Christine watched as Erik wrote a furious note to the managers, stealing a few of their personal effects from their office for the trouble. He had a harshly elegant way of writing that she found oddly fascinating. His curving letters filled the ivory parchment in their ruby ink. She followed him as he went about delivering the threat, sealing it with a wax skull in his usual dramatics, shaking her head at the ominousness of the black envelope. It really was a silly practice, but so long as he did not see her, she assumed something was going properly. She shivered at the cause for her appearance. He had given up on life completely. She had known him to have darker moods before, but never like this. Now that he had a distraction, he was better. Not that she approved of the form of the distraction, mind you. She simply did not begrudge his sudden rediscovery of hope and life.
He decided to hide in the wall of the office after delivering the note, vowing to await the fools' return patiently. Christine grew bored of this and chose to wander aimlessly about the room, reading the headlines of the newspaper folded upon the desk. She was tempted to try to move it to read the rest, but a quick intrusion of their long anticipated guests interrupted her thoughts on the matter which seemed of little importance. The goings on of the real world seemed insignificant unless they effected Erik. Which, given his reclusive nature, almost never did.
'I cannot believe it.' One of the managers, Firmin Richard, she thought. She could barely keep the two straight. They did little in the theatre beyond wooing patrons and occasionally yelling at people as if they knew what they were doing. 'Another of those damned letters.' He picked up and carelessly waved Erik's black envelope.
'Oh, what could it be this time?' The other, Armand Moncharmin, groaned. The man tiredly slumped into a chair, assuming the worst.
'He insists that we pay him his salary.' Firmin announced with a dry laugh. 'As if he had earned it. What, pray tell, could a ghost possibly do for a theatre to warrant 20,000 francs a month? And what would a ghost need with such earnings?' He scoffed, tossing the note aside.
'Firmin, what is his threat?' Armand asked, growing a bit more concerned.
'Oh, something about a great tragedy, you know his normal shtick. I never happens, though.'
'Because we always pay him. Remember the day we first came, a cast member nearly lost their head from a falling piece of scenery.' Armand insisted, growing pale at the thought.
'Yes, well,' Firmin admitted reluctantly. 'I find it quite ridiculous that we should listen to the petty rumours of the ballet rats and the half-drunk stage hands.'
Christine, from where she stood beside the wall Erik hid within, could feel his hatred and fury radiating out into the room. The managers must have felt something of it too, for they quickly grew silent, looking about as if they were being watched.
'You do not believe in me, eh?' Erik seethed in his whispering yet resonant tone. He threw his voice to sound as if he were everywhere at once. The managers grew pale and their eyes now frantically darted about, searching for the source of the ghostly voice. 'Then perhaps it is time I showed you just how real I can be.' Erik went on, hurriedly leaving the room to head out to the auditorium. Christine followed, a sinking feeling coming to her chest. This was not going to be good.
The ballet corps were out on stage, warming up for that morning's practice, when one little girl saw a shadow looming over the catwalk. She instantly screamed, all of the girls knowing to fear the Opera Ghost.
The mangers came rushing into the seating area just in time to watch the stage floor lights explode one after another after another. All of the new lights, having only been installed a few weeks prior, would have to be replaced. A few lights of the chandelier were destroyed as well, but the rapid destruction of the glass littered the stage with small and dangerous fragments. The dancers would be trapped where they were for fear of tearing their shoes or cutting their precious feet on the glass.
Erik released a laugh that echoed brilliantly throughout the theatre. Christine had often wondered how he would sound upon the stage. Surely his silky voice would serve to mesmerise more than just her. Especially as she was not truly intended to hear it.
Christine remained just long enough to watch the managers scurry off to their office while stage hands worked quickly to rescue the trapped dancers. She knew none would be harmed, for Erik valued the success of his theatre too much to jeopardise its performers in such a way. She followed him as he practically ran back to one of his passageways down to his home. He was still chuckling from the exhilaration of his act that by the time he made it to his house, he was panting. He slumped into his favourite chair, laughing in a haze of giddy excitement. He slowly sobered, however. His smile faded some and the childlike spark left his eye as he realised he was alone and without purpose again. He would not have to wait long before his now assured payment came but it was a wait he would have to suffer through alone.
Dragging his suddenly heavy limbs over to the organ, he began to play, not even bothering to write down the notes. Christine joined him and stood beside the instrument, always loving when he did this. She adored his more organised compositions, but his free playing was what drew her in. His pure thoughts and feelings were poured into each and every note. It was through this that she had come to truly know him. She could have only watched him for twenty years, but she would know next to nothing about who he really was until she heard him play like this.
Though more sorrowful, the notes drifted from his fingers with elegant ease. She watched as his fingers played out the torment of his eyes. All of the horror she knew he must have seen. She had gleaned over time that his childhood had been less than desirable, his youth abusive, and his adolescence dangerously destructive. She knew from his cries in the throes of nightmares that he had been beyond tortured. He had been hurt both physically as well as permanently scarred emotionally. He would never be what people called normal. But, then, neither was she. She supposed that was why she secretly enjoyed watching over him. He lived a different life from anyone else, and though she had little choice, she liked seeing what new twist he would add to his already skewed form of existence.
He sighed heavily as he finished his piece, leaning on the instrument tiredly.
'Christine?' He asked of the air around him. She cocked her head at him, knowing she would not be visible to him. He was silent for a little while before sneering at the emptiness and turning away sharply. He hated himself for seeming so childish. She was not some imaginary friend he could talk to when bored, and he could not even see her. He burned his intended words in his throat before they could come to fruition.
A knock sounded at the door making both jump. Christine felt something of relief wash over her as there was only one person in the world who would come visit. Erik just glared. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he trudged over to the door and forcefully thrust it open, doing nothing to disguise his obvious frustration at the intrusion to his solitude.
'Ah, Erik, so you are still alive.' Nadir Khan smiled, his olive skin richly gleaming in the fire light and his ebony eyes flashing with as yet un-trampled joy.
'Regrettable as that is, yes, I am still here to haunt you, Daroga.' Erik replied dryly as the man stepped past him and up the slight rise to the drawing room.
'Speaking of haunting, I heard that the new footlights were all miraculously destroyed today.' Nadir eyed the man suspiciously, wondering what kind of mood Erik was truly in. Given the venomous grin these words brought to his thin lips, Nadir assumed it was not one of his better days to come visit.
'Yes, the managers forgot my salary and then proceeded to discount my existence. I had to do something to ensure my credibility.' Erik shrugged wickedly as he joined his old Persian friend before the fire
'Erik, if you are not careful, you will give those men heart attacks, and then where would you be? Hmm?'
'Perhaps with better managers.' Erik offered, letting his fingertips rest at the point of his chin.
'Or worse ones.' Nadir retorted.
'Doubtful. These two do not know their left from their right, let alone how to run a theatre.' He scoffed, glaring over that the fire.
'Then perhaps you are fortunate that they are so willing to let you run things without their notice. If they were more comparable, then they would simply get in your way.' Nadir proposed, not liking the distant look that was coming over his masked companion.
Erik hummed thoughtfully, no longer listening.
'Erik, are you all right?' Nadir asked, growing more concerned by the moment.
'Do you believe in angels?' Erik asked suddenly.
'Excuse me?' The Daroga asked, flustered by the odd question.
'Angels. You know, God's messengers and whatnot. Do you believe in them?' He turned to look somewhat frustrated at the older man.
'Yes, I suppose I do.' Nadir answered slowly, remembering the old stories of how Allah created the Heavenly Host from light. 'Why do you ask?'
'It is just that…' He paused, trying to phrase himself carefully so as not to seem more insane than usual. 'I-I think I have met one.'
From over his shoulder, Christine looked down at him in surprise. She had not been sure if he had believed her fully until now.
Nadir regarded Erik carefully. 'Have you been drinking again?' He asked as gently as he could.
'No, dammit, I just…' Erik shot from his chair and started to pace about the room. 'I met this girl and she claimed to be my guardian angel or some such nonsense. Now, you know I do not put much faith in, well, faith, so I would not be saying any of this if I were not at least a little convinced.'
'What did this girl do?' Nadir asked, trying to come to terms with the fact that Erik, who had been one of the most stubborn atheists alive, was now talking about angels as if they were real.
'She-she healed me. It hurt her a lot, but she fixed a broken leg, my ribs, my hand, and even my black eye.' He continued on.
'Allah, man! What were you doing to gain such injuries?!' Nadir leapt from his seat, eyeing the man up and down as if looking for some evidence of aforementioned wounds.
'That's not important right now.' Erik growled, glowering at the man. 'What matters is that she performed miracles. She danced on the lake as if it were a stage!'
Nadir looked at Erik, an eyebrow raised doubtfully. 'And what did this angel look like?'
Erik shot Nadir a glare before his eyes instantly softened, causing the Persian to lean back in surprise. 'She's beautiful.' Erik almost whispered. 'She had long curling brown hair, porcelain skin, and her eyes! God! She has he most wonderful eyes. I have never seen such a beautiful colour of blue in all of my life. She even smiled at me.' He told his shocked friend.
'If I did not know better, I would say you have fallen for this seraphim. Where is she?' The Daroga asked amusedly at Erik's withering look.
'I do not know. She has not appeared to me since earlier this morning. I turned round and she was gone.'
'Perhaps she was tired of your company.' Nadir shrugged with a chuckle.
The jest was lost on Erik, however. He sat heavily back into his chair, slouching and looking distantly at the fireplace. 'In that I can understand.'
'Erik, what is the matter, hmm? You are not the same fiery spirit I knew. What has happened to make you so?' Nadir leaned in, trying to make up for his obviously poor choice of words.
'Nothing has happened! That is the point!' He lamented, throwing his hands up only to let them fall back to the arms of the chair. 'It is all the same. Nothing changes and nothing ever will. Mankind will be the same for all eternity, and so I will be forced to remain here, running the Opera as the managers should be, writing music no one shall ever hear, and simply being trapped in my underground asylum.' He condemned, feeling that maw in his chest begin to form once more.
'Then leave.' Nadir told him somewhat exasperatedly. 'You have spent so long down here, why not go out into the world again? Why not explore and travel as you once used to?'
Erik scoffed. 'Right. And be ridiculed all over again, beaten, abused, and shunned by all humanity. You forget, Daroga, why I built this home in the first place. You forget why I wear this mask and hide away in the shadows.' He grew bitterer as he went on. 'Believe me, old friend, there are times when that is all I wish, but those days are over for me. Those times of bliss in the sunlight were not meant for me to enjoy, nor will they ever come to one such as myself.' He gestured woefully to his mask. 'No, I am destined to remain down here. That is the fate I chose for myself, and I will be damned if I see it changed.'
'But Erik, you are not happy here. Certainly there is some way for you to travel as you used to.' The Persian offered hopefully. He had noticed that Erik's darker moods had been growing steadily blacker each time he visited. This would not end well if something was not changed.
'Need I remind you that those times of travel never ended as well as they were intentioned?' Erik gave the man a white hot glare, remembering far too much of the past than he generally preferred to indulge.
'Yes, I suppose you are right.' The Daroga sighed, knowing he would make no head way this night. 'But perhaps your angel will assist you.' He did not catch the slightly hopeful glimmer shine in his companion's amber eyes before being snuffed out by the darker impulses of his current state.
'Or perhaps I am finally truly insane. It has certainly taken me long enough.' He sighed dejectedly.
'I assume our chess game is to be postponed?' Nadir asked, already rising from his seat.
'Why do you assume that?' Erik asked, sitting up in consternation.
Nadir hid a grin before retaking his chair as Erik set up the board.
Both men missed the little smile that graced the rosy pink lips of a certain angel as she watched them bicker like brothers over matters so trivial only an old married couple would find them worth the argument. She sat on the sofa, watching the two men as they continued their game. Erik was distracted, but she knew from experience that it would take far more to be able to beat him. She knew Nadir must truly care for the man to submit himself to constant failure of playing against him, and to endure the harsh words his company brought. She had long since envied the Persian's closeness to Erik and how easily it seemed to play upon the man to sway his stubborn head to seeing reason. When she had first observed the two together, she had avowed herself to helping Nadir in any way she could, for he knew better than anyone how to keep Erik's best interests safe. Erik of course would never admit to anything, but he relied upon Nadir for more than just a verbal jousting partner.
As the hours passed, and Nadir lost for the fourth time, he finally decided to call it a day, leaving the masked man still gloating mildly over his many victories. Erik felt the door close solidly. He had enjoyed his games as he always did and was amazed as he looked down to his pocket watch to find more time than usual had passed. He sighed in aggravation at the Daroga's prolonged stay.
He is worried about me. He thought, growling slightly.
He was just about tired of people feeling the need to look after him and inspect every little detail of his life. He was a grown man with his own house and source of income. What more did they want from him? He stopped, knowing it was less from him and more for him. He shook his head, wondering how he could forget the Persian's sentimental tendencies. He did not need looking after like some child. He was fairing perfectly well on his own, albeit being bored.
He, not for the first time, wondered what his initial plan had been when moving into the basement of the Opera. Certainly listening to the rehearsals, seeing the performances, and getting to run things more efficiently in the background had been fun for the first few years, but now it felt more like a chain around him. He was at a loss as to what he found so damned interesting in the whole business in the first place. All it ever did was repeat itself. A never-ending cycle of headaches and lost tempers. He missed the thrill. He missed the novelty, now long since worn away.
He looked at his organ, but shook his head, turning away. As he had said to Nadir, what was the point if no one was going to hear it? All of his compositions, his great Don Juan Triumphant now growing dust in his neglect of the piece, were never going to reach the light of the stage, or the eyes of anyone beyond himself and perhaps the Persian.
He turned to his study doors, knowing his desk inside lay still littered in architectural drawings he had yet to find the inspiration for or enthusiasm to finish. He had not drawn anything in some time, and though his hand felt the emptiness of longing to create, his head was barren. For once, he had nothing to do.
Slumping his shoulders in defeat, he left the house to retrieve his salary from Box 5. It was awaiting him dutifully as it should have been many hours previous. Remerging into the hallway, he felt himself sink in disappointment in not seeing Christine there. He knew she must have seen this place a thousand times over simply from years of following him, but she somehow had the spark of wonder that only came upon beholding it for the first time.
Returning to his box, he disappeared into the column and ventured off to his home once again. He took his time on the lake, admiring how still the waters were, and how dark their depths appeared. He caught himself smiling at the memory of her dance and how elegant her form had been. She was a shining silver light upon a great expanse of mirrored black. He shook his head of these thoughts as he entered his home. He decided to take a bath, hoping to wash away all of the frustrations and turbulent emotions of the day.
Erik had been right about the bath, having enjoyed the soothing warmth and immersive calm it brought over him. He was still drying his hair a bit, his mask already in place and proving to be a slight hindrance to his endeavours, when he came out into the drawing room to stop dead in his tracks.
He stared for what seemed like a century as he beheld the softly luminous figure sitting upon his sofa. Her brown curls cascaded down her back freely, pooling over the similarly brown wood of the furniture and gently brushing the soft green upholstery. In her delicately slender fingers rested a book as fire light flickered over her soft features.
'Christine?' Erik asked whisperingly as he gazed at her, mesmerised still by her elegant form.
She turned her head slightly, not quite looking at him as a hint of a confused frown creased her brow. As the silence dragged on, she looked to him, finding his eyes determinedly fixed upon her.
'Erik?' She asked in return, her eyes hopeful but not entirely sure if it was true.
He nodded, finding himself smiling slightly.
'Did you need me for something?' She asked after a pause, putting the book in her lap.
'I-I do not know.' He hated himself as he fumbled over his words. 'Why did you leave me earlier?' His tone quickly grew more accusatory as hurt seeped in.
'You no longer required my company.' She answered, growing sharp at his tone.
'I did not know where you went.' He shot back, anger rising to him. He was upset with her over leaving so suddenly and making him miss her.
'I thought I made that clear enough when I healed your eye. Besides, I have already explained that I cannot leave your side.' She told him, about to turn back to her book for not wishing to have this argument.
'Well, then, do not make yourself invisible. It frustrates me to not know where you are or when you are going to appear.' He snapped.
'You think I do not wish for this control too?!' She stood up as quick as a bolt of lightning. 'Do you think I enjoy not being incorporeal? Not being able to manipulate the world around me? I want to be able to touch things, Erik. To speak and be heard. To be looked at and seen.' She felt hot tears prick her sharp blue eyes, but she turned them away. She would not cry this night. She had wept before him enough.
'Why do you make it sound like it is my fault?!' He roared back at her, throwing the towel to the floor. 'I have no more control over it than you!'
'That is not true and you know it! I offered you plenty of reasons as to how you could see me!' She glared at him, her eyes like blue flames burning into him.
'What?!'
'You can call for me,' she listed out on her fingers. 'Ask God, or wait until you desperately need me as you did the other night.'
'I did call for you earlier! When you left me in the Opera, I called for you!' He now let more of his earlier despair leech into his voice as he loomed over her.
Her previous anger washed away at this. 'Erik,' she started softly and slowly. 'Were you afraid for me?' She looked up into his amber eyes, shadowed by his still enraged features and by his mask.
He felt her gaze pierce through a veil he had not intended her to see behind. Growling, he turned away, knowing he damage was at least partially done.
'Of course not! Why would I care about you?' He barked over his hunching shoulders.
He suddenly felt like an electric shock had run through him as a warm touch contacted his shoulder blade. He froze stiffly before turning his wide eyes to see Christine's concerned face beside him, her hand touching gently against his untucked white shirt.
'I am sorry you do not care for me, Erik.' She told him, ducking her head and casting her eyes to the floor as her hand slowly slid from him. He felt a coldness pool where her comforting warmth had been.
'I-if you wish it,' she went on, taking a step back from him as he continued to marvel at her. 'I can leave you again. I can try to find a way to stay invisible to you.' Her voice shook as she said this.
He turned, looking down at her. She seemed suddenly so small before him. Her inner light even seemed dimmer as she prepared to resign herself to a fate of nonexistence. Nonexistence. He almost laughed as he realised that was what he had done for himself so many years ago when he adopted the persona of Opera Ghost. And now she was about to do the same thing all because of the foolish and rash words he had so heartlessly cursed her with.
'Christine,' he said slowly, enjoying the way it sounded like a bell's chime every time it was uttered. 'I do not wish for you to leave. I only want you to stay visible more often.' He explained.
She looked up, then, diving right back into his eyes and the places he wished he was better at hiding from her. She thought his words over with a slightly pained expression before nodding.
'I shall try, but in the end, it is up to you.' She told him decidedly. He bowed a nod, letting a playful sparkle infiltrate his gaze.
'Tell me, would you care to attend a performance with me this evening?' He asked. 'The Opera is putting on a few minor shows in the off-season and I am especially pleased with M. Reyer's skills in his orchestrations.' He explained, straightening up proudly.
'You would let me come with you? And sit with you in Box 5?' She asked, eyes growing wider than he knew possible.
'Where else?' He asked slyly.
'Oh, Erik! I would love to!'
Before he knew what to do, she pounced into a hug, throwing her arms around his neck as she smiled over his shoulder. His legs felt like jelly and his arms like automatons as they slowly came to gently rest on her back. He could feel his heartbeat in his temples as his breath caught in his throat.
Realising what she had just done, Christine quickly released him, coming back to stand a bit away from him as she toyed with her skirt, blushing profusely.
'I-Oh, I…um, yes. Thank you.' She stumbled, fidgeting in her embarrassment and tucking her hair behind her ear and looking anywhere but at him.
Erik stared at her for a moment, trying to comprehend what had just happened. No part of his mind seemed to be working quite right, though. That was an embrace. That was what an embrace feels like. He had never experienced one before, and, he realised, he could see why people enjoyed them so. It was warm, comforting, and also modest as it hid one's face incredibly well. Still, he could practically hear Christine's smile as she had held him. And he had held her! He had carried her once, but this was different. This was not only voluntary, but also two sided. He had felt his head swim as she had put her face so close to his. And now that they were apart, his arms seemed heavy and empty.
Her expression of embarrassment brought him back to the world.
She regrets it. She did not mean it. He thought to himself. Well, so be it. I will keep this mistake for myself. She does not have to share it if she does not wish to, but I shall hold it close.
'Well, I shall, uh, go prepare, then.' He said in a small, quiet voice as he turned to his bedroom to get fully dressed, smooth his hair back down as it was still thoroughly ruffled from drying, and to try to do anything but think of what Christine had done.
