingale
Summary: With his night terrors growing steadily worse, Erik must find the strength to locate a kidnapped woman. Will he be able to discover and protect her before it's too late, and will he be able to correctly distinguish between the past and the present?
Author's Note: I apologize if this chapter seems too obvious. There's still a little bit of a twist, I guess you could call it, coming at the end. Stay tuned! And thanks for the reviews so far! I'm nothing without you all. Oh, and about the end of this chapter, I just wanted to add a little tender mother-daughter moment. Not to mention that there could be some foreshadowing there for future installments…
Section 3
- In the Violin Maker's Shop
The little bell placed above the door jangled with an incoming customer. Monsieur Richeleau hurriedly finished his task in the back room to greet the client. He secured the small lock box and tucked it away in the bottom drawer of his workbench. Then he pushed aside the heavy curtain separating the front of the store from the actual work station. At first glance, there was no sign of who had just entered. He peered to either side of the screen of hanging bows, not daring to venture out from behind the counter until he was sure someone was there. Finally, he spied the tip of a black top hat. His eyes lit up and a grin spread across his face as he approached.
"Ah, Monsieur, I see you have taken a liking to one of my oldest pieces," he greeted.
The client, who had been closely examining a violin at floor level, slowly erected his posture. He looked to the owner, triggering a small jolt of shock. Monsieur Richeleau sucked in a deep breath. The customer was like none he had ever encountered before. A strange, enchanting mask adorned half of his face. Like a good businessman, Monsieur Richeleau recovered swiftly, pretending he had not just been taken aback.
"I am Monsieur Richeleau, owner of this humble shop. Is there any way I can be of assistance?"
"I was just admiring some of the instruments. Are you responsible for any of these beautiful creations?"
"The ones around the store are not of my own making, but," with a proud grin on his face, he ushered the gentleman toward the counter, "these behind the glass are original works."
Erik leaned down to take a better look. Monsieur Richeleau was beaming behind him. It was obvious that his character was a confidant one when it came to his artistic ability, and he always searched for appraisal.
"Not bad," was the critique. "Not bad at all. Nice attention to detail."
"Thank you, sir," Monsieur Richeleau said. "I am also skilled in reconstructing old and worn string instruments. My shop is in fact the only within in miles that deals solely with string instruments. I guess you could say that I am a music enthusiast."
"Yes, you seem very dedicated to your craft," Erik replied softly, straightening up.
"It's more than a dedication. I'd compare it more to an…obsession." Suddenly his eyes glazed over and he seemed to mentally leave the room for a moment. His hands, folded in front of him, compulsively and subconsciously rubbed together. "It is utterly unbearable when a damaged instrument falls into my hands. I've made it my mission to preserve the splendor of the piece and its magnificent sound for all time." His voice drifted to a whisper. "I swear, as long as I can prevent it, nothing will fade…She-" He stopped, lurching into reality. He looked around to become aware of his surroundings. Spotting his customer, a spark in his brain seemed to go off and the normal switch was hit. He suddenly acted like he had not just been absent from the scene. "M-My apologies. I was rambling, and I'm sure you would rather just get down to business."
"Oh, there's no need to apology, Monsieur. But if you don't mind, I would like to get on with the business aspect of this visit."
"Of course, of course." He straightened out his uniform. "Now, was there a certain piece you are interested in? Or perhaps you needed something renovated?"
"Actually," the customer started, "I am looking for a rather…unique instrument, you could say."
"Well you've come to the right place, Monsieur." He spread his arms out, offering up the store. "You'll find a very nice selection."
Erik began to pace slowly around, looking here and there, but always without interest. "Yes, I already perused a bit, but I couldn't seem to find exactly what I'm looking for."
"Perhaps if you describe what you are looking for, I may be able to assist."
"Hmm, let's see." He stopped, his hands folded behind his back, and looked toward the ceiling in mock thought. "It's slender, of average height. The music it produces is magical, I hear." He gave a side glance toward the owner.
"Ah, I see. Continue."
He turned back away and looked upward again. "She also has long, curly brown hair, emerald eyes, and porcelain skin. Oh, and she is sweet and caring. Ring any bells?"
Again Erik looked over to the owner, who was now pale white with bulging, horror-stricken eyes. He could see Monsieur Richeleau start to tremble and develop nervous tendencies. Erik took a couple steps forward, a serious expression laid out on his face.
"A young woman went missing between the hours of last night and early this morning. Her name is Christine Daaé. I believe she visited your shop recently with her father's violin. You wouldn't happen to have any information on her, would you?"
Erik eyed him suspiciously as he tried, poorly, to recollect himself. "N-None at all. W-Why would you t-think that I'd have any more i-information on her? I-I'm just shocked that such a c-charming creature would be targeted." He swallowed hard, catching his breath. "I remember her well. Yes, it isn't h-hard to forget such a lady. V-very beautiful, v-very charming."
"So there was nothing suspicious about her, Monsieur?" Erik egged.
"N-Not at all. She came in, d-dropped off the violin with a r-request to refurbish it, a-and left." He spun away, placing his hands on the counter to steady himself. "I-I can't believe she's missing."
"Yes, it is a great tragedy." Erik's voice suddenly changed to a light, friendly air. It seemed to slice part of the tension in the room. "Well, if you'll excuse me. I don't mean to be rude, but I've a few other appointments to attend. Thank you for your help, Monsieur Richeleau." With a tip of his hat, he then exited the store.
The owner was left in such a state of dishevelment that he couldn't move or think for a couple minutes. Finally, gaining control of his limbs, he pounded the counter in frustration and rushed to the door, where he threw the lock and turned the sign to 'closed.' Then he whisked off quickly into the back.
Just outside the window, but out of view of the man inside, Erik had secretly paid witness to the man's actions. He bowed his head, suspicions arising, and set off down the street at a brisk pace.
-----
Madame Giry finished drying off the last dinner plate, silence consuming the room. The dishwashing had taken longer that evening because of her mental absence and worry over her master. He hadn't attended dinner that evening like usual when he was working on a case. She should have been used to it by now, but he barely ate as it was, and with the intensity of his dream the night before, her mind couldn't do anything but be preoccupied with his well-being.
She wiped the china surface for the last time then stared down at her faint image being reflected. Her eyes were dull, almost lifeless. The age lines at her temples had grown darker and deeper. She put a finger softly to her features, tracing the wrinkles and lines. It was all the fretting she went through. She remembered how vivacious she had been and looked when she had first started working there. Not anymore, though. Monsieur Erik had caused her face to age considerably. She was nearing her mid-thirties, but her appearance was that of a woman years older, burdened with a heavy weight.
Madame Giry stretched a reluctant hand forward and, hesitating a moment, traced the inner circle of the plate. There were times, just then being one, where she wished for her youth back, and sometimes even thought of what lay for her beyond that house. Yes, quitting always appealed to her during these moments of somberness. However, she would always forget about any such notion when she saw her daughter. There was no family for her outside of the compound, and Meg received so much from the master that she felt she wouldn't be able to supply any better if they were to move out. She despised the feeling of dependence on Erik. If there was one lesson she could teach her daughter, it would be to make a name for herself and rely on no man.
"Mother?" Meg called loudly, running into the kitchen.
Madame Giry jumped out of her skin. The dish slipped from her grasp and broke into pieces when it hit the floor. She clutched at her racing heart, needing a minute to realize what was going on. Meanwhile, her daughter rushed into the room, more frantic because of the loud clash of the dish.
"Mother, what happened? Are you all right?" She stopped when she was able to view the scene.
"Yes, dear," Madame Giry responded as soon as she caught her breath. "You just startled me, that's all." She gave a small, relieved chuckle. "Really, you must control yourself, Meg." She turned and grabbed an extra towel then bent down to sweep up the mess. "You're late, by the way."
"Well that's the reason why I was so excited." Meg fell to her knees to assist her mother. "Madame kept me after practice to congratulate me on how well I am doing. And guess what else she said, mother!" She sat back on her haunches suddenly very excited.
"What else did she tell you?"
"I am to receive the lead role in the next ballet performance!" Meg squealed.
Madame Giry stopped what she was doing and looked to her daughter. Her jaw was ajar in awe and delight. She dropped the dish towels and leaned inward to give Meg as big a hug as she could muster in the awkward position.
"Oh, Meg! I am so happy for you!" She kissed her cheeks frantically. "You are sure to be amazing. A real charm!"
Meg giggled ecstatically. "Where is Monsieur Erik? I must deliver the good news to him. He'll be so proud."
Madame Giry's tone fell slightly and she separated from the embrace. "He has locked himself up in his study again. You aren't to disturb him when he does this, you know that. He's busy with an assignment."
She handled the towels and scooped up the remaining pieces and threw them into the trash bin. Even though her back was toward her, she could sense Meg's disappointment as she slowly stood. Madame Giry sighed audibly, gripping the counter. Damn, Erik. Damn him for turning Meg's most enthusiastic moment into one of discontentment. She wanted to change the subject. She had to get the girl's mind to a place of joy again.
Madame Giry whirled around with a large smile on her face. "How about I fix you up a small dinner, darling. Does that sound good?"
A small smile crept to her daughter's face, soothing the older woman's soul. "That would be lovely, thank you. In all the rush I'd forgotten how hungry I am."
"Go take a seat at the table and I'll be right out."
Meg obeyed, and Madame Giry was alone again the next moment. She took out the leftover meat from the fridge and placed two thin slices onto an empty plate. Adding to the dinner's variety, she grabbed a dinner roll from the bread basket and sliced a peach. After pouring a glass of milk and grabbing some utensils, she was ready to take the meal out to her daughter. She set the dish and glass down then took a seat across the table.
"This looks delicious," Meg exclaimed, digging in.
Madame Giry watched, delighted. She leaned forward onto the table with her elbows and supported her chin in her hands. A small smile adorned her lips.
"Thank you, mother. This is perfect."
"Anything for you, dear." The attitude at the table seemed too strained still. Madame Giry scooted closer inward and leaned farther forward. Her smile broadened. "Now tell me more about this performance."