Chapter Six - Erik, the Opera Ghost

Angelique screamed – at least, she tried to. She had never learned how to swim, but that didn't stop her from trying. Flailing her arms and kicking her legs, she fought to get back to the surface, though her lungs and nostrils burned and were filled with the terribly cold water. "Don't stop – keep moving!" she told herself, desperate for air. She had not made it this far only to drown in an underground lake – she wouldn't allow it.

A long, thin arm slithered around her, pulling her close to a torso. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened once more as another scream escaped her, filling her with even more water than before. Struggling, she felt her elbow jab something smooth and hard before the figure gave her a violent tug, signaling for her to stop. It was a futile suggestion, however, as she soon began to fade away, her head bowing as she lost consciousness…

"Mon Dieu! Erik, is she-?!"

"She's alive…merde! Where is it?!"

"What?"

"My mask, you fool! Where is…oh no."

"What?!"

"She hit Erik's face underwater…it must have slipped off when Erik brought her up!"

"Erik-!"

"No, don't let her see me-!"

Her eyelids fluttered open whilst they spoke, her mind in a tizzy as she struggled to make sense and spew water out of her lungs. Her insides burned and her body shivered, her hair plastered to her face and neck as it dripped excess fluids. "Ugh…" Blurry-eyed and disoriented, Angelique squinted in the torchlight, her eyes falling on a hooded figure. It was only for a moment – a second, really – but she saw it. Their eyes locked, and she could see everything. Her eyes widened as her mouth opened in fear, her hand clamping over her lips as so to contain the screech she wanted to release. Instead, a strangled gasp left her mouth as she scooted away, seeing the terrible Death Head that the girls had gossiped so much about.

His face was shadowed well by the hood of his cloak, which only served to make it appear even more terrifying. His skin was a yellowish hue, thin as parchment, and his lips were practically translucent, the outline his teeth visible even with his mouth closed. There was no nose – just a hole at the center of his face. The eyebrows were nonexistent, and there was a lose tendril of thinning black hair that fell in between his eyes…those eyes that burned, golden and red all at once, placed deep into two black sockets.

The moment she saw him, he reeled back, a cry of despair filling the air and echoing all around them. "No!" he wailed, covering his face in agony. "No, not again!"

"Erik, stop," the Daroga pleaded before reaching out to Angelique, who sat on the floor, frozen in shock. "Please, mademoiselle, remember what I told you-"

"So, you've been gossiping about me?!" Erik snapped, jumping to his feet and taking a menacing step towards the man. "Just what did you tell her, hmm?"

"Leave her be, it was an accident!" the Persian fought back, reaching for the Phantom.

He shoved the other aside, snarling as he stalked over to the girl and knelt down, grabbing her by her hair and pulling his cloak off before he picked up the fallen torch. "Well, have a good, long look, mademoiselle, for it will be the last thing you see!" he growled, holding the light up so that she could see his hideousness. She bit her lip, not wanting to cry out in front of him as he forcefully pulled her head by her hair so that she could stare at him. "Feast your eyes, glut your soul on my accursed ugliness!" he roared, sneering at her cruelly as he held her head up. "Those who see Erik's face must stay with Erik or die! It is your choice, Mademoiselle Archambault. Shall I throw you back into the lake, or would you like to spend the rest of your life with a corpse?"

Her body shook from fear and the cold, her scalp aching as he held her up, but she did not dare look away from his face. She was accustomed to such abuse, and she knew that it would be unwise to look away, no matter how frightened and tired she felt, or how horrifying the face was. "M-Miss Daae-"

"What?" he asked, his brows furrowing at her choice of words. "Speak up, girl!"

"Release her, or I shall shoot!" the Persian demanded, pulling a pistol from his coat.

Erik laughed at him contemptuously and grinned wickedly. "Oh yes, Daroga, please do. But you'll be killing her as well." He released Angelique's hair only to slither his arm around her and hold her against his frame, standing up with her acting as his shield against the enemy. "Now, my dear, what was it you were saying just a moment ago?"

"Ch-Christine Daae," she coughed, leaning against him despite herself. She was still weak from nearly drowning, and having him hold her up appropriate was an improvement from nearly getting her scalp yanked off. "Y-You didn't hurt her…did you?"

"Hurt her, no. Erik would never harm Christine," his voice lowering just a bit, tenderness seeping into his tone. "You came here searching for her and now you are in rather hot water, my dear. Make your choice – you can die, or stay here, forever Erik's prisoner."

She shivered in his arms, the cold air biting into her skin while his voice tickled her ears. Cautiously, she turned her head, her eyes daring to move back towards his face. She felt her stomach twist as she saw him once more, his eyes still glowing in the torchlight. He stared at her for a moment, surprised that she even attempted to look at him, before frowning and nearing her face, making her squirm. "I'm waiting…"

"Erik, you cannot keep her!" the Daroga fought on, his eyes narrowing as he aimed the gun for Erik's head.

"Any woman who looks at Erik's face belongs to him!" he retorted. "You know the rules very well, Daroga! Either she can meet my lasso or-"

"I'll go," she said, her voice rough as she coughed again.

His head whipped back as he stared down at her. "What?"

"I'll go with you…but please, monsieur, don't hurt him," she pleaded, her eyes moving towards the Persian.

"Oh, how I should like to," the Opera Ghost glared at the opponent. "Rest assured, mademoiselle, no harm shall come to the dear Daroga if he takes his leave now."

"Mademoiselle Archambault-!" Daroga began.

"No, monsieur, please go. I'll be alright," she reassured him, allowing Erik to guide her to the rowboat. "Please, just go!"

The Persian remained still, finally lowering his arm as he watched Erik step into the little boat and offer his hand to the girl. "If any harm befalls either woman, Erik, I shall hunt you down."

"I would not have it any other way, old friend," he answered tartly, waving his hand at him. "Now if you do not mind, Erik has important matters to attend to. Au revoir." Ignoring him now, he turned back to face the girl, who remained still and silent, standing patiently on the steps, waiting for him. With his feet firmly placed inside the boat, he pulled his hood up once more, suddenly aware that she was looking at him and not avoiding his gaze, as most people did once they saw him. He offered her his hands for support, half expecting her to cringe or jump into the lake once again. His eyes widened for an instant, however, as she reached out, her trembling fingers uncurling slowly, and placed her hands in his, gripping him tightly as she hopped inside, wobbling once on board.

"Sit down," he ordered her, his voice still commanding yet gentler in tone.

She gratefully followed his instructions, glancing behind one last time to see the Persian still standing several yards away. Casting him a weak smile, she waved at him before facing forward, setting her sights on the massive structure that loomed on the other side of the lake.

Grabbing the oars, Erik began to row, glaring back at the passage. The Daroga had vanished from sight, but he was certain he would be back soon. Facing forward again, he kept his face hidden as best as he could, eager to get back and cover it with another mask. His eyes drifted back to his hostage, however, and he instantly took in every detail about her as she turned back. Facing him, she bowed her head and hugged her knees, shivering from the cold. He could hear her teeth chattering, causing him to reach for his cloak when he stopped. A frown grew on his lips as he remembered that it was she who made him lose his mask. Stubborn, he bit his tongue and hissed, refusing to give up the only cover he had for his face. "Just a bit more, Miss Archambault."

She raised her eyes at him before glancing at the dark waters that surrounded them. "…you've been watching me, monsieur."

He continued to row, his eyes moving back to her. "Oui. I make it a point to know all that happens in my opera house." He paused a moment, watching her eyes move back onto him. "…such as receiving a rose in my private box."

A gasp left her mouth as she remembered the events of that very afternoon, her body stiffening at the mention of the flower. She hadn't thought it was real at the time…she didn't know what to expect…now she knew, she knew all too well…he was very real, and he had been watching her since she entered the theater. "…oh," she said softly. "…I didn't mean to offend-"

"You didn't," he cut her off, looking away at once. "It was very thoughtful of you to leave it for Erik."

She raised her eyebrow at this, curiosity filling her. "…pardon, monsieur, but you call yourself in the third person."

"Yes, and?" he asked coldly, still looking away from her.

She blinked at him, shaking her head. "Never mind."

They continued on in silence, the only sounds filling the air being the gentle lap of the water and the constant sloshing of the oars. Striving to sit up straight, Angelique held her head up but continued to hug herself in an effort to stay warm. She could see from the corner of her eye that Erik pushed himself to get to the other side as quickly as possible. "He's so tall and thin…and yet, he's so strong. He was giving the Persian a difficult time when they were fighting…and when he rescued…" The sudden realization hit her hard, causing her to reach up and touch her cheek. "Oh…"

"Is there a problem?" he asked coolly.

"Thank you."

His eyes darted back to her, one eyebrow raising in shock. "Pardon?"

"Thank you, monsieur, for saving me," she said a little louder, her eyes moving back to him.

His cloaked head swiveled away as he felt her stormy-hued eyes lay upon his being, his fingers gripping the handles so tightly that his knuckles when white. "You cannot swim, I presume?"

She shook her head, her tangled locks falling over her face.

"…you're welcome." He felt his eyes widen as she gave a small smile, tucking her hair away from her face. Frowning, he glared at her. "Do you not comprehend your situation? You are to be Erik's prisoner for all time! You have seen my face, child. It is not a memory that anyone wishes to look upon fondly."

"Perhaps not," she shrugged, rubbing her arms. "But as I cannot change the situation, I shall have to make the most of it."

The oars paused in midair as he gaped at her, causing her to stare back in confusion.

"…have I said something wrong?" she asked calmly.

He blinked once more at her, shook his head, and continued to row. "You are a most perplexing young woman, mademoiselle."

"Merci," she answered back, a hint of sarcasm dripping from her voice.

Within a few moments, the boat bumped against the small dock formed just outside of the house on the other side of the lake. Setting the instruments down, Erik rose to his feet and gracefully stepped out, adjusting the cloak around his face once more before turning back and offering his hand to his new guest. "My apologies, mademoiselle. Erik was not expecting company other than Miss Daae, therefore Erik did not bring gloves."

"Gloves? Whatever for?" she asked, standing precariously in the dinghy.

"So that you may not have to touch Erik," he said coldly, his rich voice lowering an octave as self-loathing washed over him. The feel of a small, slightly roughened hand startled him as its fingers curled around his own, their warmth unfamiliar and yet welcoming.

"As far as I am concerned, monsieur, there is no need for gloves between us," she answered honestly, gripping onto him once again as she stepped out and onto solid ground once more.

He slipped his hand out of hers at once, not wanting to push his luck, and motioned for her to follow after him. "This way."

Tentatively, she traced his steps, entering the house after him. Her eyes widened at the sight of a beautiful parlor, covered in expensive rugs and set with the finest settees and chairs, vases of glorious flowers placed all over the room. "Heavens," she whispered, gazing at the beautifully delicate gas lamps that lit the room. "It's beautiful…!"

"Merci," he said gruffly, moving towards another door. "Erik strives to create perfection in all he creates."

"This is the most wonderful room I've ever seen," she said softly, remaining where she stood. The room truly was perfect…so perfect that she didn't want to destroy it. She was still sopping wet, and she was petrified to even touch anything for fear that it might break.

"Your room is just down the hall," he informed her, stepping into a different room, vanishing for a moment, and emerging once again with a new mask covering his face.

"M-My room?" she asked, stunned by the news.

"Where did you think you would be staying?" he asked curtly, leading the way. "Come."

Timidly, she trailed after him, remaining a few steps away from him as he moved swiftly down the halls of his home. Turning to his right, he turned the knob and pushed the door open. "You will stay here, Miss Archambault," he informed her, motioning with his hand for her to enter.

Cautiously, she stepped inside, her jaw dropping at the beautiful décor. Candelabra lit the room, a polished Louis Philippe wardrobe sitting comfortably in the corner while a vanity rested across the room from it. The bed was massive and lush, coated in satin and linen. The carpet was a royal shade of wine, the walls a simple hue of crème. "This can't be…" she murmured.

"If it is not to your liking, you may ask Miss Daae to switch with you," he growled, only to be stunned by the sparkle in her eyes.

"Non, monsieur, I mean that I can't possibly stay in such a fine room," she shook her head. "I'm a seamstress, not a princess. This room is simply wonderful!"

Unaccustomed to compliments, he took a few moments to absorb what she had said before clearing his throat and straightening his posture. "It is yours, mademoiselle. Erik is very glad you have taken a liking to it. There is a washroom that is meant only for this room that is available through that door…now, I must ask you a favor."

"A favor?" she asked, facing him completely now.

"Yes…Erik is…concerned," he said, nearly stammering as he linked his hands together.

"Concerned?"

"Christine has seen Erik's face, and she…well, she has accepted her fate, but Erik still worries for her," he confessed, fidgeting with the clasp of the cloak. "It would be good for her to have a companion. Erik is certain she is frightened. As you are…taking things rather well, would you visit Christine and speak with her?"

"I'll certainly try, if she lets me in, that is," she nodded.

"Thank you," he said, nodding back to her. "Her room is this way." Guiding her back down the hall to one of the first rooms, he knocked on the door and waited. "Christine?" he called out to her, his voice filled with pleading and tenderness. "Christine, you have a visitor."

Angelique listened, hearing subdued crying from within the room. The sound of slow, hesitant footsteps became clearer as they neared the door, the thick plank of wood creaking open before them.

"Who…is it?" sniffled the poor girl, her sea-colored eyes filled with salty tears. Her eyes rested on Angelique's form, her face lighting up. "Oh! Angelique?! Is that really you?!"

"Hello, Christine," Angelique smiled kindly. "May I come in?" She glanced over at Erik, who began to walk away at once, leaving them alone.

"Angelique!" exclaimed the singer, dragging her into the room and locking the door at once. Falling to her knees, she wept, gripping onto the newcomer's dress. "Oh, Angelique, it's just awful! I'm trapped here! I shall never be able to go out again!"

"Christine," the seamstress cooed comfortingly, placing her hands on the girl's shoulders and gently forcing her up. "Come, Christine, let's go to the bed." Assisting the blonde woman, she brought her to the bedside and began to sit when she realized she was still soaked. "I'll just stand," she said, doing so before Christine.

"What in Heaven's name happened to you?!" Christine asked, finally taking in the form of the bedraggled young woman.

"I came after you to try and figure out where you disappeared to, and I found myself in the cellars of the Garnier," Angelique explained. "I met up with a friend-"

"In the catacombs?!"

"Well, yes. He was actually looking for our resident Opera Ghost. Anyways, there was a whole fiasco and I fell into the lake, but Erik pulled me out, and I saw his face-"

"No!" she gasped in horror, gaping at Angelique. "Tell me it's not true!"

"I'm afraid it is," she answered with a nod. "I was told I had to stay here-"

"Oh Angelique, I'm so sorry! This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't come searching for me!" wailed Christine, covering her face once more.

Patting her head, Angelique shook her head. "Really, Christine, there's no need for this-"

"How can you say that after everything that's happened?!" she demanded, raising her bloodshot eyes to her new companion. "Erik won't let us leave, and he's tricked me!"

Angelique let the girl hug her, running her fingers through her friend's hair. "He lied and said he was the Angel, didn't he?"

"Yes…yes, he did," she wept, burying her face into the tattered, wet skirts. "He took me through the mirror in my dressing room, and I fainted when I realized he was no angel, but a man. He took me on Cesar, the missing horse from the Profeta, and into a boat, and before I knew it, I awoke in this lovely room. He tried to talk to me so I might calm down, but I demanded to know who he was and where we were. I was so furious that when he turned away, I snatched his mask off and…and…oh, the horror!"

Angelique petted the girl's head, her eyes scanning the room. It was just as pretty, if not prettier, than hers. This Erik was truly a genius, as the Persian had told her, for tricking Christine and sneaking her away when no one suspected it. He was obviously a gentleman, as he admired and desired the finer things in life, and struggled to make everything within his power perfect, as he had told her…so long as they did not touch the mask or anger him, he would be civil. "It's all right, Christine…we shall be all right." "I hope." She was not frightened of the man, though his face did put her through a shock. She would survive here, and she would help Christine, but the last thing she wanted was to be trapped against her will once again. Somehow, she had to find a way to win back their freedom…