Disclaimer: None of the books are mine. None of the various movies are mine. None of the lyrics are mine. I own nothing! Nothing, I tell you!
Chapter Six
Christine was shocked to the point where she no longer had control over her body. It wasn't a problem, though. The moment she put her hand into his, the Phantom of the Opera took charge. Grasping her hand more tightly, he set off down a long, stone hallway, and she had no choice but to follow him. The hallway was eerily and brightly lit by dozens of candelabras that looked like human arms.
Were some of the arms moving?
She didn't look closer, for she was too busy gazing at the back of the Phantom's head. Occasionally he would turn and their eyes would lock together, emerald green against chocolate brown. Then he would slowly look away and Christine's breathing would return to normal. Words weaved themselves into Christine's mind, forming a poem that soon found a tune.
In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came- that voice which calls to me and speaks my name. And do I dream again? For now I find…
"The Phantom of the opera is there…inside my mind!"
No! No singing! Stop! Christine's mind screamed. She had never meant for the unwritten lyrics to escape her lips. But something had coaxed them out into the air, some unseen force of mystery that seemed to follow the Phantom wherever he went. She was embarrassed to have broken out in song like that, but her silent guide seemed unfazed by it.
"Sing once again with me,
Our strange duet…" He was playing along with the little charade, singing to her in that intoxicatingly beautiful voice.
"My power over you
Grows stronger yet."
Christine's mind registered that somewhere along the line the Phantom had picked up a torch. The practical part of her brain wondered where he had gotten fire in a school. The other part totally didn't care- it was too busy swooning as the Phantom gazed at her with his beautiful green eyes. If only Meg could see what was happening. She'd be so jealous!
Meg. Christine suddenly remembered what the heck she was doing. She glanced back the way they had come, wondering miserably what kind of trouble she was going to get into. But then the Phantom's voice filled her mind, and all remaining doubt or guilt was pushed out.
"And though you turn from me
To glance behind
The Phantom of the Opera is there…
Inside your mind!"
They had reached the bottom of a stone spiral staircase. Christine hadn't realized that she had walked down it. She wondered if this was what it was like to be on drugs. They turned around a corner and Christine was face-to-face with a black horse.
"How on earth did you get a horse down here?" she gasped in astonishment.
"One of my many secrets," the Phantom said mysteriously. He helped her to mount, and Christine found herself wishing she hadn't worn a skirt. She was now forced to ride sidesaddle, and she was always on the brink of slipping off. Thankfully the ride wasn't too long. It was only a few minutes before the horse stopped at a large expanse of water.
"A lake!" Christine murmured, very surprised. "A subterranean lake! How…" She trailed off, knowing that she wouldn't learn the answer to this question, either. Her breath caught in her throat as the Phantom took her by the waist and lifted her off the horse, setting her gently back down on the ground. Christine's legs almost didn't hold her; she was mere inches apart from the dark, mysterious man. They stood in that spot for a moment, looking into each other's eyes.
The Phantom took Christine's hand and led her to a small boat, rather similar to a gondola. The ride across the lake was more mysterious than anything Christine had encountered yet. Swirling mist slid over them as she sat speechless in the boat, staring at the amazing architecture as it slid by. Behind her the Phantom poled the boat silently, the dim light glancing eerily off of his mask.
"Those who have seen your face
Draw back in fear." The words sprang once more from her lips, unbidden and still in the same haunting tune.
"I am the mask you wear…"
"It's me they hear." The Phantom cut in, knowing somehow exactly what she was going to say. Their voices loud and strong, they sang together, each knowing what the other was thinking.
"Your spirit and my voice,
In one, combined!" Christine sang, losing herself entirely in the music.
"The Phantom of the Opera is there…
Inside my mind!"
Echoing voices sounded in her mind, singing, "Beware the Phantom of the Opera!" She ignored her conscience's warning and echoed it, "He's there, the Phantom of the Opera!"
Before her eyes, a gate appeared in the looming mist and started to open slowly.
"Sing…" she heard the Phantom hiss into her ear. Unable to control herself, Christine opened her mouth and sang. It was a high note, barely within her range. She sang along with the music in her mind, her voice falling, falling, and gaining height again.
"Sing, my Angel of Music!" Christine obliged without thinking, starting on an even higher note this time. It was a cadenza, a rising and falling of her voice. The music poured out of her soul.
"Sing for me!" The power in the Phantom's voice made her powerless to refuse. Christine climbed a note higher, holding it out as long as she possibly could at the ghost's fierce urging. She sang loudly, staring in astonishment as the boat passed under the gate and lit candles started rising out of the water. The boat drew nearer and nearer to the shore, and more and more candles rose out of the water.
"Sing for me!" the Phantom thundered, and Christine let loose with the highest note she had ever managed to reach. She just threw her head back and sang, expecting to hear a screech and surprising herself with a strong, beautiful note. She held it out until she ran out of breath, and her lungs refilled with air of their own accord, the sound echoing against the dark stone walls of the misty shore.
Christine watched in fascination as the Phantom leaped out of the boat. Her heart skipped a beat as he whipped the cloak off of his shoulders and sent it flying through the air. Christine wondered if he practiced that.
"You are sitting in a place unknown to many," he said. This…this is my kingdom of music." He gestured around at the various instruments that adorned the place. "In this darkness, all must pay homage to music." He turned away from her. "Since that day you came to my school I thought there was something…musical about you. Then I heard you sing and you removed all doubt. Since that day I have needed you, needed you here with me, to serve me…to serve this darkness…this music."
Christine felt goosebumps rise on her arms. She didn't know exactly what the Phantom meant by this, but it sounded creepy. Obsessive stalker creepy. She had always preferred light over dark, and was starting to get freaked out.
As though he sensed Christine's unease, the Phantom started singing. His voice drifted through the air and hovered lightly.
"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation.
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination.
Silently the senses abandon their defenses…"
He stepped forward and helped Christine out of the boat. She was slowly returning to her trancelike state, a small smile gradually spreading across her face. The Phantom led her across the "room" over to a large organ, singing to her the sweet lullaby. Christine looked around in wonder. Her eyes fell upon little models of what appeared to be Hayfield High School. Around the models were sketches and drawings of cathedrals, castles, and other buildings. It seemed that the Phantom had a taste for architecture…
Black leather gloves gently took Christine's chin and tilted it upward, so that she was looking directly into the Phantom's eyes.
"Turn your face away from the garish light of day,
Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light…
And listen to the music of the night!"
He dropped her hand and bounded up three stone stairs to what appeared to be a pipe organ. He pivoted around to face her, his arms spread out triumphantly.
"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams!
Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before.
Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar…"
Christine closed her eyes upon command, quivering with an odd sense of enjoyment. She sighed, happy just to lose herself in the Phantom's song. When she opened her eyes again, he was staring at her, hungrily. He beckoned her forward, and Christine stepped, dreamlike, over to him. Once more he took her hand, singing to her in that entrancing, seductive voice. He pulled her closer, their faces now barely an inch apart.
Christine looked down shyly, not meeting the Phantom's eyes. Once she dared glance up for a second, and her eyes were met with gentle, misty pools of green. She knew the Phantom was still singing, as his lips were moving right next to hers, but she wasn't listening to the words. How could she, over the loud beating of her heart?
The Phantom pulled away and walked gracefully around the organ, his eyes never leaving Christine's for a second.
"Let your soul take you where you long to be!"
His words echoed off the stone walls, sending shivers down Christine's spine. Slowly the Phantom returned to Christine's side, cupping her cheeks in his hands.
"Only then can you belong to me…"
He twisted her around so that she couldn't see him anymore. He hissed into her ear, trailing a hand across her waist and down her thigh.
"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication…
Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation."
He brought Christine's hand up to the unmasked side of his face. Shivering slightly, Christine traced her fingertips across his cheek. Was it her imagination or was the Phantom trembling? She turned her head to look him in the eye. He took her hands in his, as though he were begging.
"Let the dream begin! Let your darker side give in
To the power of the music that I write…
The power of the music of the night!"
The Phantom pulled Christine forward, leading her to a red velvet curtain that was hanging on the wall. He pulled the curtain aside to reveal a small room, into which he gently ushered Christine. "Watch your head," he whispered.
Ducking through the narrow doorway, Christine entered the room and came face to face with a portrait…of herself. The Christine in the portrait must have been five years younger, but Christine recognized herself immediately.
She was wearing that costume…
That costume she wore that night when she sang…
The night of the accident.
In a blind panic, Christine stumbled backwards. She smacked her head against the stone wall and crumbled, unconscious, into her angel's arms.
Meg unlocked the Journalism door and flicked on the lights. "Nice try, Christine!" she called out. "You can't run from your problems!" She shut the door behind her, waiting for an answer. When she didn't get one she said, "You know, you got into a lot of trouble for skipping class. You've got just enough time to get all the make-up work before the buses leave."
The room was silent. Meg made her way over to Christine's cubicle. "Aw, Christine! Don't give me the silent treatment." She peeked over the top of the cubicle, expecting to see Christine sulking in a corner. What she found was an empty cubicle, a screen saver on the computer, and Christine's purse lying on her desk. "Christine?"
When Meg moved the computer's mouse she found a Word document full of nonsense. Obviously Christine hadn't been working on a legitimate article. She called out her friend's name, hoping she had just gone to the bathroom or something.
On an impulse, Meg went through Christine's purse and found that her cell phone was missing. Wherever she was, she must have had it with her. Meg whipped out her cell and called Christine, muttering, "Pick up, darn it!"
"Hi, this is Christine! I can't come to the phone right now but if you leave a message I'll get back to you as soon as I can! Rock on, dude or dudette!"
"Christine, where the hell are you?" Meg shouted into the phone. "You've annoyed the teachers, worked Raoul into a frenzy, AND forgot to log off of your computer! You'd better call me back, or I WILL tell somebody!" She flipped her phone shut angrily and shoved it into her purse. On her way out of the room she realized that the door to the press room was open. She strode furiously over to the door.
"Christine, if I find out that I went through all this trouble to find you and you're just hiding in there making out with some guy, I am going to be so…" Meg barged into the room. "…empty. Christine, Christine, where are you?"
Then she remembered something. Earlier that day, the Opera Ghost had said that Journalism would suffer first. Nothing had happened that morning, and everybody had forgotten because of the Bee Diddy concert. Had the Opera Ghost kidnapped Christine?
Meg looked around warily, her heart beating fast. Her eyes fell on the mirror.
The mirror that was now apparently a door leading into a dark tunnel.
No way. This could not be happening! That mirror had been there since her first day of high school! How could it possibly be some weird secret passageway? Meg crept toward it and confirmed her fears. She also found that the mirror was actually a two-way mirror. When she looked through it from behind, she could see into the press room.
Freaky. Meg wondered how much the Opera Ghost had seen. She thought back to all the times that she had done her makeup in front of this mirror, interviewed her reflection, or even made out in this room. She shuddered as she imagined the Opera Ghost leaning back in a recliner, watching the goings-on with interest as he munched on popcorn.
He must have brought Christine down this way. There was no other possible explanation for her absence. It was up to Meg to save her. She gulped and started down the passageway. She wondered briefly if she should get help, but decided against it. The mirror might not still be open when she returned.
Meg twisted and turned through the dark tunnels. "This is the last time you borrow my clothes," she muttered angrily as she jumped over a pile of dirt. Suddenly, something wet and heavy jumped onto her foot.
Meg shrieked and kicked it off, shuddering as she heard a solid thunk! "Oh, how I detest rats!" she wailed. She froze as something warm and heavy landed on her shoulder. With a scream she knocked it off and spun around to see…
Mrs. Giry. The school librarian. Her mother.
"Mom!" Meg shouted accusingly. "You could at least give someone decent warning before you scare them half to death!"
Mrs. Giry said nothing. She took Meg's hand and dragged her back the way she came, muttering to herself.
"What do you know about the Opera Ghost?" Meg's question did not receive an answer. She persisted. "I overheard you talking to him, Mom! You know something."
"And you know something now, too," Mrs. Giry stated angrily. "You will not tell anyone. Not your friends, not the School Security, no one! Do you understand?"
"No!" Meg was confused. "We should tell the police about this, Mom. They'll be able to track him down!"
"That's precisely why you will not tell anybody."
"But why?" Meg asked, totally not understanding. "Are you trying to protect him? What about Christine?"
Mrs. Giry was silent for a moment. Then she turned to look at Meg. "I suppose you know what happened to Miss Daae? Something much worse could happen to you if you tell a single soul about any of this. You must never come back here, Megan Giry. You're lucky that you didn't fall into any of his traps."
Meg said nothing, knowing she wouldn't get anything else out of her mother. She followed her in silence, desperately praying for Christine's safety.
The next morning, Meg arrived at school to find that Christine had not returned. The police were now involved, investigating the Journalism room and questioning some of the students. There was no doubt among any of the students that the Opera Ghost was responsible for Christine's abduction. Meg found grungy Joe Buquet having the time of his life scaring the wits out of Kaila, Sam, and Jessie.
"His skin is like yellow parchment, rough and disgusting," Joe said in a hushed tone. "Instead of a nose, he's got this big, gaping hole in the middle of his face. If you don't watch out, he'll catch you with…" he brandished a noose, "…his magical lasso!" He caught Jessie around the waist with the rope and pulled it tight.
Meg rescued her, loosening the rope and tugging it out of Joe's hands. "Those who talk freely often find later that it is better to be silent," she said warningly. "I would shut up about the Opera Ghost, you pervert. And keep your hand at the level of your eyes so nobody can do this." She slipped the noose around his neck and yanked it tight. "Take a shower, you pig!"
The girls relocated to Meg's cubicle. "Thanks, Meg," Jessie said with a shudder. "Buquet really freaks me out. He won't leave me alone. I'm glad Christine convinced him to move."
"Yeah, I'm glad we got rid of Bucket Guy," Sam said lazily, scratching her back. "He's just weird."
"Do you think that stuff about the Opera Ghost is true?" Kaila asked with wide eyes.
"I don't know, but don't gossip about it, whatever you do," Meg warned. "I know I wouldn't like to be talked about. We all know that this guy gets dangerous when he's angry."
Christine opened her eyes blearily. Oh, why did her alarm clock have to be so evil? Her pillow was so comfortable.
Wait. That cymbal-playing monkey music box wasn't her alarm clock, and those little pieces of heaven weren't her pillows! Christine didn't own a swan bed or thick, black gossamer curtains. Where the heck was she? Christine shivered, but it wasn't just because she was scared.
Her feet were cold. She glanced down and saw that someone had removed her shoes…and those stockings.
Those stockings that Meg said wouldn't come off, the ones that could only be removed if one undid the rubber bands at the top of her thighs.
Great. Just perfect. And now, on top of all that, she had a headache. Christine rubbed the back of her head and was appalled to find an enormous bump.
Soft, beautiful organ music floated toward her. Christine pushed aside the curtains and walked toward it, trying to remember what was going on.
"I remember there was mist," she whispered softly to her self, "swirling mist upon a vast, glassy lake…" There was the lake, its green waters still and fragile-looking. "There were candles all around, and on the lake there was a boat…" Then it all came back to her.
"And in the boat there was a man…"
The Phantom turned from his organ and glanced at her, then returned to his work. Christine walked over to him, marveling at how mysterious he looked, dressed all in black except for his mask. She reached his side hesitantly, but he didn't look up. He looked so into his music.
Christine reached up gingerly and lightly touched the mask. It felt smooth and cool under her fingertips. She traced the edge of the mask, her fingers brushing against his hair. And then she realized that he was looking at her.
The music had stopped. He hadn't moved his head, but was staring at her out of the corner of his eyes, as if he was asking, "What are you doing?" Christine quickly withdrew her hand.
"Sorry," she muttered, looking at her feet. "I…I…sorry."
The Phantom didn't say anything. When Christine finally dared to look up, she found that he was smiling, smiling as if he was trying not to burst out in laughter. He scooted over on the organ bench and she sat down next to him, smiling shyly.
"So…am I to assume that you were responsible for the removal of my stockings?"
He didn't look at her, staring fixedly ahead. She could only see the masked side of his face. "I've never worn stockings, Christine, but I am rather under the impression that they are not very comfortable to sleep in…especially if you're holding them up with rubber bands." He glanced at her, an eyebrow raised.
"That was Meg's idea," Christine said, shaking her head and smiling. "She's eccentric, you know. She made me wear them. She'd probably kill me if anything happened to them."
"Quite insane, isn't she?"
"Oh, yes. Definitely," Christine affirmed. "And she's proud of it. She goes around singing that Queen song, 'I'm Going Slightly Mad.'"
Nobody said anything for a while. The Phantom scribbled on a yellowing piece of paper with a fountain pen. Christine wrung her hands nervously. She wanted to ask him something, but had no idea how to address him. She decided on using the name that was the most familiar.
"Angel?"
The Phantom froze, as though startled by the name she had placed upon him. "Yes?"
Christine opened her mouth to ask him the question, but closed it. Instead she asked him, "Do you have a name?"
Silence met her inquiry. She elaborated, rambling on in her nervousness.
"I mean, Angel isn't your name, is it? Sorry if it is, because, well, I guess Angel's a perfectly good name for a man, even though it's usually a girl name, but that's okay because-"
"Erik."
"Erik?"
"Erik," he repeated calmly. "With a K. Not a C."
Christine mulled this over for a second. Before she could stop herself-
"Erik like Erik the Red? Or maybe Leif Erikson? Those Viking dudes? Are you Scandinavian? If so, that's pretty cool because…oh, well…that's not really my business, is it?"
Erik was watching her with an amused expression on his face. "No, not like Erik the Red or those Viking dudes. I'm not Scandinavian, either. I'm just Erik."
"You don't have a last name?" Christine asked.
"No."
"Why not?" she prompted.
"I don't need one."
"But didn't you ever have one?" Christine pushed.
"No."
"You were born without a last name? Didn't your parents have last names?"
"Yes, they did. I don't have one," Erik said shortly. "You're very nosy, Christine."
Christine glanced down at her feet. "Sorry. I told you before, I've got an insatiable curiosity."
"You were going to ask something before. What was it?"
"Oh, that," Christine said, wondering how he knew. "Um…about that picture. The one of me? How'd you…how'd you know…how could you possibly know what I looked like?"
"I did some research," Erik said, looking at the paper and frowning. He scratched something out. "I found out the name of the musical you were in, the character you played, and the costume details. It was easy enough to make you look younger, and I just imagined the expression on your face."
"I suppose you did have to imagine it," Christine said quietly, staring at her hands in her lap. "I don't really look like that anymore."
"You looked like that last night."
"What?" Christine looked up, confused. "What do you…" She trailed off with a spluttering sound as the events of the last night slammed back into her memory. She moaned and buried her face in her hands. She felt Erik's hand on her shoulder.
"Christine…? Are you all right?"
"No!" Christine heard how muffled her voice sounded, but she didn't particularly care at the moment. "I'm such a freakin' idiot! Walking around, singing some freakishly high-pitched song…and then there was that freaky cadenza thing, and…you must think I'm a freak."
Erik pulled Christine's hands away from her face. "You're not a freak, Christine. You happen to be a very talented singer."
Christine snorted. "Talented, my butt! I'm surprised the walls didn't come down when I was screeching like that!"
"You were not screeching," Erik insisted firmly. He lifted Christine's chin so that she was forced to look into his eyes. "You were able to reach notes far beyond many people's range. You sang them beautifully. They were a little rough because you're untrained, but I will not let you believe that you were screeching."
"If you say so," Christine said disbelievingly. She shook her head. "I'm only supposed to be an alto! I'm not supposed to be able to go that high!"
"Alto? I think not." Erik's words were quiet, yet they contained all the power of a raging hurricane. His eyes blazed. "An alto would never be able to sing that high that well. You've been a soprano from the very start, Christine, and you know it!"
Christine gaped at Erik's sudden anger. She started to say something, but Erik cut her off. "Why don't you believe me? You heard yourself sing. I'm the Angel of Music, Christine, the Phantom of the Opera. I know what I'm talking about."
Christine took a deep breath and let it out slowly. After a long silence she said, "It doesn't matter, anyway. I told you, I don't sing anymore."
Erik shook his head, expressionless once more except for a hint of disappointment. "A pity. You're letting so much talent go to waste. It seems you're bound and determined not to admit that you're a good singer, so we'll just leave it at that. Just stop calling yourself an alto."
He stood up abruptly. "There are some extra clothes in that closet in your room, if you would like to change. Meet me back here when you are finished." He walked away without a backward glance.
When she opened the closet door Christine almost fainted. Erik had more clothes than Meg did, and that was saying something! Swooning, she flipped through all the expensive designer clothing and spent a long time picking out an outfit. She didn't usually flip out over clothing, but that was because she'd had to learn to make do with what she had, not having a lot of extra money to buy stuff. Christine wished there was a mirror in her room; she would have spent about three hours in front of it.
She wondered why on earth Erik would have such a large amount of women's clothing. Did he entertain guests regularly? Did these belong to someone else? Probably not- all the clothes looked brand new. They all fit her perfectly. Christine didn't dare to believe it; was all this for her?
When she finally reappeared by the organ, she found Erik waiting for her with a video camera.
"You're a good actress, aren't you? This should be very fun."
"Well, I'm sure you're you've all been wondering where I am."
"Hell, yes we were!" Meg yelled. The journalism class shushed her before turning back to the TV.
"I've been instructed to tell you that I haven't been beaten, threatened, raped, or harmed in any way. I'm safe…for now," the Christine on the television said. She was tied to the chair she was sitting in, and everything around her was draped in shadow. Meg heard the fear in her voice and groaned. She wished so dearly that she could tell someone about the secret passageway in the mirror. Her best friend had now been missing for two and a half days, and she was beginning to get very worried.
"However," Christine went on, trembling visibly, "if the school doesn't comply with the Phantom's demands, I don't think I'll be around much longer."
Several people gasped. Meg massaged her forehead, her eyes filling with tears.
"Please, please do what he says!" Christine cried, tears leaking down her face. Any calm that she had had before was gone, replaced with fearful desperation. "He only wants a few simple things! Raise the newspaper price, buy some new software, and get a bigger editing staff! That's all he wants! Please, I'm so scared!" Christine paused to take a few shaky breaths, and everyone leaned forward to hear her last words.
"He warned you. The Phantom warned you, and it's almost too late. Journalism suffered first, and we won't be the last! Please help me!"
A/N: I'm alive! I wasn't murdered or anything. I just suffered a severe case of writer's block. Oh my gosh, this chapter was so hard to write! The first part was the hardest because I was trying to work around lyrics.
So…what do you think? Good? Bad? Scary? Sickening? I'm open to suggestions. Please review! I love to hear your comments! Reviews are what kept me going all those long nights when I sat banging my head against the desk. Thanks for all your support!