I needed a piano.
I needed my Christine.
I needed to do something.
Being alone was driving me mad. Of course, I did enjoy parts of it. The silence was most welcome in my mind. However, after 3 weeks of stilling in silence, I had grown tired of it.
I missed my little darling. I wanted to hear her laugh. See her smile. Dote on her every waking moment. I would have given anything to just see her cry as she had done so many times at night. The poor girl suffered from tragic nightmares. And when she woke in the night, screaming and in tears, I would hold her close and assure her. Oh I would give anything to have that back.
A thought occurred to me one day. I was becoming desperate. I needed to be near my angel. I needed to hear her sweet little voice and be able to teach her like I was doing before. The thought came to me as a sick joke of sorts, but I soon began to consider it: just move into the opera.
A ridiculous thought, so it seemed, to move back into the sewers just to be close to the girl. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.
"I would live in that cavern I used to live in." I was talking to myself, a rather unfortunate habit I picked up in my crippling loneliness. "Then I could watch her from those passages within the walls. There's also that piano I have down there that I could use to write my opera."
So within a few hours, I had packed up my belongings into a black bag and moved into the sewers beneath the opera house.
Everything was as I remembered it. The organ on one wall. The piano on the other. My gorgeous bed in the shape of a majestic black swan that I had assembled out of boredom. My desk was still littered with old sheet music. The blood stain from when the gypsies found me and beat me harder than they had ever done before was still there.
Ah home.
Not wanting to waste any time, I threw my by belongings down on the bed (which let out a bunch of dust) and I raced back up the dark passageway to locate Christine.
It was past midnight. I expected the opera to be silent as a graveyard but it was as loud and festive as a wedding celebration. Everywhere I looked, someone was rehearsing. The chorus sang loud ballads. The ballerinas were repeating the same steps over and over again. Even the stagehands were going over the changing of the different sets.
To my horror, I found Giry off in the corner of the theater instructing Meg and Christine on proper dance technique. My Christine should be in bed at this hour.
Oh that Giry will hear from me about this.
Not wishing to make myself known to them just yet, I watched and waited. Eventually, Giry took the two girls back to the Opera House dormitories. The two girls had small beds shoved off into the corner of the room. Their belongings were hidden beneath their small beds in hopes that no unwanted stage hand who was looking for spare change would wander in and see their trunks.
The sight made me furious. My Christine should be treated like a princess and here she was in some damp, dusty room filled with scandalous dancers who would often entertain the stage hands.
This was no place for a child.
Well a cage wasn't a good place for a child either. Or a sewer…Or a cage…Or Persia…
I watched Christine prepare for bed and snuggle into her thin bed sheets. Meg soon followed after her. I then watched those stupid dancers to drink enough alcohol to make them pass out which, to no surprise, took very little time.
I didn't want to call attention to myself. I just wanted to watch her. But fate loves playing with me.
"Papa...papa…"Christine said as she tossed and turned frantically. "Papa...don't leave...Erik...please come back…"
Christine said my name. She was calling for me. Of course she also called for her late father, which I expected, but I will take what I can get.
"Christine…"I whispered, trying to lull her back to sweet dreams. "Christine it's alright…"
"Erik...Erik...my papa…"She said still asleep, tears streaming down her face.
"You're safe, Christine."
Christine continued to cry. Since I was unable to take her into my embrace to comfort her, I felt hopeless in the situation. Christine was too good to cry the way she was. Then, a thought occurred to me.
I began to sing.
It was a soft and sweet lullaby, one that Christine had actually taught me. It was a Swedish song that her father used to sing to her.
To my surprise, it seemed to work. Her tears stopped and I swear I saw a little smile creep across her lips.
And so it continued for weeks, months even. I rather enjoyed living in the sewer: one of my best homes. Every once in a while, I watched the Opera House perform my arias and concert pieces every few weeks which was rather entertaining. Most of my time was spent watching over my Christine: dying her tear; singing her to sleep. I wished with all my heart to take her into my arms and hold her close. But I was unable to.
Weeks passed. My compositions became more and more popular every day. And every day I would work more and more on my opera in the time when Giry was watching my Christine. I was still furious at Giry for taking my darling Christine away from me. And my opera accurately reflected these feelings.
I loved my little Christine. She was perfect: beautiful outside and in. In a few years, she would be a perfect little wife that I would pamper and spoil with everything a fine young woman would want. With such beauty and grace and that heavenly voice that she possessed, I thought I had fallen in love as much as I could with her. I was proven wrong.
"What are you talking about, Christine?"
"I'm telling you, Meg." my little darling was saying, "I hear music at night. I know it's the angel of music my father promised me."
"Are you sure it's an angel?" Meg said, "I heard rumors from the other older girls. They hear whispers from no one in the hallways. Items keep disappearing from the stage. They say it's the Phantom of the Opera. Maybe he's the one who's been singing to you."
"No." Christine said, innocently sure of herself, "My angel's voice is sweet and loving. Almost familiar. He's no Phantom."
She called me an Angel. Her angel of music. My heart was sent into a panic. I felt myself falling in love with the girl all over again.
Giry, of course, ruined everything as she always does.
"I know you're here, Erik." Giry said, alone in a corridor one night. "Show yourself."
"Pesky woman, leave the Phantom alone." I told her, making my voice echo across the walls.
"Of course monsieur 'Phantom' because I am just your puppet, correct."
"Right you are, Madame. Now do what I say and leave me be."
"I will leave you alone if you leave the rest of the opera house alone. You're scaring the manager's half to death."
"The managers are staying in business because of the rumors revolving around me. Composer or ghost: people are fascinated with me. I see no harm in a few pranks and whispers through the halls."
Little did I know that my decision to stay would result in the death of two stagehands, a 10 year man hunt and my own hands strangling my Christine.