Into the Darkness

by EverspringNative

Set in Paris, 1861. A young Erik has spent 10 months as a captive of the gypsies where he is humiliated and abused for his appearance. Following the death of his uncle Erik's life has been consumed with despair while on display as part of the traveling circus-until he meets a ballerina named Madeline (Mme Giry) and finds his way beneath the opera house. (Part of a series.)

8. Apollo's Rooftop

Please tell me if you're reading and where you're from. I'm Gabrina, and I live near Chicago.

Also, because after some 13 years on this site I still have to screw up formatting here and there, this chapter is spaced weird. I can't seem to correct it without going line by line, so... I'm sorry if it's distracting! Please let me know what you think of this chapter.

Chapter 8

Madeline's departure left me restless and uneasy. I longed to be of greater assistance to her, but confined to the cellar there was nothing for me to do. Frustrated, I paced the floor and cursed myself for not winding my watch as now I had no concept of time.

Her last sobs still haunted me long after she returned to the upper level of the Opera House, and I grappled with resurfacing images of my uncle in his final moments of life and subsequent burial. Weeks after he had passed I struggled with the thought of whether he had actually perished or if I had buried him alive. My chest would ache, my hands and feet numb at the thought of him waking beneath the earth and suffocating. Perhaps I had not buried him alive, but I knew without a doubt I had caused his death. Every moment of every day I considered his last weeks and what I should have done different to keep him alive.

Eventually my knees ached and shins burned from the deep bruises, which forced me to hobble into the nearest armchair and rest my fatigued legs. I stared at the ripples in the lake, my grief becoming catatonic.

At some point I dozed off as the door creaking open woke me with a start.

"Is he alive?" I blurted out in a half-sleep as I shot out of the chair. Pain splintered up my shins and I cursed under my breath.

"Thomas has survived, by the grace of God and endless prayers." Madeline beamed in her light blue skirt and matching ribbon in her hair. Her cream colored blouse made her features seem more rosy, and red lipstick made her mouth wider. "The duel did not take place in London, so the information relayed by my mother and father was incorrect."

"Was he shot?"

"He was." She exhaled heavily. "My father said the bullet hit him in the hip and passed through his leg by his knee. Originally they thought he was shot in the stomach."

"What of the other person?"

Madeline rolled her eyes. "Thomas is a terrible shot. His sworn enemy was unscathed and luckily for Thomas the other gentleman helped stop the bleeding until a physician arrived."

"They are both fortunate."

"They are both fools," Madeline corrected.

"Do you know what caused the disagreement?"

"No idea. My best guess would be a woman." She sighed and shook her head.

"Is he expected to survive?" I hated asking the question in such uncouth fashion, but I had no idea if such a wound was considered mortal, and judging by her mood I hoped her brother would make a good recovery.

"The next few days are crucial." Her visage darkened. "But for now he is speaking and seems in good spirits."

I nodded, unsure of how to respond. My uncle had not seemed so terribly ill until he was down to his last day and then the manner in which his health seemed to plummet was well beyond my comprehension. I feared for Madeline's brother despite knowing nothing of him other than his name.

"I do apologize for not paying a visit yesterday. I was exhausted from the correspondence with my parents," Madeline said.

I held up my watch. "I forgot to wind it," I said sheepishly. "I did not know how much time had passed."

Madeline seemed more amused than annoyed. "It's ten-thirty in the morning. I have tea, croissants, and the most delicious strawberry preserves you've ever tasted."

She seemed to be under the impression that every bit of food she delivered to me was the best I had ever tasted and she was not wrong.

Her usual warm demeanor had returned, and as I set my watch, she arranged breakfast and insisted upon checking my wounds once we finished eating.

"Your face is quite ashen," Madeline commented. "You feel worse today?"

"I feel no better," I offered. I did not tell her I had spent hours pacing the length of the cellar.

Madeline eyed me curiously, which made me self-conscious. "Perhaps a bit of pain medicine is in order to take the edge off."

She pulled apart one of the golden, flaky croissants and slathered it in a generous spoonful of preserves before handing it to me.

"Some people do become reliant, so you will have to be very careful with taking laudanum," she warned.

I had never taken pain medication, although I had seen both men and women who were addicted to the tincture. The first, which I had not known at the time, was my own mother. It wasn't until long after I had been removed my parents house that I realized the dark green bottle with the pink label kept her perpetually in a placid state. When she was without the magical potion, she alternated between weeping and screaming as she rocked with her bible pressed to her chest. Her cries dug into my soul while her fits of anger terrified me. Possessed, my father would say to her, filled with the devil's seed.

Given my father's fondness for alcohol and my mother's dependence on opium, I had reservations about taking anything for my injuries. Truthfully I knew deep inside nothing would truly quell the pain I felt.

"I do not think laudenum will be necessary," I said.

To my surprise, Madeline did not push the issue further. We finished eating and she gathered the plates as always.

I watched in silence, dreading her departure and the loneliness that followed. She met my eye briefly and looked me over thoughtfully.

"Do you know will make you feel better?" Madeline asked. This time I realized the question was rhetorical. "Fresh air."

I stared up at her. Fresh air would require leaving the cellar, and the opportunity of a change of scenery excited me.

"Of course this will require much more than five flights of stairs."

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"To visit Apollo." Madeline offered a wide grin. "There is a most impressive statue on the rooftop."

"Now?" My excitement was beyond containment and I stood, fully prepared to follow her anywhere.

She shook her head. "When you are healed."

Ironic, I thought to myself, to meet this god of healing and sunlight after I sat alone in darkness waiting for my bruises to fade.

Madeline recognized my disappointment and reached into her bag. "Here," she said as she handed me several small chocolates. "My favorite pain medication."

"When will you return then?" I asked, the weight of her pending departure already weighing upon me.

"Soon," she promised. "There are no rehearsals today following the big performance yesterday, so I will gather clean bandages for your arm and head and perhaps something more to pass the time. Do you enjoy puzzles?"

"I've never had one."

"Then I will bring you one my uncle gave to me. It came all the way from the Orient," she said, keeping her voice low as though there was a chance we would be overheard.

I helped her with the heavy basket of dishes and made one last attempt to keep her a moment longer.

"What was she like?"

"Who?"

"The Queen of Spain."

Madeline chuckled to herself. "Tragically dull."

Nearly a week passed before Madeline decided I was well enough to leave the fifth cellar, and by that time I had designed my own cozy, lakeside abode.

I moved from a blanket and pillow on the floor to a natural alcove with a chest of drawers, silver candle holders, luxurious wool throws, and the apex of finds thus far: a bed.

Wedged between the chest of drawers and the wall I stumbled upon a straw mattress to fit the bed frame I had seen previously. Unfortunately the bed frame had one leg slightly longer than the other three, which I assumed was the reason it had been discarded. With the tools I had found, I measured and sawed off the extra wood to even out the frame.

At the age of thirteen, I felt one simple carpentry project was the equivalent of building the Parthenon. I could not have been more satisfied or proud of my work. With each passing day, the barren cave became more of a home than a space meant for storage, and soon enough I felt quite at home.

Madeline gave a nod of approval when she returned one evening with supper and a large canvas bag filled with clothing. A mule could not have carried the load Madeline managed to navigate down five flights of stairs, and I marveled at the strength of such a slight woman.

"What is in the bag?" I asked.

She returned a devilish smile. "A disguise, amongst other things."

Her words intrigued me. "For the rooftop?" I asked quite eagerly.

While I toiled for hours designing my lakeside home I fantasized about the rooftop and the statue of Apollo. In my mind the statue was made of marble and sixty feet tall. I imagined doves perched on his outstretched arms and the commanding stare on his chiseled face.

I could not wait to meet this god overlooking Paris.

"For the rooftop," Madeline confirmed as she reached into the canvas bag and held out a dark brown folded garment. "A cloak with a deep hood."

She unfurled the cloak and I reveled at the length and weight of the material. The outside was wool, the cream colored lining made of silk.

"Where did it come from?" I asked. "This must have cost a fortune."

"I'm sure it cost more than I earn in a year, but a patron left it behind last winter and it's been unclaimed and in storage ever since. I thought it could be put to use once more." She dug into the inner pocket. "There are even gloves."

I slipped the gloves on first and flexed my hands inside the supple leather. Immediately I felt as though I had gone from pauper to prince.

"Your cloak, Monsieur," Madeline said.

She draped the material over my shoulders and fastened the silver clasp at my throat before taking a step back. I waited for her nod of approval, but her smile fell and brow furrowed.

Immediately I felt self-conscious and reached for the clasp. I had every intention of returning the cloak, but Madeline pushed my hand away and grunted to show her disapproval. "You are so thin still, but another week or two of eating well and you'll see it fits better." She looked me up and down again and smiled. "Already you look much healthier than the day you arrived. You are gaining weight and strength."

Her compliments reaffirmed my thoughts when I had dared to look at my own reflection in the mirror that morning. The bruises had turned from dark blue to a yellow tint, which I expected, however my ribs and hips no longer appeared as pronounced. My face was more round than angular, and my arms and legs showed more muscle tone. The monster slowly retracted, and in its place I saw a young man staring back from the mirror.

"If we hurry, we should arrive on the rooftop before the sun sets," Madeline explained.

"What if we are seen?"

"There are many different halls and stairways, some of which only servants use." She rolled onto the balls of her feet and rocked back on her heels. "The theater managers are not in on Sundays and neither are the servants."

"The stairways will be empty," I said.

Madeline nodded.

A secret passageway to the rooftop certainly seemed enticing enough, and as Madeline took up her lantern and handed me the basket of dishes to return to the scullery, I felt electricity in my veins.

We trudged up the stairs in near silence, pausing only when we reached the main level of the theater.

"Wait here," Madeline said as she took the basket from me and left the lantern turned down at my feet.

Impatiently I did as requested and waited for her to return. I heard her shoes click against the smooth flooring, which faded after a minute or so. Once I heard the faint clatter of dishes down the hall and return of footsteps, I reached for the door handle, but snatched my hand away when I heard a husky voice.

"Aye, what do we have here 'lone in the halls?"

Madeline did not readily answer, which made me wonder if there was someone else nearby being addressed by this man.

"Whatsa matter, sweetheart? Cannot spare a word?"

"Joseph." Madeline exhaled sharply.

"Aye, she knows my name."

"You have the same name as my brother."

The man grunted. "I do hope you ain't thinkin' of him when I come up behind you and have my way."

His words sent fire through my veins. I grit my teeth and balled my hand into a fist. One more word out of his crude mouth and I would kill him with my bare hands.

I leaned forward and peered out the crack in the door in time to see the man reach between her legs. Before he could grab her, Madeline slap the bastard clear across the face, which sent him reeling back.

"Not another word, Bouquet," Madeline said between her teeth. She stood rigid, her eyes trained on him in a cold glare, her finger pointed in his fleshy face. "And if you should ever so much as think of laying your hand on me, I will kick your balls into your throat."

The man was short, fat, and bearded with small eyes and greasy hair. I could not tell his age, though I suspected he was not much older than Madeline. I watched in silence as he rubbed his face and sneered at Madeline before he licked the corner of his mouth and slinked away.

"You best watch yourself," he said over his shoulder before a door slammed and signaled his departure.

I wrenched the door open with every intention of stalking after the insolent fool, but Madeline pushed against my chest with both hands. "Erik, no," she whispered frantically. "It's not worth it."

She was incorrect. I would have died to defend her honor. I would have done anything to protect her from Bouquet or any other man to threaten her.

Rage shook me to the core. I glared down the hallway, willing the bastard to return, but he had disappeared. The only trace of him was the billowing stench of alcohol, and the smell infuriated me.

"Stop," Madeline warned. She dug her heels into the ground and strained to keep me from following Bouquet. "He is , please, you'll knock me to the ground."

Her words snapped me from my red hot vexation and I took a step back once I realized I had nearly pushed Madeline into the wall. She appeared taken aback by my strength, and as she crouched to retrieve the lantern, I noticed she kept her gaze trained cautiously on me.

"Did I harm you?" I asked.

She shook her head, gaze lowered. "No, of course not."

"But I frightened you?"

Madeline hesitated. "Yes."

It was my turn to lower my gaze. "Who is he?" I asked. My heart still raced, the desire to rip his head from his shoulders still thrumming through my veins. The rush of anger thrummed through my veins, a familiar sensation that was quick to overtake my senses and slow to leave.

"Joseph Bouquet. A stagehand." Madeline glanced in both directions and then nodded for me to follow her to a doorway directly across from the cellars. "A worthless one at that, however, he is related to the owner of the theater by marriage, which is the only reason he is still employed."

"Does he bother you often?"

Madeline paused and gathered her skirts at the bottom of the first set of spiraling stairs. "He prefers much easier dancers."

I considered her words as we climbed the first set of stairs. They were much different than the stairways leading into the cellars. The hallway itself was much more narrow and considerably warmer while the stairs were made of wood rather than stone.

"What does he do the other dancers?" I persisted.

"He does not think we are aware, but he leers at the dancers through a hole in the dressing room wall. We plug as man as we find, but there are always more, particularly near the girls who are…" She looked briefly at me. "Looking to advance their careers in whatever way possible. He cons them into his bed and is the first to cast them out if there are...consequences to their relationship."

I had seen men like him before. While I was considered a monster for my appearance, the real monsters from the depths of hell stalked their prey in broad daylight.

"He has done this to you before? Grabbed you...in such a manner?" I paused and saw Madeline's cheeks turn crimson.

"Not for a very long time."

Fire raged through my veins at the thought of that drunken fool speaking to Madeline let alone what he had attempted in the hall. "If he should dare lay a hand on you-"

"I would rather not waste another minute speaking of him," Madeline said. "Please, Erik, not another word. I would sooner forget him."

Despite her wishes to forget his actions, Joseph Bouquet was burned into my mind. I wanted nothing more than to break every bone in his body, and if he dared look at Madeline in a way I found unacceptable, I would not think twice and kill him.

Before I could say another word, Madeline pushed open a door and I squinted as we were met with blinding sunlight. The shock from darkness to light disoriented me briefly and I turned my face away. Once my eyes adjusted, I followed her onto the rooftop and gawked in awe of our surroundings.

Never in my life had I seen such beauty. There was a small, overgrown garden of intoxicating roses, lavender, and freesia as well as a stone bench strangled by creeping ivy.

I watched as she untied the string at her throat and gracefully removed her cloak. The fabric was much lighter than mine both in color and weight and floated on the breeze before she draped it over the stone bench.

Beneath her cloak she wore a long purple dress with a light green sash that matched the ribbon in her hair.

To my surprise Madeline stepped to the very edge of the building and and jumped on the ledge, her arms outstretched for balance. In the fading light of day she looked every part a dancer, fingers and toes gracefully pointed.

Her daring move threatened to stop my heart and I raced to her side only to discover the ledge was much wider than I had expected.

"I thought you would fall," I said once my heart was no longer seemingly lodged in my throat.

"Never," she said with a chuckle.

I watched her in silence for a moment, appreciating her grace. It reminded me of Garouche's daughter, Lipa, and her act in the traveling fair where she stood upon white horses barefoot and rode them around while switching from one foot to the other and eventually to a handstand. With her olive skin tone and white hair, she looked like some sort of ethereal being sent to entertain mortals.

"This is one of my favorite spots in all of Paris and no one else seems to know it even exists," Madeline said, which startled me from my thoughts. She smiled, and the setting sun cast a golden hue on her oval face. "More for me, I suppose."

I hopped up beside her and surveyed the city from our daring vantage point. The wind caught the end of my cloak and it flapped around my ankles like the wings of a giant bird. When I glanced at Madeline, she returned a smile.

The weight of the world faded away. Atop the Opera House, I felt like a captain at the bow of a mighty ship waiting to conquer and claim everything at my feet.

"Do you like it?" Madeline asked as she brushed long, dark tendrils of hair from her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her movements graceful and lively.

I nodded and inhaled deeply. "Very much so. I had not realized how much I missed the sunlight and the smell of fresh air."

"And coffee," she said as she pointed to the streets below. "The best cafes in all the world are on this very street. Tomorrow morning I will bring you some."

"I would like that," I replied despite having never drank coffee.

Madeline turned away from the sunlight and gave a dramatic, deep curtsy. I followed her gaze to the opporiste end of the rooftop. "And there is the god of music, healing, and sunlight."

The vision in my mind did not do justice to the actual statue. I hopped down from the ledge and toward the pristine image of Apollo standing guard over the Opera House.

He stood very tall-and very naked-over Paris on a rooftop dome that reminded me of a crown. The statue itself was made of bronze, the lyre held in his large hands above his head painted gold. On both sides were seated female figures.

"Poetry and music," Madeline said before I could ask what they represented.

"He is very…" Well-endowed, I wanted to say.

Madeline feigned a sound of disgust as though she knew my thoughts. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Indeed he is," she said with a snort. "The artist was quite generous."

When she met my eye I could not help but double over with laughter. It was the first time in my life I recalled showing such unabashed mirth, and as our voices carried across the evening sky, I drank in the deep blue of the sky behind Apollo and the blaze of pinks, orange, and yellow as the sun set and gave way to the moon. I had forgotten what it felt like to watch the day disappear before my eyes, how slow and easy the light submitted to darkness.

The streets below slowly illuminated with lamp light. Carriage horses clip-clopped past in different directions, the sound somewhat drowned out by music from various cafes in different corners of the city.

The evening air was cool now that the sun had all but disappeared and fragrant from the garden behind us. I looked up at the pin prick of stars in the night sky, the blanket of darkness I had gazed upon for a mere fifteen weeks with my uncle.

My father, the gypsies, and even Joseph Bouquet slipped from my mind as I stood, content at last. Melodies filled my thoughts, music I composed in my head as I breathed in the night.

I thought of the violin I had found and how I would one day play it, perhaps on this very rooftop. Paris, this beautiful, sprawling city at my feet, deserved to hear Gustave Daae's violin one more time.

A surge of gratitude swept over me as I stood beside Madeline. This was what my uncle would have wanted for me, to be untroubled, my mind at ease and body healed. I smiled inwardly and hoped he smiled back from the heavens and shared in my newfound peace.