First off, I don't own Phantom of the Opera, I only wish I did…(and naturally, characters might be ooc at some point, terribly sorry, just send me a message complaining if that happens and I'll try to fix it.
Secondly, my fic takes place in present day, and the Phantom is immortal (there's more about that to be revealed later…much later). If you don't like that/don't agree with it/don't want to read it, well, you've been warned.
Thirdly, if I make a mistake, be it in history or contradiction with something from the movie/musical and/or book, let me know. I don't mind being told I'm wrong, that way I can fix it and not look like a huge idiot. This bit also applies to French phrases. I will be using them. In most cases, they're very common phrases, or they will be explained shortly after they are said. If it is not explained in the story, I will put a little section at the beginning to tell you what the phrase(s) means (unless it is purposefully meant to be unexplained, which will be a very rare thing).
Lastly, reviews will be much appreciated. They will encourage updates, for as long as I can manage it. (Please please please please write me reviews ppl…I really like to hear from you ppl.) I regret to say that I'm a college student, and when I'm home for summer and other breaks, I can't update as regularly (I may not be able to update at all) due to limited internet access. But I will get your messages over the summer, and will try to reply to everyone. Thank you so much, now on to the story.
Rosalyn didn't know what had possessed her to hide in Lenore's closet, but she wanted to confront the Phantom personally and she knew he wouldn't come out of the woodwork if she was sitting on the bed waiting for him. She had heard noises a few minutes ago, someone sneaking into the bathroom, which she assumed to be Ember, probably with the same intentions as Rosalyn.
Rosalyn just about had a heart attack when the door to the closet slid open and the dark figure stared at her in confusion for a brief moment before wrapping a hand around her throat.
"Don't move," she heard Ember's voice hiss from the darkness behind the figure. "I have a gun, and I know how to use it, Monsieur."
"Shoot me then, Mademoiselle. Your sister will die of starvation, lost in the underground," the Phantom chuckled darkly.
"If my sister's really alive," Ember bit back.
"Lenore is safe, I assure you. You should concern yourself with Rosalyn's well-being at the moment."
Rosalyn, for her part, was seeing blackness on the edge of her vision. She couldn't get oxygen into her lungs, and she was seriously beginning to believe she would die right at that very moment.
"What do you mean?" Ember snarled.
Rosalyn was dragged out of the closet by her throat and positioned in front of the Phantom as a shield. "Foolish girl, really. Hiding in the closet to confront me, unarmed. You, Mademoiselle Parker, at least had enough sense to arm yourself."
"Let go of Rosalyn," Ember ordered, her gun trained on the Opera Ghost.
"Or what? You'll shoot me? I suppose it wouldn't surprise me all that much if you sacrificed Lenore's life for your friend."
"What are you talking about?" Ember said, wondering why he would even insinuate that she cared more for Rosalyn than Lenore. Besides, if I know Lenore, she'd rather die than let one of her closest friends be murdered.
"You know very little of your sister…but that is not my concern. You would do well to emulate her example. She obeys me, most often without question. Surely you know what happens to those who find it difficult to follow my instructions." Rosalyn clawed at his hand desperately, hovering on the edge of consciousness. "Perhaps you need a reminder."
"If you let go of Rosalyn, I'll let you go…on one condition," Ember said in a rush, hoping he didn't truly mean to kill Rosalyn to prove his viciousness.
"You are in no position to be bargaining, Mademoiselle."
"All I ask is that you bring Lenore up to see us once every week or so," Ember explained. "Just so we know she's still alive."
"I might see fit to comply," he said evasively. "You should cease negotiations; your friend will die if you keep me much longer."
Ember lowered her gun and the barely conscious Rosalyn was thrown into her arms. The Phantom turned and removed the blue dress Lenore had met them in, draping it over his arm. "We can't pay your salary, you know," Ember informed him, not sure why she was even bringing it up. She vaguely remembered it was due today, but he had not asked for it, so it seemed ridiculous to remind him.
"Your sister will pay the debt in companionship until the first performance. After that, I will expect to be paid with francs."
Ember merely nodded her head and dragged her friend out of Lenore's room.
Lenore awoke to the sounds of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. She found Monet in her arms and smiled. It was sweet that he would go to the trouble of retrieving her teddy bear. She also saw the dress he had given her laid out on a chair. She slipped out of the bed and walked to the doorway, poking her head out of the room. She figured it would be acceptable because the majority of her body was still in the room.
He sat at the organ, producing the soft, slow second movement of the piece with such ease. He made it look simple, as if the organ played itself and his fingers merely went along with it. Just as he reached the end of the second movement, Lenore stepped timidly out of the bedroom, staring in wonder at the musical genius that was being displayed before her. The third movement began, and she stood where she was, enraptured at the sound, despite the stormy feeling of the end of the piece. When he finished, he sighed rather audibly.
"Can you not follow simple instructions?" he inquired.
"What?" Lenore said, slowly returning from the trance the music had drawn her into.
"I specifically told you not to leave the room without my permission," he explained, turning to her and shooting her a withering look.
She tried her best to be inconspicuous, to blend in with the background and not be seen, but it was doomed to failure. The Phantom always saw her more clearly than she wanted; it seemed she could only make herself invisible to the people that she wished would see her. Clutching Monet tightly to her chest, Lenore determined that the best course of action would be to apologize.
"I'm sorry, it was just so beautiful, I couldn't help myself," she replied, her eyes lowered in humility. Her parents were suckers for that penitent look, and it was about time she found out what she could and could not get away with around him.
"Do you think me stupid, girl?" he spat. "Those deceptive eyes do not fool me. There is no acceptable excuse for you to be out here, and apologies lacking true remorse for the misdeed do not right the wrong."
Lenore felt horrible. She couldn't even begin to describe it. She felt lower than dirt. She had been foolish to believe he wouldn't see through that penitent look she pulled to get her out of trouble with everyone else. She slunk back into the room like a whipped puppy.
He considered denying her breakfast as punishment for disobeying him, but the more he thought of about their little argument, the worse he felt. Lenore had merely come out of the room, appreciating his ability. But standing there, looking at him, she had reminded him forcibly of Christine before she had approached him and torn away his mask, exposing the monster underneath.
Then Lenore had tried a child's trick to weasel her way out of trouble, and he feared he had overreacted to that as well. Though she was of an age that she should be mature, he had the distinct impression that something had held her back from letting her reach that state, sufficiently leaving her between being a girl and being a woman. Lack of male companionship might account for it, or perhaps her home life was to blame. He could not say until he knew her better.
When he entered the bedroom, he found her sitting on the bed in her blue dress, eyes examining the room for lack of anything better to do. She kept her silence rather than greet him.
"Are you hungry?" he finally asked to break the silence.
"Yeah," she whispered softly, as though afraid he would scold her again at any moment.
"The correct response is 'yes'," he corrected, offering her his hand as a signal to rise and follow him. She stood hesitantly, slowly taking his hand, acting like she expected him to strike her.
He led her out of the bedroom, and he noticed that she stared at the floor and touched nothing until he brought her to the table. He seated her, as any gentleman would, before providing her a plate of eggs, bacon, and a croissant, as well as a cup of coffee. Sitting across from her, they ate in silence, until she finally broke it.
"What's your name?" she asked. "I mean, you know my name, but I don't know yours. And if I'm going to be staying with you, I should at least know your name."
It couldn't hurt to give her his name, could it? Usually, the only time you think something isn't a problem is when it turns out to come back and nail you. But she made an excellent point; manners dictated that he at least give her his first name, if nothing else. "Erik," he replied, hoping it wouldn't be a mistake he'd regret.
"It's a nice name…not something strange like Lenore," she commented. "Did you know that my name means 'light'? It's like a cruel irony, seeing as how I avoid the sun like the plague."
Erik knew she was trying to make conversation, but he had never bothered to learn what his name meant, and he didn't really care either. Knowing the meaning of your name served little purpose in life, as far as he was concerned. "You do not avoid light, however," he said conversationally. "You find darkness alluring, yes, but you do not understand what darkness truly is. Light is something you still cling to."
Silence overtook the two again after his last comment. Why can't he be nice? I'm just trying to make conversation…I guess it's not his fault that he hasn't had to make conversation for years, it stands to reason he'd be a bit rusty at it.
"I am not 'rusty' at conversation, Mademoiselle. You merely have to select the right topics," Erik said, a smirk crossing his face at her surprise.
"How did you….are you telepathic or something?" she demanded.
"I find it to be a useful talent; it makes it much easier to intimidate people when you can get inside their mind and find out what truly scares them," he replied casually. "For example, you fear death more than anything else. Your second biggest fear is loneliness, but it is equal to your fear of rejection, thus successfully trapping you in a vicious cycle. You attempt to make new friends, but every time, you hide your true self from them for fear of rejection, allowing no one to get close and leaving yourself, in fact, alone."
"So…how often do you invade my privacy and peek around in my head?" Lenore snapped angrily.
"Rather infrequently, actually. You reveal your thoughts to me if I ask the right questions."
"Fine, I'll just speak another language," she muttered darkly.
"What purpose would that serve?"
"You wouldn't understand my answers then."
"I'll just reach into your mind and find the translation for what you say, Mademoiselle."
"You're just a…a…rapscallion!" she said, infuriated. He raised an eyebrow, mostly due to her choice of insult. "Yes! A rapscallion! An unscrupulous, dishonest person."
"I would like to debate the accusation of being dishonest. Have I ever lied to you?" Erik asked, truly amused with this girl.
"Alright, fine, you're not dishonest, but you're most certainly unscrupulous, you can't argue that!"
"Just because my morals are different from yours does not mean that I lack them, ma petite," he chuckled.
"You find this funny, don't you?" she snarled.
"Je suis désolé, Mademoiselle," Erik said, "but you are rather entertaining when irritated."
"What in the world did you say?"
"Je suis désolé, which is an apology."
Lenore was close to just stomping away like a child, going back to the room to sulk, but she didn't want to let him get the better of her. As she thought about it, she began to wonder why exactly he needed her to buy her friends' silence. Surely he could have let her go and just threatened the lot of them with death if they ever spoke of it to anyone. They might not even know anything; if he had taken Brad off to kill him, then Ember and the others would think that Lenore and Brad were lost in the underground. "Am I just here for your amusement?" she inquired, her eyes promising death if his answer proved to be false.
"I have already told you, you are here to buy your friends' silence," Erik told her with a careless shrug. "Also, I graciously have allowed your companionship to serve as compensation for my salary until an opera is performed and you can actually afford to pay with money."
What? He's letting my company take the place of money? It must get very lonely down here…
"You have no idea, girl."
"Don't do that!" she commanded, turning red. She didn't even want to think about all the things she didn't want him to know that he could see if he was poking around in her head.
"What is it you hide?" he asked her knowingly. "There is something in your mind that you will not let me see."
"What I hide is none of your business, Monsieur. Do not expect me to tell you; you hide behind your mask, let me hide behind mine." Lenore found herself tired and developing a headache, which didn't quite make sense to her at first. But thinking back on it, she had a rather stressful time within the last twenty four hours. Having Brad drag her into the underground where she feared for her life, seeing what remained of Ellen, getting yelled at for leaving Erik's room, and now bickering with him. "I'm not feeling well; I'd like to go back to bed."
"You haven't finished breakfast yet," Erik said, noting that she'd only eaten about half of the food on her plate.
"Fine, I'll go by myself," she snapped, springing up and turning on her heel, heading for the door. She was surprised that he didn't jump up and prevent her from leaving, but she continued on back to the bedroom. Lenore was not about to wait for him to be ready to take her back; after all, she wasn't a little kid who needed someone to hold her hand and watch her every second. She reached the room and flopped down on the bed like an angry spoiled child, and fell asleep moments later.
Erik stood in the doorway, staring at her as she slept. His mind was probing hers, trying to get into that little portion she had blocked him from. What can you possibly have to hide from me? Why can I not see anything regarding your family life, or the past few years for that matter? She could only be blocking them if it was something she did not want to remember or could not remember. It seemed rather unlikely that she had hit her head and gotten amnesia, so it was more probable that what she hid was a combination of suppressed memories and things she did not wish to recall.
Despite the fact that she was asleep, the barrier around that part of her mind was still too strong for him to break through. Most people lost control over the barriers when they slept, but it seemed she was determined to hide things from him. Perhaps your dreams will provide me insight…
Erik hated slipping into people's dreams. It was rather uncomfortable, because he had to link his mind with his target's subconscious, forcing the same feelings they had in the dreams upon him. He abhorred losing control of part of himself in that manner. Regardless, he slowly slid into her dreams.
As her dream began to take form around him, Erik first noticed the smell of smoke. It stung his nose and burned his lungs, as he knew it was doing to Lenore at this same moment. The smoke was quickly followed by a scorching heat, and flames flickered in the darkness of her nightmare. Fear began to consume him; the fire was inescapable and death was imminent. Why do you not run? If it frightens you so much, Lenore, get away from it.
The dark nightmare shattered around him, bringing him back to reality. Lenore was sitting up in bed, sweating and gasping for air. Her eyes darted around wildly, examining the room several times over as if to assure herself that the fire was only a dream and nothing more.
Lenore realized now it had been a dream, but when she had been asleep…She was there again, the last place she ever wanted to be, trapped and helpless to save herself. But this time the dream had been somewhat different. She had felt someone with her, sharing in her fear. Her eyes finally came to rest on Erik standing in the doorway, who was slightly out of breath and staring at her curiously.
"Don't ever do that again," she hissed furiously, knowing he had somehow invaded her dream. Tears stung the corners of her eyes, but she wiped them away, hating herself for letting that nightmare get to her. As much as she wished she could blame her tears on Erik's invasion of her privacy, she knew that wasn't it; perhaps it was a small part of it, nothing more.
"When did that happen?" Erik inquired, making sure to keep himself from sounding as curious as she knew he was.
"When it happened," she responded vaguely.
"It is unwise to keep something so traumatic bottled up inside. You should talk about it with someone. Tell me about it," he commanded, coming into the room and sitting on the bed next to her.
"I don't talk about it to anyone, not even my family. There's no way I'm telling someone I barely know," she replied, wishing he would just drop the subject.
"Tell me," Erik repeated, though this time his voice was soothing, trying to coax her into disclosing her secrets.
"It happened, I lived through it, and it's in the past. End of story," Lenore said firmly, silently praying he would leave it at that.
"If it is in the past, why does it still haunt you?"
"It's none of your business!" Lenore shouted angrily. "I don't ask you about your past, I'd thank you not to pry into mine!"
"My past is much longer than yours and would take a good deal of time to discuss. You've had twenty short years of history that you hide from me, and I intend to know it. What is it that has made you this bitter creature incapable of trust?"
"I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours," she said, gesturing to his mask. She knew he would never show her under his mask, and that gave her the security of never having to show him her own secrets.
Anger flashed in Erik's eyes, and without another word to her, he stood and strode out of the room in a huff. Great, I made him angry…again. God, why do I have to feel so bad for making him angry?
As if she had anything as grotesque to hide! The nerve of that girl! All women were vicious creatures, searching out the monsters of the world in the effort to kill them with heartless words and cruel actions. Erik was tempted to sit down at his organ and pound away his anger and frustration, but he would not subject Lenore's ears to such torture. He was standing a few feet from the bedroom door when he heard her footsteps.
"I did not give you permission to leave the bedroom," he hissed, turning to face her. She flinched, standing with her eyes glued to the floor. But Lenore seemed determined to say something and would not retreat. Her deep alto voice surprised him when she began to sing:
I don't know if I've ever been good enough
I'm a little bit rusty, and I think my head is caving in.
And I don't know if I've ever been really loved
By a hand that's touched me, and I feel like something's gonna give
And I'm a little bit angry, well
This ain't over, no not here, not while I still need you around
You don't owe me, we might change
Yeah we just might feel good.
I wanna push you around, well I will, well I will
I wanna push you down, well I will, well I will
I wanna take you for granted. I wanna take you for granted, yeah, well I will
I will
I don't know why they ever would lie to me
Like I'm a little untrusted when they think that the truth is gonna hurt me
And I don't know why they couldn't just stay with me
They couldn't stand to be near me
When my face don't seem to want to shine
'cuz It's a little bit dirty well
Don't just stand there, or say nice things to me.
I've been cheated, I've been wronged,
And you, you don't know me, yeah, well I can't change
I won't do anything at all
I wanna push you around, well I will, well I will
I wanna push you down, well I will, well I will
I wanna take you for granted, I wanna take you for granted, yeah I will, I will
Oh but don't bowl me over
Just wait a minute. Well it kinda fell apart, things get so crazy, crazy
Don't rush this baby, don't rush this Baby, baby
I wanna push you around, well I will, well I will
I wanna push you down, well I will, well I will
I wanna take you for granted, yeah, yeah, yeah
I wanna take you, take you, yeah, well I will, I will, I will, I will
I will, I will, I will, Yeah, yeah, push you around,
I'll drag you down, I wanna push you around
Well I will
"It's their fault," she whispered softly. "I can't trust because of them. 'Them' being family and friends. I started closing off when I was eleven; by fourteen, I didn't trust anyone or let anyone in. It's been good so far; I haven't been hurt. Anyway, now you know who is to blame for my lack of trust. That's all I intend to tell you, so be satisfied." She turned around and returned to the bedroom, leaving him puzzled as to why she would come out and explain anything to him when she had been so adamant about not disclosing information to him mere moments before.