Somehow, Erik felt his feet firmly planted on the walking platform, then suddenly one, then both were on nothing and were sinking, there was a splash, his eyes instinctively closed, and it was chilly all over. Only for a moment did he panic, seeing as his own lake gradually deepened, but he quickly reminded himself how to swim and pushed up to the surface. There wasn't much better up above. More stares. Again.
"Seriously Gerry, what's your problem today?"
For once, it wasn't Joel who was scolding him, it was a different, very British voice. Emmy told him that most of the crew was British, but the only people who really had a right to speak up like that were Joel and Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Andrew Lloyd Webber? He's the one who's done it! He wrote this thing about my life and now it's going to be a motion picture over 100 years in the future. How? How does he know anything about me? I'm not in history books or on that Google thing that Emmy showed me….well, I am on Google, but all of the information refers to me and everyone I knew as a fictional character that never existed. No, wait…even Andrew Lloyd Webber didn't come up with the fictional idea for me, others did before him…those horrible movie clips….but it all dated back to a book. Who wrote that? It doesn't matter, I think he's long since deceased. Emmy told me that Webber's musical was entirely different from any of them. It took nearly a century after the original book was published to get it right? HOW did he get it so right though?
"Well? Bloody hell man, can you not talk either?"
"I just fell in, alright! I apologize!" Erik snapped, climbing back on the walkway. A familiar small hand helped him up. Emmy still had that pitying look on her face, but now it was genuine.
"We were good until there, just start with the circling camera at the kiss," Joel instructed one of the cameramen and the guy with what Erik called the clacker.
Clack. "Pitiful creature of darkness…."
Get a hold of your senses, Erik. It's not even her. It's a silly girl from the future….or another dimension…. or from an insane fantasy in your head….who's playing Christine's role. She's doing this because it's her job. So is Chagny—Patrick, I mean. Everyone here is in it for money to make an artistic, fictional production. So play your part and STAY STILL.
When Emmy's lips touched his, it felt as if he was freezing and melting at the same time. Thankfully, this made him unable to move (and therefore, not fall over again) while at the same time, he was giving a true reaction as a grown man who had only been kissed once—and was now reliving that moment. It seemed to last both forever and for only a millisecond for him, like stopping time and then fast forwarding. It took him a few seconds to realize it was over.
He expected the clack, but other cameras were simply powered on, focusing on Emmy's face and his. Thinking quickly, he worked up some tears and remembered what he had to do.
As it turned out, pretending to distraughtly give up Christine in the name of love was harder than he imagined, since he hadn't actually done it before and known what it was supposed to feel like or why he was even doing it. Hell, he had just been kissed by an exact copy of the woman he loved, he was much too happy to act like his world had fallen apart.
These are partially forced tears and partially tears of joy….my face can't possibly be showing the right emotions….and of course, Joel's looking at me strangely. Wait, that's because I'm looking at him! Dammit…
"Cut! Ok, let's uh..just take that part again. I didn't see much crying …."
"I assure you, I was trying my best," Erik said quickly, but Joel just waved at him dismissively.
"It's fine, happens all the time. Someone give him artificial tears!"
Artificial tears…what kind of era is this that NEEDS artificial tears?
Soon enough, a middle aged woman ran up to him with a tiny bottle, instructing him to lean his head back. Hesitantly, he did so, waiting for something to happen.
"Look up," she said. He did.
Plop. "Ah!" he winced, blinking furiously and trying to focus. Just when he could see again, she let another drop fall into the other eye. Soon, his eyes felt wet and he was tempted to rub them, but reminded himself of the purpose of the drops.
"Ok, let's shoot this again before they dry up," Joel said, and they began filming again.
/
Christine and Gerry relocated themselves to inside the elephant from Hannibal, where they waited for what seemed like an hour, listening to conversations down below. Thus far, they had not discovered much.
"I already knew they were going to be after me, the question is when and how?" Gerry muttered impatiently. Suddenly, he heard some footsteps and then a familiar voice.
"Our resident Phantom will be much easier to catch than before now, trust me. He's completely out of his wits!" Raoul announced to the other men who had been talking. Interested, Gerry and Christine leaned out of the elephant to look down at the stage.
"Well, yes, he's a madman, we knew that much," Firmin huffed.
"No, I mean he's more insane than before. When I went to rescue Christine, he started ranting in a strange, simple, unintelligent dialect, talking about men I have never heard of before and acting as if everything was some kind of joke being played on him. He wasn't even sure of who Christine and I were."
Andre stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Very strange indeed!"
"A joke? He's the one playing tricks on us! This must be some kind of ruse to make us think he will be easy to catch…" Firmin said.
"Maybe, but I doubt it. He appeared truly lost and confused," the Vicomte said, almost sympathetically. "But he still has Christine hostage. We must save her."
"Well why the hell didn't you save her yourself when you were down there?" Firmin snapped, throwing his hands up in frustration. Clearly embarrassed, Raoul looked down.
"He had me bound, sir. He had a rope around my neck and was going to kill me unless Christine chose to be with him forever. I told her not to throw her life away for mine, but she agreed anyway, and kissed him—though I thought that was rather unnecessary…"
The other men cringed at the idea, except for the chief of police, who merely furrowed his brows. Gerry rolled his eyes and scoffed.
"I'm not that disgusting, come on…"
Raoul continued, "After that, he acted as if he had no idea where he was or what was going on. Once he decided he had some sort of concept of the situation, he forced me to leave."
"We ventured down there, armed, after Madame Giry showed us the way, but they could not find his lair. If you lead us down there, we can catch him," said the policeman.
"He has an iron door blocking off the lair."
A stagehand chuckled as if this was a mere trifle. "Then we shall blow it up!"
"Christine is still in there!" Raoul protested. "I at least have some hope of her survival as it is, with that monster holding her captive because he claims that he loves her and will not harm her. But if you bring explosives down there…no. Absolutely not."
"What are we to do, then?" Andre asked worriedly, wringing his hands and looking around at everyone, searching for ideas. Raoul started pacing.
"I honestly have no idea."
Then, a woman in a conservative black dress walked onto the stage with the men, the strikes of her cane on the ground echoing in the massive, domed room.
"Madame Giry," Andre greeted her, tipping his hat. She simply looked at him before addressing the group.
"Have you yet found Christine?"
"No, madam. We could not even find the place where she was taken. The Vicomte found her, but he was unable to save her. Now he says that the criminal's lair is blocked off, with no way to safely get through it. I'm very sorry, there seems to be nothing we can do for now," said the police chief regretfully. Madame Giry looked strangely calm for a woman whose adoptive daughter was trapped underground with an obsessed murderer.
"I know the Phantom very personally. Believe me, he will not harm her," she said cooly. The men all gave her strange looks. Raoul sputtered.
"What? Are you saying that you have no reason to be alarmed? She's like a daughter to you, is she not?"
"Yes, but that does not mean she is not in safe hands. I know the Opera Ghost is very much in love with her, and has been for years. I tried to convince him to leave her alone, but he insisted that he would protect her from all harm. As you know, he has already done so."
"What do you mean? He has her kidnapped!" Raoul gasped.
"Are you speaking of all the incidents that have happened here? Were they all for Christine's benefit?" Andre inquired. Madame Giry nodded.
"Yes. The notes, Carlotta, Buquet, everything. I do not condone his methods, but everything he did was to help Christine reach her potential."
"How exactly did killing Buquet in the middle of a performance help Christine?" Firmin demanded.
"Buquet was a special case. He constantly blamed his own foolishness on the Phantom, scared my ballet girls with stories, and even went searching for him. Still, Erik-"
"Erik? That's the monster's name?" a stagehand asked interestedly. Madame Giry ignored him.
"Erik may not have hung him if Buquet had not been leering at Christine and the other girls so. Erik told me that he found a hole in the wall of Buquet's room, where he watched the girls changing. I honestly cannot say I shed any tears for that man."
"Forgive me, but honestly I do not care about his 'honorable' motives. He is an extortionist, a thief, a kidnapper, and a murderer, and he must be stopped!" the Vicomte shouted, looking to the others for support, which they gave heartily with sounds of agreement.
"You will find that stopping Erik is not so easy as you believe," Antoinette warned.
Firmin pointed an accusing finger at her. "You're helping him, aren't you?"
She looked insulted. "Of course not! I have given you valuable information, have I not?"
Pulling Firmin back, Andre tried to talk sense into him. "She's on our side, Richard, we need her."
Firmin jerked his arm away from his co-manager and glared at Antoinette. "Fine. But she still seems a little too sympathetic towards this Ghost for my taste."