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: This chapter is a little slow, and it does start to unravel things a little fast. But I enjoyed showing a little depressive side to Monsieur Daaé and a sympathetic side to Erik. I hope you enjoy reading it!
Section 5
- In Order for the End
It smelled of the sick—of the dying. A strong aroma of medicine and the like wafted through the air to take any caller off balance. The absence of proper light added to the dismal appeal. Even though the room was rather spacious and contained an adequate amount of furniture-a bed, a wardrobe, a side table, a full length mirror-the musty atmosphere created a claustrophobic environment, like being in a damp cavern. If it wasn't for the love of the bed-ridden man, the room would have been barren of all other life forms.
Monsieur Daaé was a floating head amongst the sea of pillows and blankets. He was hardly distinguishable among the shadows. His hacking and wheezing gave away his position. Raoul sat in an armchair next to the bed, like the obedient lapdog he was. A nurse checked various vitals of her patient, while recording everything down on a clipboard. Bottles, some filled with capsules and some filled with sticky liquid, lined the side table. A couple were already partially empty.
Even though he was used to strong silences, and actually even preferred them at times, Erik was overwhelmed by the awkward quietness when he entered the master bedroom. All eyes turned to him and remained there, except for the nurse's, who went back to her hourly task. Erik walked carefully in and stopped at the edge of the bed. Still, no one spoke. Still, an impending feeling loomed overhead. As if hit by some premonition, he foresaw what was eventually going to become of the old man. It made the situation even more discomforting.
"You sent for me?" Erik spoke softly as soon as the nurse had quitted the room.
"Yes," Monsieur Daaé croaked. It seemed he couldn't say any more because he waved his hand at Raoul, who immediately perked up slightly.
"We are most curious," Raoul continued informing, "about what you have learned so far. If you have learned anything new yet, that is."
"There's nothing set in stone, but I have my suspicions. With a little more research and investigation, though, I believe that-"
"Suspicions?" Raoul interjected loudly. "Suspicions aren't good enough when Christine's life is on the line!"
Monsieur Daaé stopped the young man from jumping out of the seat with the raise of his hand. The lad became quiet and rested back easily against the armchair. The older man erupted into a small fit of coughs that ended as abruptly as it started. He took a wheezing breath in. The wait made it seem like he was trying to build up strength or energy to continue on.
"This entire incident, Monsieur," he choked, "has weighed greatly on my heart and my health. I know you are working to the best of your ability, but any way I can assist in a faster solution to this case, I am willing to give it my all." He took a few deep heaves, trying to catch his breath. "Please know that this means the world to me."
"Sir, I do not mean to be rude," Erik interrupted, "but every client tells me the same thing."
Monsieur Daaé nodded and continued slowly, "I understand. And I know that I also cannot offer you as much as your other clients." The sides of his mouth went up and he began to wheeze, which was meant to be a laugh. "It seems that life turns cruel toward the end. I wonder if any one man can die with a happy heart and clear mind."
Raoul reached over and grabbed Monsieur Daaé's feeble hand. He whispered a few comforting words into the old man's ear. Erik felt a pang in the pit of his stomach. He was definitely getting too personal with this case. He was trying to detach himself, but it seemed to just suck him in even more.
"I apologize, Monsieur," Erik mumbled. "I didn't mean to offend or produce pessimistic thoughts." He cleared his throat. "Perhaps if you gave me a bit more information—is there anything you can tell me that could be of any possible importance?"
"No, I can't think of anything." Monsieur Daaé searched the wall for an answer with his eyes. "Sometimes Christine would sneak out to the streets to sing for the public and collect any money they donated to her. When I found out, I demanded she stop for her own safety. Like the angel she is, she listened."
"Do you know of any of the specific streets?"
"No, no." He paused then lit up. "Oh! I caught her on-" He stopped and shut his eyes, trying to think. "The street name has slipped my mind. Old age deters me once again." It seemed as if the possibly significant news was about to slip right through their fingers. However, Monsieur Daaé wasn't finished. "It's the street that holds the instrument shop. It's been there years and years."
Erik froze. His eyes focused hard on the backboard of the bed above his client's head. He felt it: he felt the conclusion drawing near. It was all starting to tie together, very slowly, but there was definitely something there.
"The old instrument shop," Erik pondered to himself.
"Yes, it's the only one within miles, I believe," the old man confirmed, overhearing Erik, even though he had spoken barely audibly.
"How well do you know Monsieur Richeleau?" Erik asked coming back into himself. "After all, he owns the only instrument related shop, and you are a violin player. It wouldn't surprise me if you two were fairly well acquainted."
"You may think so, but the truth is I barely know the gentleman. Of course, we exchanged a few words here and there whenever I entered his store, but that was the extent of our relationship."
Erik brought his hand to his chin in contemplation. "Hmm, that is curious."
"What is curious?" Monsieur Daaé asked quickly.
The sudden burst of adrenaline shook his bones. Even though a tremor coursed throughout his body, and Raoul leaned over to assist him back to a comfortable position, he stood strong against all odds to soak up anything that would bring the reunion between him and his daughter closer.
"That you and Monsieur Richeleau have no real relationship beyond a few humble words," Erik replied nonchalantly.
"But why?" Monsieur Daaé pushed.
"Yesterday, didn't Monsieur Richeleau visit your residence?" Swiftly he added, "I didn't mean to pry into any personal conversations. It was just something I overheard."
A light seemed to start to flicker in the old man's mind, but his opposite, Raoul, seemed less impressed. His brows furrowed and he leaned forward in the armchair. He addressed Erik in a scolding manner, as if this deduction wasn't worthwhile.
"That still leaves us with nothing. He could have been informed of the location by Christine when she dropped off the violin."
"Monsieur," Erik sighed, shifting his position, "why would Christine give away such private information to a man that her and her father barely know?"
"Perhaps she had wanted to surprise Monsieur Daaé with a delivery of the violin." Raoul was not giving up. He was going to prove that he was strong and capable.
"Ah, do you not recall that Monsieur Richeleau had declared, yesterday, that she had not come to pick up the instrument?" There was a moment of silence. Raoul was struck mute. There was no way he could counter that. "But maybe I am becoming forgetful." He added under his breath, "I think not, though."
Raoul stood violently, the chair screeching against the floor as it slid backward a foot. Erik didn't flinch. Monsieur Daaé turned and motioned with his hand for Raoul to take a seat, but to no avail. The young man wasn't going to listen to anyone.
"I think that is my cue." Erik bowed. "Monsieur, it is time I take my leave. I apologize if I have offended you in any way. It was not my intention."
"Please think nothing of the sort," Monsieur Daaé soothed.
Erik erected his posture, but tipped his top hat to show even more respect. Raoul was still fuming, not buying any of it. But the old man smiled humbly and forgivingly. He still believed in the ability of the hired detective. Erik pivoted and went to the shabby door. He turned the knob and was about to exit, but turned back once more to address his client.
"Oh, and Monsieur."
"Yes?"
"Yours will be the perfect end. You will have that happy heart and clear mind. I give my word."
With a sweep of his cloak, he disappeared.