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.
The lair looked a bit different then when they had left the morning, more disordered. Lenore looked at him curiously.
"Mademoiselle Devlin tried to escape repeatedly," Erik explained.
"Oh? So she sent papers and artwork scattering?"
"No," he said, trying to drop the subject.
"Well then what happened?" Lenore waited a moment in the silence before taking a stab at what had transpired. "She kicked you, didn't she?"
"As a matter of fact…"
"And then you tore the place up in anger rather than killing my friend…that's sweet of you," Lenore said, trying not to laugh at the thought of Kathleen kicking the Phantom of the Opera.
"Yes, I tore things up, after I cuffed her and chained her to the bed."
"You hit her? She's a defenseless girl, how could you? And then you chained her to the bed? Do you have any idea how disturbingly kinky that sounds? If I didn't know you, I'd think you took advantage of her while she was shackled." There was a short pause, followed by a sigh. "That's just…how could you? You're such a brute!"
"Most people would use the word 'monster'," he hissed, spitting out the word 'monster' with obvious disgust.
"That word is meant for animals and beasts, not men," Lenore said with a shrug.
"Ah, but a man can be called a beast, can he not?"
"You put too much thought into things. If I think you're a monster, I'll tell you. In case you haven't noticed, I'm the type that says what's on my mind, no matter how hurtful others may find it," she told him. "So since I didn't call you a monster, I obviously don't think you're a monster. End of topic. Let's have dinner, I'm starved."
Erik shoved her into the bedroom and left to start dinner. Lenore momentarily thought about telling him there was no way she was going to put on a dress for dinner every night. However, the last time she had tried to inform him that dressing up for dinner was old-fashioned, he had politely replied that he was older than her, and therefore her elder. And as such, his wishes should be respected.
I like wearing dresses, just not this much. If I don't wear one during the day, I have to change into one for dinner…how wrong is that? It's entirely old-fashioned, and it's somehow linked to oppression of women, I have no doubt. She pulled her shirt over her head and looked around the bedroom. A crimson dress was draped over a chair and she deposited her shirt on the floor next to the chair, trading it for the dress. This one fits just like the blue one. How is it that he has clothes that fit me so perfectly? Whoever he took these dresses from must have been my size exactly.
She had to wait about a half hour before Erik came back and led her out to eat. "Do you like the dress?" he asked as he seated her.
"Yeah, it's pretty. It fits so well too, it's amazing," she commented.
"I can have another one for you in two days. What color would you like?" he inquired.
"Oh, well, what colors do you have?"
"Any color you wish. I have yet to buy the material," Erik informed her casually, setting a plate with meat and vegetables in front of her.
"Wait a minute…do you make these dresses?"
"Of course, ma petit," he replied, sitting down across from her.
"Then how do they fit me so well? Did you spy on me when I was changing or in the shower?" she said, crossing her arms over her chest as though it would somehow protect her dignity.
"I got your measurements while you slept on your second night in the Opera House. That's why I put you into a deep sleep; otherwise you would've awoken and stopped me," Erik said as though this were the most obvious and natural thing in the world.
"No shit, Sherlock!" she shouted, forgetting to watch her language as she threw her spoon at him. "You lecher! Did you rape me while you were at it?"
Erik dodged her spoon easily (her aim had been a few inches off to begin with), quickly rising and striding over to her. He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her up, then dragged her into the powder room.
"What are you doing?" Lenore shrieked, wondering if he was planning some sort of indecent scenario. When he grabbed a bar of soap and got it lathered up, Lenore realized what he intended. "No, no, I didn't mean it, let me go! I won't say it again! Let me go!" She squirmed in his grip, trying to slip out of his hold. She tried to kick him in the shins, but she couldn't balance on one leg long enough to swing her other foot at him. She tried prying his fingers off her arm, but failed miserably. "No! Let go!"
Erik used her squealing to his advantage, stuffing the bar of soap in her mouth while she had it open in protest. Then he yanked it out, and waited for another scream. He continued to shove the soap in and wrench it back out, effectively coating her entire mouth with soap. When he was satisfied that the punishment fit the crime, he put the soap down on the edge of the sink.
Lenore was crying like a child who had just received a spanking. The taste of soap filled her mouth, and she was humiliated that, as a grown woman, someone could hold onto her long enough to wash her mouth out with soap, and that someone had even deemed it appropriate to punish her in such a manner. And it had been lye soap nonetheless. She kept taking in mouthfuls of water and spitting it back out in the sink, knowing that too much lye in your system could kill you. If she could get the taste out of her mouth, she'd be fine.
Erik stood beside her, waiting for her to finish rinsing out her mouth. His eyes conveyed no emotion over the incident whatsoever, and Lenore wished she could follow in Kathleen's footsteps and kick him. But she knew she'd fall over if she tried, which would just bruise her pride more than it already had been. When she had finally rid her mouth of the taste of lye, he spoke. "Do not give me cause to repeat this episode," he said sharply. "I did warn you about your language before; be glad I only washed out your foul mouth. I could have followed through on my earlier threat and cut out your tongue."
Lenore nodded her head and wiped her tears away, sniffling to keep her nose from dripping snot on her new dress, which was now partially drenched due to her extensive wriggling during the mouth washing. They returned to the table and finished dinner in silence. Just as he was leading her back to the bedroom, she heard a bell ring.
"What's that?" she asked.
"It lets me know when people enter or exit the Opera House," he said dismissively. "It would seem your sister and her friend have returned." Erik took her hand and headed for the gondola.
"I get to go back up again?" Lenore inquired, wondering if he was mentally stable today. Letting her aboveground twice in one day was definitely out of character.
"In a sense," Erik replied as he helped her into the boat.
Erik carried Lenore through the labyrinthine underground on his back; she would slow him down if he let her walk. They arrived at their destination within minutes of having left the gondola, and he stood her in front of him. From their current position, they had a large view of the entrance hall.
"I vas 'oping to speak with Lenore," Felix was saying to Ember, Rosalyn, Patrick, and Sebastian. "Surely 'er meeting is over with by now."
"Um, I don't know," Ember said. "I mean, business talks can last for a while."
"Actually, she'll probably have to have at least one more meeting before sealing the deal, if not more. It really takes a long time," Rosalyn interjected.
"So, that unwanted suitor of yours has returned, ma chouchoute," Erik whispered in Lenore's ear as they watched Ember and Rosalyn attempt to send Felix on his way.
"What does that word mean?" she hissed back. He neglected to answer.
"…you should probably all be going, it is getting somewhat late, and we have to be up early tomorrow to catch a flight," Rosalyn was saying, attempting to usher the three boys to the door.
"Hey, Ember, we got the house and stage areas all cleaned up and thought we might watch a movie," Lily bubbled, appearing in the entrance hall. "There's a place to hook up my laptop backstage, and that huge screen that can be lowered over the stage…it's gonna be just like a movie theater."
"Might we at least watch a movie with you?" Sebastian asked, giving Rosalyn a dashing smile.
"Well…" Rosalyn said hesitantly.
"We were thinking of watching Phantom of the Opera," Lily informed Rosalyn in the hopes of helping her make a decision.
"Oi, that's fitting, ain't it?" Patrick stated.
Within the next minute, the boys somehow talked the co-managers into letting them stay to watch the movie. "Now I can talk with Lenore when she returns," Felix proclaimed with a smile.
Erik wrapped an arm around Lenore's waist protectively, pulling her back against him. He only released her when the company in the entrance hall had disappeared into the theatre. "Would you like to see the show, ma petit?"
"Um…yes?" Lenore responded, wondering what exactly he meant by 'the show'. She hoped he meant the movie, though it was quite possible he was planning to kill someone and considered that a spectacle that might interest her. "It is one of my favorite movies…" she said, hoping to clarify his intentions with that statement.
"I'm glad you like it," he replied, leading her through the darkness once again. "Monsieur Leroux kept poking his nose around, so I finally wrote my story down for him to get him to leave. I never dreamt it would catch on."
"I'm just going to pretend I never heard that," Lenore muttered. "People would tell me I'm crazy if I said the Phantom wrote the novel himself."
"The world takes little convincing to label someone mad," Erik responded. "One brief moment of mental instability will make society believe you are insane; it takes much evidence to prove genius. It's quite ironic. Society searches for genius and at the first sight of it, they are skeptical and do not wish to believe. On the other hand, insanity is unwanted in the world, yet it is found in infinitesimal actions and quickly believed without opposition."
"It is a cruel irony," Lenore agreed as they walked on. Moments later, they exited the dark, hidden realm right outside box 5. He let her go in and sit down first, making certain she couldn't run away from him too easily. Taking his own seat, Erik wrapped his arm around her waist lest she try something stupid, like jumping out of the box.
Lily put the disk into her laptop, waited for the title menu to appear, pressed play, and darted back out into the corridors that would lead her to the box where the rest of the group was sitting. Passing Box 5, she thought she heard voices, but she dismissed it as the movie.
Erik was enjoying this production of his story. He found the cast to be delightful; the girl playing Christine was lovable, with a beautiful voice. The man unfortunate enough to be stuck with the part of the Vicomte was easy to hate and portrayed the Vicomte as an utter fool. And the man playing his part was doing a spectacular job singing the title song. As the actor transitioned into 'Music of the Night', Lenore leaned her head against Erik's shoulder and sighed with deep contentment.
Probing her mind carefully so she would not notice his presence, he discovered that 'Music of the Night' was her favorite song from the movie, and that she cried at the end every time when Christine left with the Vicomte. So you are obsessed with me, my little one. You believe you would've stayed had you been in Christine's place…If you ever see it, you will leave, just as she did.
Feeling eyes on him, he glanced over to the box where her friends sat and found Lily staring at him in shock. She couldn't see him clearly, he knew that for a fact, but she could certainly tell he was there with Lenore.
He looked down at the girl whose head rested against his shoulder, and he noticed she was close to nodding off. "Come, you are too exhausted to stay up much longer," he whispered to her, pulling her to her feet and whisking her away.
Lenore yawned sleepily and snuggled closer to the warmth beside her, not wanting to open her eyes. Finally, she was right up against it. When she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders, her eyes shot open despite her desire to sleep some more. She remembered lying in the gondola on the return to the lair, her eyelids getting heavier as the boat was rocked by the lake. She was in the Phantom's bed now, and that was no surprise to her; it was the fact that the Phantom was in the bed with her that astounded her.
She began to panic, thinking perhaps he had violated her while she slept last night, though she seriously doubted she could have slept through a man making love to her. She quickly noted they were both fully clothed and breathed a sigh of relief. Looking around the room, Lenore saw his mask lying on a table close to the bed. I could see his face…he wouldn't know if I looked while he slept.
Gently pushing herself up enough to see his face clearly, she was disappointed to find the deformed half of his face wasn't visible because of the way his head rested on the pillow. Maybe I can turn his head so that I could see it…just gotta do it slow and gentle. She tentatively extended her hand towards his face.
"Do not even think about it, Mademoiselle," he said, opening his eyes (though she could only see the left one, which glared up at her threateningly). Lenore retracted her hand quickly, realizing that her intentions had been somewhat cruel. She wouldn't want him to look at her legs while she was sleeping.
"Sorry," she apologized, lowering herself back onto the bed. "I'm just curious."
"Curiosity killed the cat, ma chouchoute," he informed her, running his right hand through her hair. She shivered at his touch, a shiver of pure passion, a tremor from the depths of her sexual desire that begged to be satiated. "Close your eyes." She felt him, inside her mind, forcing her to obey whether she wanted to or not. He needn't have worried, for she had every intention of complying with his wishes.
Why do you want my eyes closed? So you can put your mask back on before I can see anything? I want to see you, Erik. All of you. Do you want to see me in the same way? Or do you just wish to see the darkest part of me? The part of me that has given up hope? The part that hides so much, keeping me company only in the dark early hours of morning when I have nothing to think about, nothing to keep myself preoccupied and push these thoughts out of my mind, these thoughts that always come back? Can you see it, Erik? Is that what you want to see?
She barely felt it at first, a light sensation of something touching her lips, just barely meeting hers. Is he…kissing…me? Lenore tried desperately to open her eyes, to see him so that she could be sure this wasn't some dream sculpted by a heart craving love and acceptance. Pain shot through her entire body and the Phantom's presence inside her mind intensified, robbing her of all control. She was now a puppet for him, only moving part of her body if he willed it so.
Quite suddenly, his lips crushed into hers, no longer hesitant. Erik's kiss was aggressive to say the least; she felt as though his lips were ripping her soul from her body and devouring it in the attempt to feed a ravenous, predatory beast that would never be satisfied, a beast that would hunger for eternity. Her heart began to race and flames consumed her body. But these flames were somehow welcome to her; they were not the ones that came to strip her of her life in her dreams. These were the blazes of life, suffocating her and screaming to be put out. Erik's hands, one cupping her face and the other resting at her lower back, cooled her skin, quenched the conflagration, and she wanted him to touch every part of her. She wanted to pull away from him and press closer at the same time, but he had reduced her to a marionette that must wait for the puppet master's command. Lenore groaned into his lips, frustrated that he had stolen her will, her humanity; for his powerful presence governing her entire being made her nothing more than a toy for him.
Sensing her vexation, Erik began to trifle with her senses. The scent of roses, her favorite flower, overwhelmed her nose, drowning her in the heavenly odor. A warm spring breeze frolicked across her skin, lessening the sweltering heat that threatened to consume her. Visions of a rose garden burned the back of her eyelids, and she felt herself slipping from reality into this garden he had created to spare her the feeling of helplessness under his control. Music, dark and seductive, filled the garden, drifting to her reclining form on the warm breeze. In his garden, she was once again in control of herself. She reached out a hand, touching the roses that surrounded her. She thought of standing, to look out over the entire paradise he had provided her. Rose vines snaked up into the air and twisted together over her prostrate body, confining her in the most heavenly cage. The gentle wind found its way in through the petals, bringing her that enticing music, and Lenore could swear she was no longer breathing oxygen; rather she drew the blood-red flora of love into her lungs and sustained life from the tender petals.
"What are you doing to me?" her mind called softly, battling against the euphoria Erik had submerged her in. "Where am I?"
"You are where I have sent you, the edge of heaven. Nothing can touch you here, ma chérie. You are safe," his voice responded soothingly. "Relax; listen to the music of the night."
"This is the music of the night? This is what you hear?"
"Bien sûr, Mademoiselle," his lyrical voice replied.
Somehow, she knew the meaning of his words, knew that he was confirming her suspicion. "It's so beautiful, Erik." She knew that wasn't the right word. She couldn't begin to describe the beauty of the musical genius that caressed her ears with any words known to man. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, reveling in this realm Erik had gifted her. The back of her mind kept trying to tell her something, but she ignored it. Nothing could be as important as the sinfully delightful music that Erik was sharing with her. But her mind would not be so easily dismissed.
You're giving in! The darkness will ravage you. Don't listen to the music of the night, you'll only end up hurt. When he finishes feeding off you, he'll cast you aside. Just like Casey tried to. You could see through Casey, but you can't see through Erik. He's blinding you with ecstasy. Open your eyes!
No, you're wrong. The darkness is my friend, and the music is my inamorato. Maybe Erik is feeding off me, but he won't cast me aside. He's not blinding me with ecstasy, I don't have to open my eyes to your supposed truth.
Lenore, he'll never love you like he loved Christine. You'll always be 'second best', nothing more. Christine was his angel of music; you can never be that. Your voice is too low to sing as she did. And you're ugly, he's only playing with you because he knows men have neglected you. He's trying to gain your trust in a rather ignoble manner, and you're giving in to him.
You're wrong…you have to be. I'm not just 'second best'…am I? I know I can't sing like Christine, but I don't want to be like her, she left him. And he wouldn't kiss me if I was ugly…would he? He doesn't have to gain my trust; he already had it to begin with. You're a liar, don't talk to me.
She silenced the part of her mind that protested indulging in Erik's creation of paradise. The music of the night dominated her hearing once again, and she sighed in contentment. Slowly, the scent of roses left her. The breeze that cooled the consuming flames stilled, and the garden disappeared. The music of the night faded from her hearing, and she opened her eyes to find Erik on top of her, the mask once again hiding his hated deformity. Lenore could not explain why, but she began to cry.
Erik took her in his arms and consoled her, assuring her it would be alright. He knew what caused her tears, even if she did not. Now that she had heard his music, and given in to it, she could not bear to be without it. "I will let you hear it again, ma chouchoute," he whispered to the sobbing girl in his arms.
Lenore looked up at him, tears staining her cheeks. "Now. I want to hear it now, Erik," she begged.
"No," he said firmly. "Perhaps this evening, if you behave yourself today. Dry your tears and get dressed." He left her to make breakfast and he could not help but smile. Unlike Christine, this girl welcomed the darkness. You are what your name suggests, Mademoiselle; you are light itself. But light cannot exist without darkness. Darkness is the master, and light, the slave; for if darkness ceased to exist, light would have no purpose. Some people might argue that it was the other way around, that light created darkness, therefore making darkness the slave. But the truth was that light created darkness so that light would have a purpose to serve. It had created its own master, chained itself in servitude to its creation.
Returning to the bedroom fifteen minutes later, it seemed to be empty at first. Then he saw her, sitting in a corner in the blue dress, her knees hugged to her chest as she trembled. "Lenore, are you well?" he asked, walking over to her.
"June 10th today," she whispered, her eyes staring off into space.
"Yes…" he agreed, wondering what significance that had.
"Bad day…bad day," she said. Lenore began to rock back and forth slightly, tears in her eyes, and Erik feared for her mental health. Entering her mind, he was assaulted with chaotic images that darted away before he could truly see them. One image kept reappearing; flames in the darkness, that recurring nightmare that haunted Lenore. He retreated from her mind, assuming this was the anniversary of the traumatic experience that she hid. It most likely had occurred within the last few years for her to react as she did.
Erik knew he needed to keep her preoccupied, keep her mind from lingering on the trauma. Pulling her to her feet, he took her out into the lair for breakfast. She picked at her food the entire time, not really eating much at all. When he had finished eating, he took her plate, knowing she wasn't going to protest as she had no intention of partaking in the meal. He then led her over to the organ, sitting her on the bench.
"Do you know how to play, Mademoiselle?" he inquired.
"I can read sheet music," she replied. "And I can play the melody, though it's painfully slow for me to work it out."
He rifled through the stacks of his work and pulled out the most complicated melody he could find. "Try this," he suggested. "Do not ask me a single question; you will know if you get a note wrong. Concentrate on the music." After he was sure she was immersed in the music, he slipped out of the lair.
Ember sighed as she walked back into the Opera House. The rest of the gang had returned to America, including Rosalyn, who was going to finish packing and shipping their things overseas. Well, it's just me, Erik, and Lenore now…not like either of them are very sociable. I could call Patrick and ask him to come over, but I don't know if that's a good idea…Felix will want to come over and see Lenore. I can't keep coming up with meetings that prevent her from seeing him. Opera is a difficult business, that's for sure…If I remember correctly, the Opera House has a stable; maybe I should check its condition. I could get repairs done and shop around for some horses.
Ember reached into her bag and pulled out the blueprints she had obtained from Monsieur Beaumont, finding the location of the stables and setting off. She had no difficulty whatsoever following the map, and, taking all the correct corridors, she reached the stables in less than five minutes. She entered, amazed at how clean it was; it was in perfect condition from what she could see. She noticed there were two horses in the stalls, and a dark figure was saddling the chestnut mare.
"Oh, are you and Lenore going somewhere?" she asked the Phantom casually, as if she saw him every day.
"Your sister is not well today, Mademoiselle Parker; she needs an outing to keep her mind off certain events," he responded just as casually.
"That's right, it's June 10th," Ember muttered, walking over to the stall. "Don't worry too much, she'll be fine tomorrow. She just gets a little weird on the anniversary of the accident. Like last year, she wouldn't eat anything all day. And the year before that, she couldn't sit still. She kept sitting down to do something and walking away from her project five minutes later."
"What happened to her that affects her so?" he inquired nonchalantly.
"Well, if she hasn't told you herself, then I'm not gonna tell you either, cuz it's not my story to tell. But, she almost died…that's why she has psychological issues on the anniversary," Ember offered, watching him bridle the horse. "So where are you two going?"
"The Louvre," the Phantom responded. "I've been looking for an occasion to see it for the past one hundred years or so, and your sister's health is just the sort of reason I need."
"The Louvre?" Ember repeated. "You're going to go out in public? In the daytime?" The Phantom merely raised an eyebrow at her in response. "You realize you're going to stick out in those clothes, don't you?"
"My clothes will not be what draws people's attention, Mademoiselle," he mumbled darkly.
"Well, yeah, the mask too…but you could at least put on more modern clothes. It would help a bit," Ember suggested.
Erik pondered once again how that girl had managed to get him out of his Opera House. One minute he had been refusing to leave, the next he was sitting in a cab with the stubborn wench.
"How's it coming?" Ember called from outside the dressing room.
"As well as can be expected," he replied tiredly. These Parker girls will be my undoing…
"I have to see it on you when you've got it all on, okay?" Ember reminded him cheerfully.
"Tell me, Mademoiselle, is your entire family obsessed with me, or is it only yourself and Lenore?" Erik inquired. Ember had tried repeatedly to get in the dressing room with him, claiming he might need help with the pants.
"Well, if my brothers are obsessed with you, I certainly don't want to know about it," she replied. "You sure you don't need any help?"
"The only help you could provide would require you to be silent, something that you seem rather incapable of," Erik informed her, finishing with the last button on the shirt.
"Well, someone's a bit less than sociable today," Ember muttered.
Erik emerged from the dressing room, terribly uncertain about her choice of clothing. He disliked the short sleeves on the shirt, and could not quite understand the purpose of the shirt underneath being emerald green. Not that the undershirt was much of a shirt to begin with, as it lacked sleeves entirely.
"Okay, first thing's first, no gloves," Ember said, walking over as he removed his gloves. She began unbuttoning his shirt. "The whole point of the emerald green tank top is to show it, which you can't do with this black shirt buttoned up. How do the pants fit? Too tight around the waist?"
"Why do I need these dreadful breeches? I can assure you they won't last half as long as the ones I have now."
"You need them because they're modern. I can't help it that they're poorly manufactured. Stop complaining, and tell me how the pants fit."
"They're too tight."
"Around the waist?"
"No, Mademoiselle."
"Oh," Ember said, glancing down briefly. "We'll try a size bigger then, shall we?" With the graceful moments of a dancer, she hurried over to the rack and checked sizes before procuring another pair of pants. "Try these."
A few minutes later, he was ready to be assessed by Ember once again.
"Alright, how's this pair?" she asked.
"They fit," he responded simply.
"Well, you're going to have to beat the ladies off with a stick, Erik," Ember said in approval.
"Why would I need to attack women?"
"You won't have to if you can run fast enough…" Ember mused. "Think I could come along with you to the Louvre?"