Chapter Nine

"I'm not, I'm not myself, feel like I'm someone else, fallen and faceless, so hollow, hollow inside. A part of me is dead, need you to live again. Can you replace this? I'm hollow, hollow and faceless..."- RED

The Phantom Returns

The drive seemed to last forever. Out of the corner of his eye, Erik could see that Alana had fallen asleep sitting up beside him. He was thankful for that, because at some point on the night's journey he'd realized he had absolutely no idea where he was going…she didn't need to know that. He feared they had taken a wrong turn at some point after their encounter with the five thieves, and he wasn't sure where they would end up. One thing he did know was that they would not be in Paris by tomorrow, or maybe even the day after that. He reached into his cloak and pulled out his pocket watch. Four in the morning. Like Alana, he too was exhausted, and every bone in his body ached from the fight, from far too many hard hits he'd taken all over, especially his head. It felt like it was taking hits over and over again with one of the thieves' clubs.

Suddenly he noticed lights on the horizon, and he breathed a sigh of relief. A city, closer and closer with every minute. Not Paris, he knew, but what was it? Soon he began to see signs signaling their approach to the city of Rouen. He realized with an unpleasant feeling in his stomach that he had been to Rouen once, long ago, when he had been with the traveling fair. He was kept locked up the entire time and never got a chance to see the beauties of the city. It was the historic capital city of Normandy…so that was the region of France he had been in for the past months…and the home of many beautiful sights he wouldn't be able to see. If he ventured out into the city, he knew people would stare at him, mask or no mask, and they would be wary or even afraid of him. He couldn't stand the feeling of being watched; something he always felt when he was among other people or out in the bright light of day. When the sunlight shone down on him, he had this strange, terrifying feeling of someone, somewhere, watching him, with eyes that burned like sunrays straight through his skin and into his soul. In the light, he was safe from no one. He hadn't been in the sun since his childhood, and though he hated the day, he longed to be free, no longer confined to the night.

"Alana." The girl still slept. "Alana," he repeated. This time she opened her eyes.

"Yes?" she answered sleepily. By now they had entered Rouen. The city was asleep, but the empty cobblestone road was lit by streetlamps, bathing the empty streets in a glow that was both lovely and a bit eerie. "Oh." Alana looked around. "Where are we?"

"This is Rouen," Erik said. "Keep your eyes open for an inn with a stable."

"All right." Alana scanned the streets diligently along with Erik, and soon they came upon Le Maison D'accueil, a charming old hotel that was several stories high and looked very expensive.

Erik pulled Raven to a halt, and got down from the cart, going around to the back and rummaging through his things. He pulled out a small bag of money and handed it to Alana. "Here's what we're going to do. You will go and pay for two rooms and a stall and place to keep a cart. While you're doing that, I will get Raven adequately situated. When I am finished and when you have the keys to the rooms, go into my room and open the window. I will be up as soon as I can."

Alana looked bemused. "That's quite an elaborate plan for getting into your hotel room. What are you planning to do, come in through the window?"

Yes, that had been the plan. He didn't like her sarcastic tone and the fact that she was obviously trying to hold back laughter, so he didn't answer.

"Erik, why can't you just walk through the doors and across the hall to your room? Surely you don't need to go in through the window." Now she was looking at him like he was insane. He did realize, of course, that not many people could possibly be around to see him at four in the morning, but the desk clerk would be there. He didn't want the desk clerk to see him. The thought filled him with panic. He felt like a fool for being so afraid; how could he tell Alana that he, a grown man, was afraid to go any place where there might be a stranger? What would she think of him? What did she think of him now, for that matter? She probably thought he was a lunatic. Yes, she had said they were friends, but maybe that was just because she was grateful to him for saving her life, or because she'd felt sorry for him when she'd witnessed that terrible, humiliating breakdown of his at the cave.

"Erik? You look worried." She looked worried too, concerned about him.

"I'm fine," he said, but he could tell she didn't believe him. He sighed. "You should go now."

She nodded, and went into the hotel with the bag of money. He patted Raven's neck and led her around the back to where the stables were.

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Alana walked through the tall glass door into the hotel lobby, which was luxuriously furnished with elegant couches, chairs, and tables with bouquets of freshly cut flowers on each and every one of them. After spending the last several years in her increasingly dilapidated house with her father, and the last nights on the road, she felt as if she had died and gone to heaven. The clerk at the main desk also looked as if he had died, because she found him sprawled all over his desk, sound asleep.

"Sir?" This was certainly an awkward moment. "Sir? Excuse me." The man wouldn't wake up. "Excuse me!" she raised her voice, and banged on the desk with her fist. Loudly. The man jumped up.

"What? What? Oh!" He looked around in confusion. "My goodness! I must have dozed off! I'm so sorry, mademoiselle." Alana could see him looking her up and down. She probably looked frightful, with her dress all torn and stained. Her hair was probably a disaster as well. "You poor dear," he said. "What's a charming young thing like you doing out so late?"

"It's a long story," Alana said with a wry smile.

"I can believe it," the clerk replied. "Poor girl. You look as if you've had your fair share of trouble tonight, but don't worry, mademoiselle, you've come to the right place. How can Le Maison D'accueil serve you?" Gone was the sleepy confusion of a few moments ago, and in its place was caring, cheerful hospitality.

"I'd like two rooms please, and a place in the stables for my friend's horse and cart. He will be coming in shortly, I think. Are there any rooms available on the ground floor? I think that will be…easier for us."

"As a matter of fact, yes, we do have two available rooms on the first floor." Alana paid for the rooms and the stall for Raven, and the clerk handed over the keys. Just as she began to wonder if Erik truly intended to climb into his room through the window, she heard the door open, and saw a dark figure come in. The clerk jumped in his seat behind the desk. It was Erik, wearing his black cloak with the hood up, carrying some of their bags and his violin case. She glimpsed the desk clerk staring in alarm at the sight of the hotel's newest guest. He did look very intimidating, a tall, dark, mysterious man dressed all in black, face completely hidden by his hood. She had been startled at the sight of him too, and now found herself standing there, frozen. Something about his presence had changed since she'd seen him last, just a few minutes ago. Every fiber of his essence seemed to be saying Stay away from me. Stay away from me. Over and over again. The lobby had gone cold, and the darkness of his figure seemed to cast a shadow across the room. Stunned by the sudden change in Erik, Alana struggled for words.

"This…this is my friend," she managed to say. Immediately the room grew warmer, and Erik's presence became less forbidding. How silly of me, she thought to herself. It's only Erik. Nothing to be afraid of. She went up to him and gave him the key, then let him follow her down the colorfully carpeted hall to where their rooms were, smiling at the alarmed desk clerk on their way out.

"Have a…have a pleasant stay!" the worker called after them. "Remember, at Le Maison D'accueil, we treat all travelers like royalty!" He then muttered quietly, "Especially the prince of darkness himself!" The clerk chuckled at his own joke and added, shaking his head, "They don't call this the graveyard shift for nothing." He took out a book and began to read, highly doubting he would be falling asleep at his desk again that night.

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"That was quite an entrance you made back there," Alana remarked as they approached their rooms. "You even scared me a little, but at least you didn't come in through the window. What if someone had seen you? They would have thought you were a thief or murderer!"

In that case, they would have thought correctly, Erik thought bitterly. His heart was still pounding a little, for having to walk into that hotel lobby, having to endure that man staring at him in fear. Still, it hadn't been as bad as he'd initially thought, and he was glad that he had decided to come in through the front. Sometimes, like this minute actually, the fear he instilled in others had a strange, exhilarating effect on him. In those moments, he could do anything he wanted, and no one could stop him. Their fear made him stronger somehow.

He couldn't help but remember how he'd felt the night he'd attacked Joseph Buquet; the intensity of his rage and bloodlust mixing together with the terror of the drunken, perverted stagehand who was finally getting what he deserved, creating a wave of pulsing adrenaline that swallowed Erik up completely. Once the exhilaration had passed and he had made his exit after letting Buquet fall from the rafters for all to see, hanging from the rope until he died, he had felt a twinge of remorse. He had just killed someone.

But his guilt was quickly forgotten as he'd quickly made a plan to go up to the opera house roof; he'd had a feeling that Christine would retreat there as well to escape from the ensuing chaos after Buquet's death. Many times, she had gone up on that roof and he had always been there, hiding somewhere, and they would sing together. When she was exhausted and sad, tired of life and missing her father, he would sing soothing words of comfort to ease her pain, and he would hear how her sad voice changed and became full of joy again, and he would dream of the day when she would actually be able to look at him, and join him in his world of music and endless night.

That cold winter even, as Erik had hidden behind one of the giant statues and waited for her, he'd known that his plan for Christine and himself had not been going as smoothly as he had hoped, but that time, he felt sure he would be able to win her heart completely. He'd heard her voice approaching, felt the warmth and light of her presence brighten up the cold night, but everything froze over again when he'd heard another voice joined with hers. Raoul. That ignorant fool of a Vicomte, who had ruined everything.

Erik had always loved Christine, before she became famous, and he always would love her. He was the one who was willing to spend countless hours teaching her and making her the best singer in all of Paris, he was the one who had gone to endless trouble to ensure that she would become a star no matter who or what was standing in her way. He was the one who would give anything for her.

He would kill for her.

And she had thrown his love away, tossed it aside like the red rose he'd watched fall into the snow.

When the two young lovers had left the rooftop, he'd knelt down where the rose lay. His heart broke in that moment. He'd taken the rose, and crushed it in his hand, desperately hoping to destroy with it the love he had for Christine, so he would be able to bear the weight of her rejection. But instead of dying, his love only grew stronger, morphing into something so insane, so powerful, that it had thoroughly taken over him.

"All right." Alana's voice cut through his brokenhearted memories, and he saw her looking up at him, worried again but trying not to show it. "I can see that you're not in one of your talking moods. We both need some rest now, so take care of yourself, and have a good night. Or rather, good morning…the sun will be up in an hour or two, actually." She sighed. "And now I'm just rambling. Um, when will I see you again? When do you think we'll start heading for Paris again?"

"Tomorrow night after sunset." Erik forced himself to say. "Rest well, Alana."

She gave him a little half-smile. "You, too." Then she went into her room and closed the door. She didn't seem to be quite as worried anymore, thankfully. He was trying his best to hide what he felt, but all the time he'd spent alone the past few months, with nothing but him and his dark thoughts and painful memories, had taken a toll on him. He needed to work on bringing back his old persona, the Phantom. The familiar old Phantom still lived inside of him, he knew; he hadn't totally died the day Christine ultimately chose Raoul over him. But he had retreated far back, somewhere deep inside Erik's soul, coming out at brief moments, but always fading back again into the shadows of Erik's troubled mind.

He went inside his room and took in the elegance around him: a giant feather bed, piled high with pillows and soft warm blankets, heavy floor-length velvet curtains, a couch and table and chairs, all made of the finest materials. The Phantom would have loved it here, but Erik just felt out of place in such a beautiful room. He walked up to the floor-length, gold-trimmed mirror that hung on the far wall next to the giant mahogany armoire. A faceless figure, ghostly, clothed in black instead of white, stood there in the glass reflection. It was no wonder he'd startled Alana and frightened the desk clerk; he looked like some terrible harbinger of doom. He put his hood down and took off his torn cape, throwing it into a chair. Without it, he still looked awfully frightening. On his good side, he had a black eye and a busted lip, and on the other side, his mask had dirt and bloodstains all over it. He looked at himself in disgust, and spent the next hour cleaning himself up. The hotel room had running water, something he hadn't seen in much too long. After a hot bath, a new mask and wig from one of the bags he'd brought, along with some powerful theater makeup to conceal his black eye, and a clean set of clothes, he looked again at himself in the mirror, and was impressed with what he saw.

From now on, he promised himself, he would no longer fear anything. He would no longer let his inner anguish make its way to the surface. He would be strong, he would be powerful again. People would be intrigued by him. They would respect him, fear him, and he would be able to make them do anything he wanted them to. He would still remain a mysterious creature of the night, not because he was afraid of other people, but because he enjoyed living that way.

As his thoughts raced, a voice came into Erik's mind that said, You're only kidding yourself.

But he ignored it, his mind working at a feverish pace. No longer would he let insecurities and terrible memories torture him. He didn't need them. He was intelligent and talented. He could compose music and perform any piece ever created, he could sing, he could design, and he could perform incredible illusions. Gone was the scared, emotional, unstable, child-like Erik. He had always been strong, but now he was so much more than that. He was unstoppable.

Erik fastened his sword with the silver skull hilt in its scabbard at his belt, and pulled on another glorious full-length black cape. He glanced out the window. Still dark. There were a few final hours of precious nighttime left to revel in. Then he looked once again into the glass before him, and became somebody else.

The Phantom had returned.