Hey Guys,
I'm sorry that it has been forever. I am going to keep trying to write and thanks to Grim Reapers Daughters for becoming the nagging voice in my mind (That is an honest compliment) that I needed to push through and update. I must say, I will be moving somewhat slowly, but I am determined to be more proactive. Summer homework can wait a little longer. Apologies for any errors, feel free to PM/Review with corrections, comments, criticism, and compliments!
Much love,
Alihob
Chapter 10
December 17, 1883
Erik's Journal
The Opera House is now empty…All of the workers and performers have gone on their holiday vacation while I sit, continuing my work on Don Juan Triumphant. It is dark and cold, not that usually bothers me. I simply remember the nice warmth I would feel around…. Anyway, she is gone and probably never coming back, like my Christine. My Christine has left me for that fop de Chagney. The next time I see that boy, I will Punjab him so fast, so that neither Christine nor I will ever have to see his dreadful self again.
I digress… As I said, the Opera House is now empty. The quiet is very soothing. I have been composing greatly.
I had become too used to the idea that someone cared. So, now I feel a hole in the shriveled thing inside my chest. I pace around my home, unable to release my emotions
Wait, I hear a noise from above. Light footsteps.
To be continued…
Erik flipped the book shut and began the journey upstairs. The halls were darker than usual, being that there was no previous need to climb up. He climbed up the fights of stairs up to the surface world. He had not scene the surface after the Opera was sent on break. He wondered who would be able to get inside; the managers, Madame Giry, perhaps Little Giry.
He soon reached one of the doors he installed in the wall. He clicked the switch and let it slide ajar. Erik strode through, silent as dust on the floor. He slunk down the twisting hallway towards the source of the noise.
To his surprise, he found a little girl covered in snow. She was shivering and seemed tired and worn. Erik took a step forward towards his former protégée. At the moment his foot touched the ground, she swung around to look him strait in the eye. Her frown turned into a small, melancholy smile.
Erik, still hesitant about the situation, stood motionless. She took a small step forward before flying into his arms. Erik stumbled backward, clutching Lucy in his arms. He opened his mouth to scorn her for her rash behavior, but soon closed it feeling her hot tears seep through his shirt. Cradled in his arms, he lifted the tired Lucy and carried her down to his home.
Lucy fell victim to her own emotions yet again. She returned to make him apologize for his immature and brash behavior, but in seeing him, she lost drive. After living with her grandfather for a month, who lives in isolation, she craved the noise of the city. Occasionally, though she would never admit it, she missed the ballet rats.
Erik situated Lucy in a soft armchair and placed her cane next to it. Lucy began furiously wiping her tears from her face, until her cheeks were red and sore. Erik sat across from
"What brought you back."? Lucy stared at her hands for a while before she answered, "I spent a long enough time in the middle of nowhere, and you can only spend so long listening to my grandfather's stories…again. Lucy's expression sunk into a melancholy smile, watching while Erik brewed some tea.
"Chamomile?"
"Of course." Erik learned that chamomile was her favorite with a spot of milk and two sugars. Too sweet for his liking, but he enjoyed pleasing her. Something in Miss Lucille struck a pleasant chord in him. Her life seemed so simple, so harmonious. She, for the most part lived an average life.
"Erik, I appreciate the pleasantries but we are not at ease. Do not take this the wrong way because I do admire an appreciate everything you have done for me, but…what you did to Monsieur Buquet is unacceptable and unbefitting of a man such as yourself. You are talented and intelligent and can be…something, anything. Just, do not kill anymore, please?" Lucy lifted her eyes to his "Please Papa, I love you."
Erik stood back and let her words sink in, "I love you." After what seemed like eternity, he finally heard those words, and not from a previously expected source. He dreamed of Christine sharing those words with him and had wished that his mother whispered them to him before bed. Never in his life would he have believed that he would here the words from such a young thing. She trusted him and was honest with him. He could see that she cared for him but was drowning in internal conflict due to his actions. If she was going to care, she needed to care about him as a whole, present as well as past.
"Lucy, I want to tell you a story…" And he did. Erik told her his story, a milder, less graphic telling of his story. He would not permit himself to forget her age. He told her the story of his days with his mother, and how she forced him to mask himself; how he ran away and was forced into slave labor by gypsies, being made fun of every night; how he was hired by the shah of Persia; how he wound up here, in Paris, five levels below the surface. He opened himself up, forced himself to be vulnerable. He wanted her to know why he did what he did. Perhaps some day in the future, he would fill in the details, but for now, all she needed was the synopsis.
Lucy was silent throughout the tale. She did not move until Erik made his final statement "I promise you, I will try to restrain my…habits, I make no guarantees when in comes to people I care about, people I love." Erik stared at her as she slowly stood up, balancing without her cane and wobbled over to him. Erik caught her as she stumbled toward him. Lucy looked at him, her eyes soft and melancholy, "Oh Papa, just be careful. I couldn't stand to lose anyone else. I want you to be there so I can make you proud, so you can see me grow up and become a lady."
Sitting Lucy on his knee, he chuckled "Ah Lucy, what a fine lady you will become, although I struggle to picture you as an obedient housewife."
"Never."