A/N: Hello! It's time for Chapter Three! Erik doesn't have a large part in this chap, but he's officially in the story! I like this chapter quite a bit and I hope you do too, thanks to my Phantastic reviewers and those who added this to their favourites/alerts list! I really hope you like this chapter!
Chapter Three: The Opera Ghost
I remember nothing after I lost consciousness, but when I came to, I was alone in a dimly-lit room, lying on a cot with a blanket drawn up to my neck. I was really cold as the window was open - part of me wondered what great genius did that- and I had begun to shake again when Sixty danced out of nowhere.
"You've been out for a long time, girl." She said in her faint Valley-Girl accent and I gave her a smile.
"How long?" I inquired and she rested her chin on her hand, thinking.
"I'd say at least eight hours." She replied and I groaned.
"Then why am I still here? I didn't know you could black out in dreams." When I said this, she bubbled up with laughter like I'd told the best joke in the world. "What?" I asked testily and she shook her head, her laughter fading.
"You still think it's a dream?" She asked and I nodded, making her burst into another fit of giggles. "Girl, I may lie all the time, but just so you know, this is not a dream!" She exclaimed before standing up and fading away. I groaned as it made me frustrated when she just left without any warning. It was then I heard the sound of wings flapping and I looked to the window, smiling lightly when Goblin flew in.
"I could've sworn that they left the window closed when I left." He mumbled under his breath before hopping off the window sill and onto the floor. He had a slimy, black mass clenched in his talons and my heart started beating faster. Noticing my distress, Goblin attempted to reassure me. "Oh don't worry, dear, it can't hurt you." He told me gently but I was still afraid.
"I don't like Sycamore's Things." I said in a shaky voice as he gobbled up the large, black rat in one gulp.
Allow me a moment to explain, if you will, for it has come to my attention that not everybody knows just what a Thing is. Well, remember when I told you how I had three 'friends' that never change? Good, you remember. Anyway, I also had many 'acquaintances' that changed as often as can be, some only being seen once, and others coming back after years of lying dormant.
Things were basically this, except that there were a large number of them, and they were always, always black rats. Sycamore was the person who commanded them, and they were usually my punishment if I failed to comply with the tasks she gave me. I'm still deathly afraid of Things and the imaginary pain they put me through.
They can speak, but when they do, I don't want to hear it. Their voices are a hiss, like a vile snake that makes my ears bleed and the things they say are so horrible. They told me bad things, like Sycamore bad but not quite. They tell me what they'll do to me if I don't listen to Sycamore, and it's what scares me the absolute most.
Goblin likes to eat them when he can. He's my knight in feathered armour when he does and he saves me from their voices, but in the dead of night when he is far away, the come for me and I am alone. Lately, they've not been around and you won't hear me complaining, but it only makes me more afraid of when they come back.
"Must you eat that in front of me, Goblin?" I asked with disgust as he cleaned his talons.
"I apologize. In the future I will take great care in staying as far away from you when I feast on a Thing, my dear." He told me with a smile. Goblin is a good friend; I knew I was very lucky to have him.
"Thank you." I replied and he nodded. Suddenly, I sat up, still feeling like Hell, but way more alert. "Disappear." I told Goblin and he did so when I heard a creaking noise. "Who's there?" I asked. I got no reply, but I knew someone was watching me.
My hearing has always been fantastic, and it was thirty-five seconds after I asked when I heard the sound of retreating footsteps, so light it would take years to be that graceful, but they were distinct against the silent backdrop. I felt the feeling of being watched recede as I attempted to find sleep again, but my heart was racing too fast for I knew who was there. The Phantom of the Opera.
I wanted to meet him more than anything, but I was also quite scared. This man was a murderer, a cold-blooded murder who hung people from a bloody Punjab lasso! I forced myself to calm down, and even tried to get Goblin to come back to no avail. I tensed a little bit when he didn't fly through the window like he always does.
That's when I heard it. The sound that I hoped I'd never hear again.
Allow me to cut in again, I do apologize but this part of my story does bring up a rather strange point. Many of you may be wondering just how I am able to differentiate between what my warped mind conjures up and reality and for the most part, I have trained myself to do so. My 'friends' – the Perm's as I like to call the ones who stick around for a long, long time and the things alike- are always fuzzy around the edges, and whilst most of them look like real people, they have a blurry aura that gives them away. Also, the noises they make are a tip-off, as they sound hollow and empty, like someone is shouting down a long corridor.
Anyway, back to my story. Where was I? Oh, yes, thank you.
The sound was dull, low and ringing off of the fabulous acoustics in the room. My heart stopped beating for a millisecond when I hear her voice in my ear.
"Persis, my darling Persis…" I cringed at Sycamore's name for me. She never called me Annika like my other 'friends' did. Even the Things called me Annika but no, she called me Persist, but she never told me what it meant.
I tried to tune her out, honestly I did, but when I did not reply immediately, a searing, clawing, biting sensation erupted in my brain. I howled in pain and clutched my head, trying to make it go away but it didn't, not for close to sixteen seconds.
"That's a warning Persis." She whispered, but did not come out. I knew she was hiding from me, and this was no surprise considering I'd only ever seen her once in a dream. She was too cowardly to show herself, she didn't like talking to me face-to-face, she preferred to linger in my mind where I couldn't fight back.
"What do you want?" I asked but only another scratch to my brain was her reply.
"You know very well what I want, Persis! What have you done!" She shouted so loudly it almost broke my ear drums.
"I don't know!" I exclaimed out loud. I'd never been very good at keeping the conversations in my head.
"You must have done something! Where is the hospital?" I didn't know the answer to her question and it seemed to displease her. "WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FORYOURSELF?!" I didn't know how else to reply, so I said what I did and I'm glad that I said… er- thought it, while I still had the courage to do so.
"Burn in Hell!" Was my response and just as I was preparing for another scratch, the door on the far wall was thrown open and Sycamore fled my mind in a puff of smoke. From behind the door, Meg burst along with a gaggle of giggling girls in poufy white dresses.
"Vous voyez! Elle est bien réelle!"(You see! She is real!) Meg cried to the hoard of girls behind her and I was very thankful that they didn't hear my little argument with Sycamore.
"Come on Meg, play fair, speak English!" I exclaimed and she laughed, moving closer to me. The other girls just stared blankly, but one laughed along with the blonde.
"I am sorry Mademoiselle, how rude. I wanted to show you to my friends, however. This is Giselle, Colette, and Lynn." She introduced and the three nodded. I looked to the left at the girl who laughed and gave her a smile. She had curly brown hair and a beautiful face.
"Who is she?" I asked and she smiled back.
"My name is Christine Daae." The girl said in perfect English with just the hint of an accent in a feather-light voice. She was so beautiful; it was hard to hate her for breaking the Phantom's heart.
"My name is Annika." I replied and she nodded.
"You're quite the source of gossip; there isn't a ballet rat who doesn't know your name." She told me with a grin. I couldn't believe that I was all that interesting, but I guessed that dreams were what you made them to be. I didn't have time to say more because, as if on command, my stomach rumbled and I realized just how hungry I was. Meg seemed to have heard it because she immediately flew into action.
"Lynn, délabré à la boulangerie à la fois, obtenir de meilleurs croissants Mme. Havisham et dépêchez-vous de retour!" (Lynn, run down to the bakery at once, get Mrs. Havisham's best croissants and hurry back!) Meg said in an orderly voice and the girl early complied, fleeing the room without thinking twice. I caught the word croissant, and needless to say, I was pleased.
"Hey, Meg, where am I?" I asked and she cast me an apologetic look.
"You're in one of the spare costume rooms, Annika. Nobody ever goes in here and the Managers, well, the new ones anyway, wanted you to stay far away from everyone after the doctor's diagnosis." She explained and I cocked my head to the side.
"What did he say?" I asked.
"You have a nasty cold from being outside so long. Last night Mama came in and changed your dress." She told me and I nodded, folding my hands in my lap.
The girl, Lynn, was back in ten minutes and I happily munched on a croissant while the other ballerina's gossiped about La Carlotta. Five seconds later, her voice floated up from beneath me. I almost screamed at how bad it was, truly it was awful.
"That sounds like a cat if you stretched it out on a rack and mated it with a duck then chucked it off the tip of the Eiffel Tower!" I exclaimed and while 95% of the girls didn't get it, Meg and Christine laughed.
That night, I heard the noise again, the one like footsteps. I opened my eye and turned my head, looking towards the door but I saw absolutely nothing but utter blackness with a bit of light from the full moon spilling into the room. I tried to go back to sleep when I heard it again. When I turned my head to the side again and opened my eyes, I almost gasped in surprise.
Standing in the doorway was a tall, thin man in a black suit and cape, with a white mask hiding one half of his face. He looked so handsome, even in the half-light with glittering eyes and gelled hair.
I longed to speak to the famed Opera Ghost, the one that I'd shed so many tears for but my voice refused to behave. He lifted a white-gloved finger to his lips in a form of silence and I nodded, closing my eyes and attempting to fall back asleep as he ordered.
When I dared take another peek again, the Phantom of the Opera was there no more, and in his place was an empty doorway.