A/N: Thanks for all your lovely comments and also thanks to all the people already following this story. Keep them coming! :)
Chapter 1:
In box 5, the Opera Ghost reclined in his armchair, his hands neatly folded in his lap. It could have been minutes or hours since the orchestra had played the final chord of Meyerbeer's mediocre Robert le Diable, but time was a concept that hardly mattered to him. What was of more pressing importance was that silence had fallen at last. Blissful silence, undisturbed by this hateful music that could penetrate the walls of even the fifth cellar.
Slowly, he unfurled his legs and leaned forward to survey the empty space. There would be more performances, he knew, after all it was the building's rightful role to birth one opera after the other.
Did it ever tire of the same old spectacle? The gossiping ballet girls, the nervous managers, the incompetent singers?
He certainly did which put him at an impasse since his house was situated beneath it all. But like any strong-willed ruler trapped in a stalemate, he was prepared to undermine his opponent until they would grant him peace at last.
His eyes slid from the deserted seats to the grand chandelier that loomed ominously over the dark auditorium. Beneath the white mask, his lips curled into a smirk. Exquisite, exhilarating life throbbed in his veins.
Oh, the possibilities!
Though the chandelier truly was too grand and too predictable given the events of the previous year, and that just wouldn't do. He had always been an extraordinarily gifted ghost and wasn't about to start making silly mistakes now.
After another moment's worth of fascinated study of the new chandelier, he directed his gaze towards the centre of the stage where a peculiar little man had offered flimsy excuses to the public not very long ago. His whole demeanour had been anything but convincing, and it bordered on a miracle that the irate mob had not lynched him on the spot. Now that would have been a spectacle worth watching! But as it was, the little man had made a hasty escape before any of the few remaining hairs on his balding head could have been touched.
Patience, as they said, was a virtue so for now a simple letter would suffice, just enough to serve as a reminder of the Ghost's presence.
Satisfied with his plans, he rose from the comfortable armchair and touched the hidden stone that opened up the nearby column for him. Without a second glance, he disappeared into the crammed, dark space and followed the familiar passageway down to the fifth cellar beneath the stage. The further he descended, the moister the air around him became until at last the walls that flanked him broadened into a large exit. Beyond it, a lake glistened serenely in the dark. The cave-like structure echoed his steps until he came to a standstill in front of the pillar he had moored his boat at. The rope was tied firmly and at first escaped the loosening attempts of his stiff fingers. Joints aching in protest he finally succeeded and climbed into the vessel, using firm strokes to push away from the shore. The lamp that was attached to the other end, swayed in a steady rhythm, throwing peculiar shadows on the walls around him.
The passage was quite peaceful and offered enough time to entertain his mind with a selection of phrases he could direct at the new manager. But whatever fleeting satisfaction he felt was short-lived when his house came into view and with it the figure of a man.
"Erik!" the man exclaimed impatiently when he was certain he was within earshot. "Where have you been?"
Erik took his time rowing the rest of the way and fastening his boat, before he directed his attention towards the unwanted intruder. "Out."
"You have a way of stating the obvious." The man remarked dryly, annoyance etched onto his face.
"It is the just reply to an obvious question." Erik returned amusedly before his features grew serious. "And really, Daroga, where I wish to go and how I choose to conduct myself is none of your concern."
"I wish you'd stop seeing my questions as a personal attack. You have not left this house in over a year, noticing your sudden absence I was naturally concerned."
"You have a talent, Nadir." Erik remarked with a grave chuckle, passing the man and entering his house. "That almost sounded sincere."
"I do believe I have proven my loyalty to you by now." Nadir replied decidedly. "Not only did I help you in Mazandaran but I also tended to you every day after she left."
Though she remained nameless, a sudden tension gripped Erik's body which didn't escape his friend. Shrugging the remark as well as the woman off, Erik produced a snort of derision and passed through the rubble and debris that had once been his sitting room.
"The morphine isn't doing you any favours, Erik, and I am an old man."
But this, too, seemed to fall on deaf ears.
"Tea?" Erik offered instead in a manner that was infuriating in its cordiality.
Nadir gave a nod of resignation and weaved his way through the path of broken objects to clear a spot on the black leather sofa that looked a little worse for wear but was otherwise unharmed. He brushed some dust away and decided for a change of tactic, while the masked man stubbornly kept his back to him.
"I really am pleased that you decided to venture outside," he began carefully, "and was merely curious what brought on this surge of energy."
In truth, it had come as a bit of a shock to find the bedroom deserted, since he had lacked the strength to leave it for over a year. At first, Erik had only confined himself to his house, reluctant to leave since he feared missing the delivery of Christine's wedding invitation. But when the appropriate period of time had come and passed, he'd grown restless and angry.
In the aftermath of her betrayal, he began tearing down the furniture and objects that had once made up his home. His rage knew no bounds and even when it had finally evaporated, leaving him a broken man, Nadir had received clear instructions not to touch anything or tidy up the chaos that had been created.
The rest of the time had been ruled by his morphine addiction, growing dosages making him even more temperamental and unpredictable. He'd barely eaten, reluctantly accepted the water that was offered to him and prepared himself for a death that seemed imminent thanks to a turn for the worse of his heart condition.
Some days, Nadir had feared he would arrive at the house to find his corpse.
Talking to him in this eloquent if also infuriating manner, let alone walking, had seemed impossible. Yet owing to their long-lasting friendship, Nadir's gut instinct told him that it couldn't have been something positive that had brought about this odd mood. No, whatever it was, it couldn't be good.
"The opera," Erik gestured before adding leaves to the infuser, "dreadful Meyerbeer nearly drove me out of my mind." He turned with a deep and heavy sigh and although his face was hidden beneath the mask, the exasperation in his tone was prominent enough. "After all this time, I had really hoped they'd come to their senses. As it turns out, my Opera is under new management yet again. Did you know that, Daroga?"
Nadir knew better than to take the question at its innocent face value. The years had taught him to become attuned to the dangerous notes that lurked in Erik's compelling voice. No answer he'd give would be deemed satisfactory.
"I had read something about the former managers' departure, yes, but hadn't found it worth troubling you with."
"Of course." His voice was soft but his eyes remained hard. "You are too considerate."
Nadir's hand balled into a fist, but somehow he succeeded in remaining expressionless. Erik really was going too far, but a confrontation could wait until he had unearthed more details.
"I presume you hardly forced yourself to tolerate the performance?" he proceeded, not trying to hide his annoyance.
"Of course not. That would be preposterous! How does one even tolerate such a curse?"
His answer filled the room with possibilities, and Nadir knew all too well that he possessed a rather gruesome creativity when it came to retaliation.
Shifting uncomfortably, he accepted the tea cup handed to him. Erik, on the other hand, remained standing and appeared to be scanning the room for something in particular. Perhaps the blasted cat that usually never left his side.
"Something amiss?" Nadir probed after a moment.
"I don't suppose we have any brandy left?"
"Bottles rarely survive immense destruction, my friend." Nadir commented dryly while Erik sank down on the couch next to him with a dramatic flourish.
"What a terrible waste."
"You would not even have the means of making tea, let alone cups to drink out of had I not found you a new set."
"I see we hadn't yet finished listing all your good deeds, Daroga." Erik replied wryly.
"Nor have you offered further explanations as to your actions throughout the opera." Nadir persisted patiently.
"It hardly matters how I did it…Just know that I found a way to stop that dreadful music. You know I can be rather…persuasive if I want to be."
"So it is as I feared…" Nadir muttered under his breath, clinging to his tea cup as to his last shreds of sanity.
"You really musn't concern yourself. The opera was stopped and you'll be pleased to hear that nobody was harmed. Now all that's left to do is send the current management a little reminder of my presence."
"Erik, please, have you not seen reason? I thought you might finally appreciate this gift of a second chance Miss Daaé has given you?"
Erik rose to his feet again, slowly and stiffly, as if every movement caused him great difficulty.
"Perhaps it is time you left. You look rather tired and…as you rightfully noted, you are an old man."
Nadir took another sip of his tea before Erik's insistence drove him upright.
"I apologise if my words upset you," he said slowly, setting his cup down on the armrest, "but I won't be playing this game with you. Denying her existence or the courage she has shown you will not help you stop grieving."
"I won't ask you a second time, Daroga."
His tone was grave and although he kept his back to him, Nadir could see that his bony hands that were clutching the broken edges of his pipe organ, had started to tremble.
"You have chosen to build your house beneath an Opera. Even you can't silence the music forever."
When Nadir passed him to reach the exit that would allow him to emerge in the Rue Scribe, Erik turned, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"How very naïve of you. Surely you must know me better by now."
Beneath the mask, the Opera Ghost was undoubtedly smiling, and the tremors that had gripped his hands mere minutes ago had vanished altogether.