| ~ To Love a Ghost ~ by Laura D. ~ 2001 Inspired by Rose and Isabel |
| My mind and body were shattered. I lay beneath the floorboards of my living room, listening to the mob as they ravaged my precious abode. I had just slipped through the trapdoor in my large chair, barely escaping with my life. Fortunately, no one had seen the trick. They all thought I had disappeared like the ghost I was purported to be. But I was still there, safely hidden away from their venemous reach. The darkness of my sanctuary enfolded me, but did not spare me the sounds of the mob above. My keen ears picked up every vicious curse, every footfall and every bit of violence being done to my lavish apartments. But what did it matter to me? My life was over. I had just relinquished the woman I loved to a younger and very handsome rival. My world held nothing for me now. I closed my eyes and thought of Christine, the beauty whose kiss still burned upon my lips. I put my face into my hands and sobbed, recoiling at the deformity that met my touch. This beast did not turn into a handsome prince once kissed. No, I was still a monster, the disfigured demon who haunted the Paris Opera House. But didn't monsters have feelings? Did we not love? Yes! I loved Christine, and she... she had kissed me! I didn't deserve it. I didn't deserve her. And so I let her go, releasing her and her young man, the handsome Vicomte who loved her. But before they left, I told Christine I loved her. I had never said that phrase to another living being, and the weight of such words seemed to be too much for her to bear. She had turned from me, tears pouring down her cheeks, and fled into the darkness. Please, I thought, let Death take me now. The shouts from the “good opera folk” above brought me back to my senses and also conjured up memories from my childhood. I could almost see my mother cowering behind the large velvet draperies of our cottage as the townsfolk threw stones through our windows and shouted obscenities. My mother could barely tolerate the sight of me as it was, and such neighborly attention merely added insult to injury. As I watched her cry herself to sleep night after night, I knew I could not stay there any longer. I did not want to hide away – I wanted to be free! Ah, but my freedom came at such a ghastly price. Captured by gypsies, chased throughout the palaces of Persia, I had escaped only to find myself forever alone. I could do a thousand tricks and captivate people with my voice, but my horrific face was enough to turn even the strongest of men away from me. I wandered the world like Cain, marked by God with ugliness, until I came to the Paris Opera House and made it my home. Another crash from above alerted me that even this home could be taken from me. Perhaps I should just kill them all. I had enough gunpowder stored in my basement. If only I could crawl my way there… “He’s gone!” a female voice shouted. “Don’t you see?” My body went rigid with surprise. Could that be Christine? Had she come back to save me? Ah, no, my common sense reprimanded at me. It was only Meg Giry, the prima ballerina, struggling to make herself heard. “Are you not satisfied?” she cried. “He’s gone forever!” “I’ll believe that when there are no more accidents!” Monsieur Firmin, the cowardly theatre manager, whimpered. The crowd agreed and continued on their rampage. Their anger pressed them long into the night, as they sought to destroy all proof of my existence. But anger can be exhausting, as well I should know, and they finally began to tire. They withdrew from my lair and stayed in their tight-knit little group, content that they had left my home in a state of complete and utter ruin. I waited for silence to ring throughout my realm. When I felt certain that all was safe, I cautiously opened the trap door and prepared myself for the devastation that awaited me. The sound of a girl crying first reached my ears, and I immediately came to a halt. From beneath the trap door, I could see the form of a young woman seated on the floor near my organ. Her body was shaking with sobs as she tried to gather up pieces of my torn music, and again, I recognized little Meg Giry, the friend of my beloved Christine. She had a small lantern beside her, and the light reflected off of her golden curls. She wore boyish garments, and looked very much like a lost child. In her hand, she clutched my white mask. Despair washed over me at the sight of that mask, so white, so pure.... everything I was not. My throat constricted with pain, and I was tempted to withdraw back into my hiding place. But Meg's weeping caught my ear again, and I stared at her in puzzlement. Why was she crying? She hadn’t just lost the love of her life, as I had. She was a young woman, seventeen perhaps, with a glorious future ahead of her. She wasn’t a living corpse who simply wished to climb into his coffin and go to sleep! Irritation rose within me like viper. For a moment I was tempted to leap out of my hiding place and scare her half to death. My nerves were quite raw, and I wished for nothing more than to be left alone. I swore softly in Persian, and the sound startled her. Her reaction provoked something dark within me, and a thousand wicked thoughts raced across my mind. I was quite on edge as it was, and everyone knew that to trespass within the Phantom’s realm meant death. “Erik?” she asked tentatively. Her use of my Christian name startled me, and I wondered how she had come to know of it. I crept out through the trap door and let it creak ominously shut. The shadows enveloped me as Meg turned towards the sound, and I was comforted that I still had some ghostly tricks up my sleeve. “Erik,” she whispered again, this time trembling with fear. “Is that you?” “I'm here....” I decided to answer. "The Phantom of the Opera." She glanced about and swallowed hard, trying to gather her courage. “You’re not dead?” “Not yet,” I mocked. “But the night is still young.” She seemed to smile at my sarcasm, and my curiosity was piqued. I circled about her, clinging to the shadows as I did so. I knew I could throw my voice to a different corner of the room if she came too close to guessing my hiding spot, and I grew bold as I approached her. “What are you doing here, Meg Giry?” I asked darkly. “I didn’t want them to hurt you,” she confessed. Her response was so sincere and forthright that I could not help but be touched by her kindness. Still, the cruelty of my life experience had taught me to be wary, even of young women. Perhaps she had stayed behind to alert the gendarmes of my whereabouts. I couldn’t let that happen, so I continued to stalk about her like a panther closing in on its prey. “You know you're in the monster’s lair, don’t you?” I sneered. “I can't possibly let you tell them that I’m still here.” “I won’t tell anyone,” she swore fervently, and I was tempted to believe her. Still, my black heart got the better of me, and I descended upon her like a living shadow. I did not touch her; I simply snatched my mask from her hands and quickly replaced it over my hideous features. Meg gave a startled cry and instinctively pulled back, but I was immune to her fear. With my mask in place, I was suddenly powerful again. I was Don Juan triumphant, a seductive devil who had already won a kiss from his fair lady that night. What else might I do? Meg had pulled her knees tight against her chest and looked up at me in fear. She looked so young and helpless, and I felt a pang of regret for my monstrous manners. “Forgive me, my dear,” I choked, turning away from her. I could hear her rise to her feet, but I kept my back to her, hoping that would be enough of a strong front. “Are you all right?” she asked. She seemed treacherously close to me. “I'm fine,” I lied. “Please forgive me if I don't show you the way out...” “I think you need help,” she persisted. “No, no,” I mumbled. “No one can help me....Just leave me to my fate...” “I won't!” she cried passionately. “I won’t let you disappear again.” "Why should it matter to you?" I asked bitterly. "No one cares if I live or die..." "That's not true, Erik!" "Stop calling me that!" I thundered and I whirled about to stare her down. Her intimate use of my name was unnerving to me. “That’s your name, isn’t it?” she whimpered. “NO!” I roared. “I am the Phantom of the Opera!” A wicked laugh erupted from my throat, and I let it ring throughout my ruined abode. Something had to fill the space, and my evil mirth was a comforting distraction from my broken heart. “Stop!” Meg pleaded. “They’ll hear you!” “I don't care!” I growled fiercely. “Let them come and destroy me!” “No!” she cried. “ I won’t let them! I won't let them hurt you! And you... you obviously don’t want to die, or you would have let them catch you earlier.” Something in her logic caught me off guard, and the laughter instantly died in my throat. My mouth went dry, and I could feel a sob building up in my chest. I had wanted to die, or so I thought, but I had not turned to dust when Christine left me. Somehow, I lived on, and here was this girl, reminding me of that fact. I looked past Meg to my throne. It was tattered, barely usable, but I moved towards it like a ghost and collapsed into it. The entire wretched evening played over and over in my mind until the weight of it nearly crushed me. I put my head into my hands, vainly trying to control my emotions, trying to ease the pain from my mind and my heart, but my body was already shaking from suppressed sobs. I did not have the strength to fight. Though I was aware of Meg's presence, I was too keenly aware of the absence of Christine, and that completely overwhelmed me. A lifetime of despair rolled throughout my being. I thought I heard Meg move towards me, but I didn't have the energy to look up at her. Instead I wrapped my arms tighter about myself and sank further into my sadness. Meg may have spoken to me, but I could not hear her. I was trying to shut out the world, trying to withdraw as far as possible, but it seemed that someone was pulling me back. I inherently resisted and offered a struggle, but then it struck me that Meg was trying to comfort me. I felt her arms go around my shoulders, and the profoundness of this gesture sent me into a kind of delirium. I had so rarely been touched throughout my life - any sort of human contact came as a complete shock to me - yet here was this girl, this child, offering me the safe haven of her arms. I tried to pull away from her, out of shame and embarrassment, but she held me fast and rocked me in a motherly embrace. It was the most comforting moment of my life. After what felt like an eternity, I finally disengaged myself from her hug and stood up. I slowly crossed the room, measuring my breath and gathering my wits. Then I turned to look back at her. She was wringing her hands nervously and her eyes were full of compassion and concern. I withdrew from her gaze and sat down at the destroyed remnants of my organ. How I would have loved to have been able to play at that moment! Meg crept up beside me and tentatively reached out a hand to stroke the black and white keys. “I’m sorry,” she said sadly. “I wish I could have stopped them... I tried and tried, but no one would listen to me!” Tears began to trickle down her cheeks, and her body was trembling from emotion. She was trying to brush the tears away with the back of her hand, but it was too great a torrent, and she was soon weeping openly. I reached out to her and guided her onto the bench beside me. Without thinking, I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tried to offer her the same comfort she had just given me. She responded immediately by wrapping her arms about my waist and hiding her face in the hollow of my arm. I was shocked to find myself holding a young woman for the second time that night. It was truly incredible. And as she clung to me, sobbing, I marveled at how wonderful it felt to hold someone, to be able to share such a comforting thing as a hug. It was a magnificent moment, and I treasured the feeling, knowing that it (like Christine’s kiss) would not last. Once Meg had exhausted herself of her tears, she shyly pulled away from me and moved towards the middle of the room. She cast a nervous glance my way, and I held her gaze with mine. We simply looked at each other, sharing an unspoken communion. “Are you all right?” I asked gently. “Yes,” she nodded. “I am indebted to you for your kindness,” I said. “You have your mother’s sense of compassion.” "Merci," she said, wiping the last of her tears away while bobbing a curtsey. I almost laughed out loud at her sudden propriety, but I did not want to belittle the gesture. I offered a thoughtful nod and tried to piece together the mystery of her presence in my realm. “Why did you come down here?” I asked. She looked down at her feet, and seemed to hesitate before answering. “I followed the Vicomte when he dove into lake. I didn’t want to swim in the cold waters, so I found another route to your house.” “Clever girl,” I remarked, thinking I would have to tighten up the traps I had laid near my abode. She looked up at me curiously and then lowered her eyes. In the candlelight, she seemed to be stifling a maidenly blush. “I saw Christine kiss you,” she admitted. “Ah,” I breathed, my heart skipping a beat. I swallowed hard and tried to compose myself, but another thought dawned on me, and I looked at her in horror. “That would mean…you saw my face,” I whispered hoarsely. She nodded and took a step back as if she were preparing for the onslaught of my wrath. I wasn’t sure what to think. This girl had seen the horror of my face and yet she had not screamed or run away. In fact, she stood bravely before me, casting a shy glance my way. “What do you want, Meg Giry?” I asked warily. “I… I don’t want anything,” she stammered, and I knew instantly that she was lying. “You don’t want to blackmail me?” I coaxed. “No!” she sounded shocked. “Why would I do that?” “I'm a very rich man,” I leered. “And you have lingered here... purposely looking for me. There must be something you want.” She looked up at me, her mouth open as if she would speak. But then she lowered her gaze, overcome by some emotion I could not comprehend. What was it she wanted? I shook my head. For the life of me, I could not understand this girl! I studied her a moment longer and then finally offered a sigh. “Go home, Meg Giry. Do not concern yourself with a ghost.” “You’re not a ghost!” she said passionately. “You’re a living, breathing man... filled with needs and desires and longings that all of us have!” I was aghast at her declaration, but tried to dismiss it with the wave of a hand. “That is of little consequence,” I said. “It should be of great consequence!” she protested, taking a step towards me. “Please,” I said harsher than I meant to. “I don't want to talk about this. Just leave me alone.” “No!” she cried impertinently. “Mon Dieu! You are a stubborn young woman! I have asked you politely to go, and I would like you to leave now!" “No,” she rebelled softly. “I can't... I won't leave you alone!” “You.... won't leave?” I snarled incredulously. “Are you mad, girl? I am the Phantom of the Opera! Do not tempt me to teach you a lesson manners!” Amazingly, she merely glared at my tirade and scoffed, “I'm not the one who is need of a few etiquette lessons!” “How dare you?” I growled at her. “I think I have been a most polite host, considering all I have been through this evening! I have a right to my privacy, and I would like you to go now!” “I can't...” she all but moaned, and she seemed to be searching for the right words. “Unless you promise to meet me tomorrow night!” My jaw dropped, agape at her proposal. I had a thousand reasons of why I should not stay at the Opera House a moment longer, but none of them came out. Instead I found myself asking, “For what purpose?” “So you can...so we can... so you can help me with my technique.” I released an exasperated breath. “You must be joking.” “I’d like you to teach me… more... musicality,” she explained, “so that I can apply it to my dancing.” I shook my head. “Your mother is head ballet mistress, is she not?” “Yes,” Meg hedged. “Then you should have all of the instruction you need! I am not a private tutor!” “Yes, you are!” she cried, taking a step towards me. “You taught Christine!” “That was different,” I grumbled. “How so?” I sighed heavily, but could not think of what to say. The mere mention of Christine was enough to make me lose all sense of reason. “Please, Monsieur Erik,” Meg whispered. “I need you.” I could not believe my ears. She was pleading with me, just as I had pleaded with Christine earlier that night. But that seemed impossible. Perhaps my mind was deceiving me. I turned to look at Meg and was caught off guard by the vulnerable expression on her face. She was desperate and full of longing... but why? And what could any of this have to do with me? I was perplexed by this puzzle, but intrigued. It bothered me that I could not sense her true motives, but I decided I was too weary to make a sound judgement. Though I was tempted to refuse her, I thought again of all she had done for me that night, and I could not bear to tell her no. “Very well,” I relented, “but I cannot guarantee how long I will stay to tutor you. My home is obviously not safe, and I need to think of where I might go from here.” “Of course,” she said excitedly. She was practically jumping up and down with joy. “I will meet you tomorrow at midnight,” I promised. “After the patrons have left, and the theatre is empty, wait for me in the stage left wings.” “I’ll be there,” she grinned. “And don’t think to trick me,” I cautioned. “I know everything that goes on within this Opera House, and if you dare make any plans to try to capture me, you will be sorely disappointed.” “I know,” she said, sounding a bit hurt. Then she squared her shoulders and tried to take on the imperious stance her mother always took. “You don’t have to make threats, you know,” she quipped. “I’m not afraid of you.” “Ah,” I said softly, “but you should be.” ~ Chapter 2 ~ |
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