Chapter 12: Opera Populaire, Paris, France, 1881

Christine Daaé fell into the dark pit and landed hard. She yelped as her feet hit the ground and her ankle bent awkwardly under her body. Immediately she begun to rub her right ankle, wincing.

"Perfect." Christine muttered, "Haven't even been back home a full day and you are already getting into trouble Lotte. Antoinette will never let here me hear the end of this."

As she spoke, moonlight trickled in through an unseen opening. She looked around her, the soft light showing her the area in which she had fallen.

The walls had been bolstered with tall, narrow mirrors that had been arranged in an odd geometrical fashion. The glasses weren't completely flat against the walls, however, and they poked out in random places as if they had shifted then suddenly stopped. She quickly guessed that she had fallen somewhere under the opera house but she did not recognize the surroundings.

"Where am I?" She whispered half to herself, half to the walls reflecting her form in the semi-lit space.

A chilly draft blew from cracks in the walls and a foreboding sensation of danger crept upon her. The eeriness of it caused Christine to shiver unwillingly. Immediately, as if in unspoken response, she heard a burdened creak and the mirrors began to ease into motion. Christine gasped, sitting upright, but unable to stand as her ankle throbbed more and more painfully. The fastened mirrors began to spin and whirl in a counter-clockwise motion, accelerating to a seemingly uncontrolled speed.

Christine convinced herself not to panic. 'It's probably an old prop room…I'm sure there's a way out…'

She watched the glasses continue to reel around her and became dizzy. An odd red gleam, shined from above her and instantly Christine felt warmth filter stealthy into the room. The uncomfortable tingle of heat soon became stifling and Christine blinked, trying re-focus. She could see herself in various reflections on the walls and her own frightened features stared back at her, sending further dread into her being.

"What in the name of heaven is all this?" she murmured, still at a loss. As if things couldn't get any stranger, another prominent noise resounded and a looped rope fell inches from her face.

"Ah!"

Her shriek echoed back into her ears, and she instinctively jerked back. The rope swayed back and forth harmlessly in front of her. Despite her relative motionless state, however, her vertigo continued to worsen. The heat had intensified and the rope's pendulum motion caused vague hypnosis. The looped rope continued to hang and Lotte suddenly wondered what it was for.

The loop was wide and slack but it appeared it could be tightened by tugging a loose end and in turn, pulling the coiled part around the loop to make it smaller.

'What an odd apparatus…it appears very strong and durable…I wonder where it's hanging from…'

Young Daaé yanked on the rope but it remained fastened to the ceiling. To what exactly, she couldn't tell. Something very strange was at work behind the odd mechanism. The mirrors reflected the red light's glow directly onto her face and Christine began to sweat. She swallowed back the fear that had begun to well up in her throat.

'I have to get out of here…'

Christine bit her bottom lip, shifting her weight to bring her legs out from under her and stand. Her ankle instantaneously resisted, pounding pain up through her shin with every heartbeat. She bore down however and grabbed the rope above the loop and around the tight coil. The pain around her foot was sharp but she managed to pull herself up, distributing pressure on her left leg.

Still grasping the rope for support, she watched in horror as the room turned from dank and dark to a bloody red hue. Sweat poured from every pore and her corset began to stick to her ribs. Her mouth ran dry and her pulse thudded in her ears.

Then it struck her. Christine realized this was not an ordinary prop room. Who or what had orchestrated the room didn't matter to her at the moment. The Opera Populaire had once in ages past been a prison, trapping and holding horrible secrets. The old opera house's horror stories flooded upon her and she knew there was no escape.

She screamed. "Help! Help me!"

Her voice already sounded harsh and hoarse in her ears, but she yelled louder.

"I'm trapped!"

The mirrors, if possible, began to spin faster and hissed as they whizzed past, tormenting their captive. Ignoring her injury, she dropped to the stone ground and crawled to the closest wall. She hit them with her fists, disregarding the danger of the sharp-edged glasses.

"Let me out! Let me out!"

Sweat poured into her eyes and burned them, causing tears to form and swell. "Help! Aide! Aide!"

'You're stuck here Lotte…welcome to your death…' mocked the imaginary demons watching her from every corner.

She cried, collapsing to the ground once more. The heat was threatening to drive her mad and she was getting thirsty… thirsty…water. She would do anything to get out…anything.

Christine then knew what the strange rope was for and why it was fastened so tightly above her.

'Hangman's noose…your only mode of escaping…before it gets any worse…'

"God save me…"

Madame Antoinette Colette de Beaumont Giry had never been an overly pious woman, but at this moment she was praying to every holy figure she could think of.

It was an hour or so past noon-Antoinette had long since forgotten the time-and Christine Daaé was no where to be found. No one had even seen her. At first, this had not worried Giry as many opera house attendees were barely able to walk from their overzealous merrymaking, much less recognize a young woman who had just arrived the afternoon before. But the time ticked by and not even the kind managers-only mildly sober-but nevertheless somewhat attentive had seen the curly-headed damsel.

The chapel had long been abandoned and Antoinette had looked in every place imaginable. She stormed down the decorated hall leading to and from all the offices of the business-oriented staff. The staff members had been unhelpful and she was running out of options.

"Pour l'amour de dieu where is that girl?" she muttered under her breath.

'Have you truly looked everywhere?' A disquieting hum buzzed in her mind, 'What about underneath…'

"Ridicule!" she replied to herself, "He couldn't have taken her..."

'You think so, Madame?' her thoughts taunted.

"Erik n'est pas stupide," she frowned, becoming more and more engrossed with her own silent musings, "He wouldn't suddenly appear after a decade and-"

The woman's self-directed tirade abruptly ended as she bumped into something firm.

"Oof!" she said, quite unsophisticatedly.

"Oh! Forgive me!" A pleasant male voice cried, instinctively holding Antoinette's arms to keep her from falling on her rear. "I did not see you there…Madame Giry?"

The ballet mistress glanced up to see the bright blue-green eyes of Raoul de Chagny.

"Vicomte? What are you doing here? " She asked, surprised sat seeing him at the Opera Populaire so soon after the gala.

"I came to see you actually. I wanted to apologize for my…behavior last night. I was rude and for that I am very sorry, Madame." Raoul chuckled dryly. "Please forgive my ungentlemanly words and such. The Countess wasn't as interested in me after the incident. My pride suffered I'm afraid."

The Madame looked up at him incredulously. 'Well this unexpected…' She pulled herself out of Raoul's arms and smoothed her dress, trying to get her scattered thoughts in order.

"Erm…of course Raoul. It's understandable you were upset. It was your first night as patron."

"True. But I should have shown you of all people a little more courtesy, Madame. I've known you since I was a child." He bent down and kissed Antoinette's hand politely. "I assure you I will focus on bettering myself in the future."

Madame Giry couldn't help but smirk a gentle grin. Raoul de Chagny was so…charming. She couldn't refuse him even if she actually cared about what happened the night before… which in fact she didn't, since the only thing on her mind at the moment was Christine.

"Cela absurde! You have too much to think about besides apologizing to an old ballet mistress. Bien sûr vous êtes pardonné."

"Merci, Madame," Raoul sighed in relief, bowing once more to Giry, "And you are not old. You are an angel."

"Bêtise," Antoinette blushed modestly, "I am at your service. It is splendid that you have returned to your old playground, Vicomte."

"Oui, indeed. I have many fond memories of the old building." A flicker of sadness seem to pass before the man's young face as if he remembered something that troubled him. Antoinette noticed but said nothing.

Raoul shook himself out of his reverie quickly and turned back to the woman. "Well, Madame I do believe I feel significantly more relieved to know that you do not hold my immaturity against me. Dare I push my good fortune and request that I may accompany you to your destination?"

The ballet mistress hesitated. 'If only you could, my dear…'

"That's very kind of you Raoul but-"

"Mother! Bénir le ciel au-dessus vous êtes bien!" A blonde-headed female suddenly came bounding up from the hall behind de Chagny. "I have been looking all over for you."

'Oh l'humanité…could this day get any worse for me…' Antoinette thought, 'Meg of all times why now?'

"Meg!" Raoul exclaimed genuinely surprised and he turned to smile brightly at the young woman. "Both beautiful Giry women with me at the same time? My fortune is better than I previously thought."

Marguerite Giry, after sharing the same surprise as Raoul, bobbed a curtsy. "Monsieur le Vicomte… I wasn't expecting you here."

"You will just have bear my presence I am afraid." de Chagny teased bending over in a bow and kissing Meg's hand as he had done with her mother. "And call me Raoul, if you please. We are old friends are we not?"

"Yes, I'd like to think so." Meg said smiling prettily. She hardly noticed her mother there for a fleetingly second looking into those turquoise tinted eyes…

Antoinette Giry was too shocked to move. Here she was looking for Christine, who in less than twenty-four hours had managed to disappear into thin air after she had partially lied about Erik. Now, her daughter and the Vicomte were looking into each other eyes in a fashion that made her uncomfortable. Sure, they had had a childish fancy for one another when they were young but it was a childish attraction…was it not?

The Madame coughed a bit to grasp hold of the odd circumstance she found herself in. Raoul's and Meg's loced gaze was broken and Meg turned anxious and confused once more. Before she could voice her concern however, Raoul spoke.

"Now, what is this I hear about thanking heaven your mother is fine? Is there something I should be worried about?"

"I…well…um…" Meg stumbled, looking at her mother for assistance in not revealing Christine. Antoinette just gave slight shake of her head in response. "I hadn't seen her and was just…curious as to her well being. You can never be too protective of your parents, Raoul." Meg rambled.

The Vicomte furrowed his brow not understanding the awkwardness between the two women.

"Indeed." He said not convinced.

Antoinette tried to salvage the situation before it turned a foul corner. "Everything's fine. I think we are just a little tired from last night's festivities."

The older Giry moved as unobtrusively as possible past Raoul and slipped her arm through Meg's. "We had better tend to the corps de ballet before it gets too late. Shall we see you during Il Muto tomorrow evening?"

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it if the very demons of Hades tried to stop me." Raoul smiled softly, though more careful and watchful of the ladies' reactions. He bowed again.

"Au revoir, Madame…mademoiselle."

"Au revoir." the Giry's replied in unison.

When Raoul was out of earshot, Meg tugged on her mother's arm causing them both to stop abruptly.

"Mother, what is going on? Where is-"

"I don't know." Antoinette curtly replied.

Meg's pupils widened. "But I thought you said she was in the chapel!"

"She was until this morning. I was looking for her when I ran into the Vicomte. She's no where to be found, Meg." Madame Giry sighed tiredly; worry becoming visible as her brow wrinkled.

"You don't think-"

"No." Madame said a bit too harshly cutting off the girl. "He couldn't have. Not so soon."

A pregnant pause filled the air. Tension was building by the moment and Meg hesitated before she spoke, her breath becoming short. "And if he has?"

Antoinette drew in a ragged breath. Her response was barely audible.

"Then may God forgive me."

Erik strained to open his eyes. He saw shadows dancing on the rock ceiling above him as the many candles flickered in his abode. The cold, stone ground dug into his back and Erik shivered, his body strained and exhausted. A moan reached his ears that sounded both pathetic and pitiful. His head pounded and his throat felt raw and swollen. He swallowed and moaned again. Painfully slow, he rolled on his side, forcing himself to get in the upright position.

"Uh…"

He groaned and his eyesight blurred before him as he managed to sit up. Every part of him was either numb or screaming in pain. He couldn't feel his legs, his arms felt as if they were tied down, his head was swimming and his throat and stomach felt odd…

Before he knew was happening, Erik felt a foully bitter taste fly from his mouth and the contents of his stomach emptied onto the ground next to him. He cursed when he regained his breath and scooted away from the inwardly expelled substances.

'Should of thought twice before dumping morphine down your throat…' a scolding voice whispered 'Maybe now you'll learn to control your emotions…'

Erik managed to spit and he willed himself to stagger to his feet. The world was still spinning uncomfortably, but he was no longer entirely disconcerted. He stumbled to his nightstand and sipped a half-drunk glass of lukewarm water. It cleared his head a bit and Erik felt a bit more stable. His mask hung haphazardly on his face and he removed it, knowing it was probably ruined.

A putrid smell reached his nose however and he grumbled as he thought about the pile of previously contained fluids on the floor. His head still hurt but he cleaned up the stuff rather quickly for a man who had just been indisposed a few moments before.

Erik abruptly stripped of his cloak, dress jacket, vest, and shirt, all of which he had left on during his mad dash to the medicine cabinet. None of the articles were in the least bit tainted, amazingly, and his trousers were just dusty from lying on the floor. Setting these things to the side, he chose to revive himself in the freezing water of the lake.

Afterwards, he dried and put on a fresh, crisp, undershirt along with a simple pair of brown pants. Thus refreshed, he strode behind his back organ to retrieve a spare white mask molded and attached to a similar mold of his scarred face.

Sitting down on his bench, he held the white half-mask for a moment staring blankly at his hands. His mind however was not on the mask. He was not thinking about the white, pale, bloodless object before him but the sight of a vivacious child. She had plump red cheeks and an infectious smile. Her brown curls were unruly and falling into her wide, innocent eyes…

1871

"Erik! Erik!"

A girl's voice called to him, a penetrating noise into his peaceful world of sleep.

"Erik wake up!"

A groan escaped his lips as his senses finally awakened to the fact that someone was taking away his rest.

"I heard that! I know you're awake…" The girl taunted from behind the heavy curtain that separated his bedroom from the rest of the lair.

"Five more minutes…" Erik mumbled.

"No! I'm not falling for that trick again!"

Erik was sure her voice had raised several octaves. He stuffed his pillow over his ears.

"Go away Christine…"

"Erik," He could almost see the nine year old put her hands on her hips in annoyance. "Maman is waiting for us and if we don't hurry we'll never get to go!"

"Oh well!" Erik shouted back. "It's not like you haven't been to market day before!"

"Why you rude, temperamental, thoughtless, insensitive…" The little maid paused searching for the right derogatory term, "… rogue!"

Erik rolled his eyes from under his fortress of blankets and pillows.

'She's been studying that stupid thesaurus again...'

"Nice try Christine. I am not getting up."

The young teen heard the girl stamp her foot angrily.

"If you don't get up right now I'll…I'll…."

"You'll do what?" Erik mocked.

"I'll…paint your mask… pink!"

Erik burst out laughing. "And how do you suppose you are going to do that? My mask is right here on my nightstand…"

He peeked out from under his pillows to glance at where he had put his mask the night before, on his nightstand…then he remembered he had left it… out there.

"Oh no…Christine…."

"Oh yes…" Christine snickered from the other side of his curtain. "Your mask is perfect for-"

Erik couldn't hear the rest of her sentence. He had ripped off his sheets and vaulted out of bed.

"Christine!"

Erik yanked open his privacy curtain. He stood menacingly over Christine, his right hand covering his exposed face and his left hand held out demandingly. Christine smirked, an evil glint in her eyes. She toyed with Erik's plaster mask in her hands, transferring it from one palm to another. Erik watched it hang precariously in Christine's possession, despair filling him as he imagined it falling and cracking into unfixable pieces. It had taken so long to make it fit perfectly…

"Give it back!" he shouted.

"After you get dressed!" Christine spat back, pointing to his bare chest. Erik had rushed so fast out of his room he hadn't bothered to pull a shirt on.

"I am NOT going with you!" His temper was rising, and his patience wearing thin. "Give me my mask!"

"No!" Christine's stubbornness was aggravating him to no end. "You promised!"

"I CHANGED MY MIND!" Erik's voice vibrated throughout the underground causing Christine to jump back instinctively…he watched the mask slip from her fingers…

Erik shook out of his memory with a strange feeling stealing over him. It was…fondness. Yes, Erik in the consciousness of his past emotions still felt a close, friendly bond. A rueful, humorless smirk crept into the corners of his mouth. How easily he had slipped into remembering her when only hours before he had collapsed in shock.

But why? Why did she matter to him anymore? Why did he feel the sudden urge to see her again?'

'I was nothing to her…just a childhood playmate….deformed and moody…with only the caves as a refuge…Why would she remember me?'

"ERIK!"

The Phantom nearly toppled off his organ bench. Terror struck him with full force. Someone was calling, no, screaming his name…

"ERIK! ERIK!"

The sound was shrieking through the catacombs, echoing hauntingly in every dark corner. It suddenly registered that it was a woman's voice….and it was very, very real. This was not a cruel trick instigated by his mind.

"ERIK!"

The voice screeched in horrific desperation. Erik immediately jumped to his feet and scrambled into his gondola in a blur of flesh and clothing. He snatched his pole and rowed with vehement enthusiasm.

The gate lifted before him in a pre-set mode of mechanical engineering and Erik sailed across the lake with unnatural speed.

"NO! Pitié! Pitié!"

He wanted to shout that he was coming, to hang on, but the words stuck to his vocal chords. Despite his furious pace the edge of the lake was still a distance away and the gondola refused to go any faster.

"Je ne veux pas mourir! Je ne veux pas mourir!"

The words struck Erik's core with horrendous fear and he froze…if this voice's person was in danger….

'The traps…'

The Phantom of the Opera lost all sense of dignity and leaped from the boat to the water. The frigid water hardly came up to his chest and he ducked his head under the surface without second thought.

The plunge was sudden and ruthless, and the water broke before his arm strokes in fearful submission. The hard foundation of stone finally slammed into Erik's bare feet. He scrambled onto the cold, smooth bank gasping.

Erik was soaked to the skin. Brown water dripped off of his body in rivulets and he had begun to shiver as the constant wind blew through mercilessly. He didn't notice. He stood rigid, dread filling his soul as he was at a loss. The passage directly in front of him ended a few yards from the lake with a choice of right or left. Which trap were the pleas coming from?

The voice hadn't screamed since he fled the boat. Then, a strangled cry reverberated into his sensitive eardrums.

'Left…'

He bounded into that hall, the various possible traps going through his mind. But instinct led him forward…under the Grand Foyer…to the torture chamber of mirrors…

The outside of the edifice was shadowed in a cloak of evil gloom and fissures in the structure revealed a ghastly red light. A fierce, hot wind blew into Erik's face. He heard nothing now except the revolving mirrors buzz as they spun. There was without a doubt someone in the small room.

Erik pushed the surface, the mechanism folding inwards under his touch. The mirrors moaned as they slowed and the red light faded.

The Phantom of the Opera was no longer breathing. His green eyes focused on a heap of white and gray cloth and colorless skin. The pile was shaking uncontrollably and inhuman sounds came from it.

Erik realized the noises were moans and sobs. He couldn't move towards the person. After his frantic rush, his muscles were unmoving. In dismay, Erik watched as the body shifted.

It lifted its head… chocolate curls framing a pale face. Wide, dull-shaded irises of indescribable fear locked with his bright, emerald ones.

Her lifeless lips moved. "Erik…"

Erik's heart stopped and his voice cracked in terrified shock. "Christine?"

A/N: Translations: Aide!= Help!, Pour l'amour de Dieu=For the love of God, Ridicule!=Ridiculous!, Erik n'est pas stupide=Erik is not stupid, Cela absurde!=That's absurd, Bien sûr vous êtes pardonné.=Of course you are forgiven, Merci=Thank you, Bêtise=nonsense, Bénir le ciel au-dessus vous êtes bien!=Thank heaven above you are safe, Oui=Yes, Oh l'humanité=Oh the humanity, Au revoir=Goodbye, Pitié!=Mercy, Je ne veux pas mourir!=I don't want to die!