Chapter Five
Jenny sat on her grandmother's old
bed of English oak, nervously twisting the folds of the patchwork quilt. In the other room, the grown-ups were
talking in hushed whispers, favoring her with an occasional glance through the
open doorway. She shivered; outside the
wind howled a song that reminded her uncomfortably of a requiem, the mass for
the dead.
Dies
Irae... dies illa
Solvet saeclum in favilla
Teste
David cum sibylla
Quantus
tremor est futurus
Quando
Judex est venturus
Kyrie eleison... Christe eleison
Day of wrath, that day
Shall consume the world in ashes
As prophesied by David and the sibyl
What trembling is to be
When the Judge is come
Lord have mercy... Christ have mercy
The mournful sound clashed with
the doctor's whispered words that Jenny could barely make out. "Diphtheria... didn't stand a chance
with this cold weather... no antitoxin available... poor little orphan..."
Jenny didn't understand his words;
far too advanced for her ten-year-old mind.
All she knew was that she was scared and wished that her grandmother
would come in and give her a hug or something.
Finally, her grandmother did come in the room, dabbing her eyes with a
lacy handkerchief; the doctor and a dark-suited man closely followed her.
"All they owned was left to the
child. However, since she is not yet of
age, it has been entrusted to you and your husband's care until she reaches the
age of eighteen." the dark-suit was saying.
"You were wise to keep her away
from her parents, Rosemary... hard though it was. Children her age rarely survive diphtheria and when they do,
they're crippled for life." the doctor nodded.
"I knew what was wrong almost
immediately." Jenny's grandmother nodded, her English-accented voice
grave. "I knew I had to keep the
little one away... 'though she gave me a fight, she did."
"Such a shame... her mother was
such a beautiful woman... and the father was a handsome devil as well."
the dark suit mused, fixing Jenny with a critical look. "They certainly didn't pass much of
their good looks down to this one, did they?"
Grandmother gave him a stern look of
her own. "You'd be surprised, Mr.
Owens. Jenny looks exactly like her mother did at this age."
Jenny watched worriedly as her
grandmother ushered the unpleasant dark suit out the door, the wind howling its
mass even more loudly. A knot of fear
crept into her throat as the doctor came and sat beside her on the bed with a
heavy sigh.
"Hello, Jenny. Do you remember me, dear?" he smiled
gently.
"Yes, sir. You're Dr. Barnes, our family's
doctor." she replied in a soft voice.
"That's right. You're a smart girl. Now, sweet, I'm afraid that I have some
upsetting news about your parents. You
know that they've been sick recently, yes?"
"Yes, sir. Will my mommy and daddy be all right
now?" she asked, her little voice trembling.
"Jenny..." her grandmother
sat down, covering Jenny's shoulders with the quilt and holding her
tightly. "Lamb, you're parents
died last night." she said softly, her voice tinged with tears.
"Mommy is-?" she repeated,
unable to continue.
"Nooooooo!"
Jenny awoke, panting in a cold sweat
and tears coursing down her pale cheeks.
That dream again... always that dream of her parents' death. She'd experienced it so many nights for ten
years, yet familiarity hadn't diminished its horror. Each time had always left her badly shaken and frightened to
death. She'd been naive enough to think
herself rid of them, for she hadn't had one since arriving several weeks
ago. She sat up on the little cot in
Christine's old dressing room, drawing the blanket about her shoulders
tightly. It was freezing! Feeling her way like a blind woman, she
managed to find and light the candle.
Maybe she could gather her thoughts better in the light.
The Phantom stiffened behind the
mirror as a candle lit unexpectedly. He
had come up from his lair when the precisely calculated acoustics had carried
Jennifer's scream from the dressing room to his attentive ears. She was all right, it seemed. Barefoot and dressed only in a thin white
shift, she clutched a threadbare blanket of worn brown wool about her shoulders
like a shawl. The light of the candle
she had lit shimmered in the darkness, glistening in the tears on her face. Between her shivers of cold, and the sight
and sound of her child-like tears, he felt obligated to help.
"Mademoiselle..."
he called softly.
She gasped in fright, turning to
face the mirror. "Who's
there? Maestro is that you?"
"Yes, ma chere... it's
me." he replied in his most comforting voice. "I heard you scream... what troubles your sleep?"
"A nightmare..." she
managed after a trembling breath, unsure of why she confided in him. "I had a nightmare about... about when
my parents died."
"I was not aware that they were
deceased." he whispered, genuinely pitying this orphan. "Was this recent?"
"No... I was ten at the time...
it was a long time ago. But I was very
close to my mother and to my grandmother, who raised me afterwards. But... she died also... last year."
Jenny explained, new tears forming in her grass-green eyes.
"I am very sorry, mademoiselle."
he said gently, longing to enter the room and comfort this fellow lost
soul. "Is there anything I can do
for you... at all?"
She sniffed back a few tears and
looked up at the mirror as if by concentrating, she could see through it to the
man. "There is... but, I fear
you'll refuse me." she sighed returning to sit on the cot in dejection.
"You don't know that, mademoiselle...
I may not. But I'm no mind reader...
you must tell me what you want." he insisted.
"Could you-?" she
hesitated, she'd only known this man for about of three weeks... but she sorely
needed some comfort. With any luck, he
would recognize this and not condemn her
"Could you come in here and... h-hold me?" she pleaded in a
voice so soft, he barely heard her.
After a pause of complete silence, she babbled on. "I know it's not
really proper... but it's been such a long time since I've been held... I miss
it so much..."
He debated his answer carefully; if
she saw him, she would know that Maestro and the Phantom were one and the
same. On the other hand, he couldn't
possibly refuse her heartfelt request of human contact (if one could call him
human). "On one condition, ma
chere..." he decided.
"Blow out your candle so that you will not see me."
Nodding obediently, she blew out the
offending flame and waited in trusting silence for him. Without a sound, he slid the mirror to one
side and entered the cold room. His keen
eyes cut through the darkness like a cat's, easily finding the white-clad
figure on the cot.
"Where are you?" she
whispered in the darkness.
"Here... right next to
you." he replied, unable to disguise the huskiness in his voice. Even in Christine's presence, he'd never
dared to think of holding her, sure that she would turn him away. Actually being asked to hold someone had
never crossed his mind, and now that he had the chance, he wasn't even sure if
he knew how. Slowly, careful not to
frighten her, he sat down next to her and gathered her into his arms... arms
that had never before held a living woman.
She leant her head to his shoulder, her little hands resting against his
chest. Praying that she wouldn't question
the rapid pounding of his heart, he drew the folds of his cloak around her. Encased in this cocoon of black velvet, he
lightly rested his unmasked cheek against her head, savoring the feel of her
silky hair caressing his eager skin.
Even if Jenny wasn't Christine, she was still another person... at this
point, anything was good.
She was shaking in his uncertain
embrace, but not from fear, he knew.
The poor child was still visibly upset over her nightmare and forcing
back tears. This little creature was
too strong-willed for her own good, she was fighting the very thing she needed.
"It's all right, mademoiselle...
you can cry if you need to. I won't
think any less of you." he said quietly, rocking her back and forth like a
mother would rock a frightened child.
She broke down, sobbing like a lost soul. In response, he held her closer to his body, even daring to place
a tender kiss on the top of her head.
Quickly chastising himself for his impulsive, unthinkable act, he
covered it up by singing to her. It was
a wordless composition of his own, not yet in possession of a libretto. Thankfully, she said nothing of his unwanted
kiss, but merely listened to his song, hypnotized by the lullaby. She stopped crying and simply leaned against
him, comforted immensely by the warmth of his voice, cloak, and body.
"Who are you?" she asked
at the song's end. "What is your
name?"
"My name...?" he repeated.
"Yes. I promise I won't tell a soul... please?" she assured him.
"Erik." he said after a
moment. "My name is Erik."
"Erik..." she echoed, one
hand absently toying with the ruffles at the throat of his dress-shirt. "Thank you, Erik." she
whispered. "Not just for
tonight... for everything." With that, she gave him an innocent kiss on
his unmasked cheek.
His already rapid heartbeat doubled
at the brief sensation of her soft lips pressing against his surprisingly
sensitive skin. In his shock, he gasped
audibly, alerting her to his distress.
"What? What's wrong?" she asked in concern.
"N-nothing, ma chere...
it's just..." he denied at first, but quickly gave up on deceiving her. "I've never been kissed before, cherie. You just... startled me."
"You've never been kissed
before?" Jenny repeated in disbelief.
"No..." Erik struggled to
speak past the sudden knot in his throat.
While other people were blessed with sacred forgetfulness, Erik could
remember every single, painful day of his existence. "My mother abhorred me... she never touched me except...
except to punish me."
"Oh..." she whimpered in
sympathy, nuzzling against him, using her own touch to heal his scorned heart.
Erik closed his eyes in contentment;
this child's honest affection was a welcome, if alien, concept to him. All these years he'd been forced only to
watch others luxuriate in a fellow human being's embrace; now, finally he was experiencing
it first-hand. He already loved
Christine, desired her, would sell his soul to be her husband and lover. But Christine was a timid girl who was
understandably afraid of him, his grotesque appearance and demon's/angel's
voice. Now he felt certain that he
loved Jenny as well, but in quite a different way. Jenny was a rare treasure, a daughter and mother rolled into one,
someone who wouldn't run away from him.
No dark secrets or raging lust penetrated the sanctity of his affection
for Jenny. This love was simple...
safe.
"It's late, ma chere...
you should get some sleep." he said, moving to lay her down on the cot.
"No!" she cried in renewed
terror, burying her face in his chest.
"If I go back to sleep that dream will come back!"
"Shhhhhh..." Erik hushed
her, rubbing her back. After a few
minutes' thought, during which he seriously questioned his sanity, he asked,
"If you're not alone, do you think you can sleep?"
She nodded, cuddling against him for
warmth. "I don't have any place
for you to rest in here, though."
"No... not here. In my home.
It's warmer there and you can sleep in a nice, soft bed instead of this
worn old thing. Come, get your
cloak." he rose, without letting go of her bare shoulders.
"I-I don't have a cloak."
she whispered.
"In that case..." he
mumbled, whirling his own cape off and draping it around her with a single,
fluid motion.
"Won't you be cold?" she
asked in concern, fingering the heavy, black velvet, still warm from the heat
of Erik's body.
"I've my coat... come."
She followed wordlessly, her green
eyes wide and trusting even in complete darkness. Her little white hand rested in his black leather-clad one with
no hesitation or revulsion, surprising him yet again. Obedient as a young child, she let him lead her through the mirror
and the catacombs to the underground lake.
His gondola-like boat was moored there, ready to carry the two of them
across the dark waters. With a silent
groan of self-deprecation, Erik realized that now she would see him; he had to
light the lantern at the boat's bow.
Here on the lake, where even Erik's sharp eyesight couldn't cut through
the inky blackness, there was no way around it.
Jenny held her breath as a
brightly-lit lantern suddenly silhouetted Erik. He was an exceedingly tall, well-built man with short, dark hair
and an overall elegant appearance. And
judging by the rich sheen to the clothes he wore, he was certainly
wealthy. Finally, he extended a hand to
help her board the boat, always keeping the light behind him so that he
remained a silhouette.
"Hold on." was all he said
as he punted the boat away from the shore and out onto the lake.
Jenny clutched the folds of Erik's
cloak around her tightly, discreetly breathing in the musky, male scent it
carried... Erik's scent, a combination of cologne, incense, and
candle-wax. Lacking sufficient light to
see much, she gazed at Erik's broad back, mentally cataloguing what she
saw. As her dazzled eyes grew accustomed
to the light (or lack thereof), she could see more and more detail.
There was no mistaking his height,
even in this dim light; he was easily over six feet tall with proportionate
breadth of shoulder and chest, a trim waistline, and long athletic legs. He used the punt as though he'd been born
with it, with a fascinating skill and dexterity. His hands themselves were long, and thin; like those in the
paintings of Van Eyeck, slender and delicately placed despite the black gloves
confining them. Obviously, he was
exceptionally strong and muscular beneath his exquisitely tailored dress
clothes.
When they reached the opposite
shore, he again offered his gloved hand to help her down. To do this, he had to turn towards her,
finally allowing her a look at his face.
Almost. A mask of white leather
covered the right half of his face, along with all of his nose and
forehead. His mouth was wide, with
sensual, masculine lips and the side of his face that was exposed was
finely-chiseled and handsome. But it was
his eyes that truly astounded her. They
were a pale whitish-blue with a ring of dark blue around the iris, like the
eyes of the seductive vampires she'd read about. But, aside from their unusual color, it was the soul they
revealed that intrigued her. This
powerful-looking man, despite his size and autocratic demeanor, was suffering
as few mortals could suffer. He endured
the same heartache and self-doubt that she did, only more so and for far
longer. A suitor may have never loved
Jenny; but she knew what family love was and had been well cared-for, even a
little spoiled by her parents. Instinct
told her that this man had never known love of any kind, not even from family
or close friends. His eyes told her
what his voice did not; that he was utterly alone in the world, separated from
mankind by some terrible circumstance, and desperate for love of any kind.
"Mademoiselle?" he
asked, waiting for her to grasp his hand.
Embarrassed for having stared at him
like he was an insect under a microscope, Jenny smiled and took his hand. He led her to what appeared to be a badly
cracked stone wall; with a push on a certain stone, a hidden door swung open,
allowing them access to Erik's underground domain. It was, as he'd said, warmer there thanks to an intricate and
complex heating system of his own engineering.
As indicated by Erik's clothes, he was an obviously wealthy man and his
home reeked of fine taste and high luxury.
Jenny had never been in such a palace!
A thick, Persian carpet of dark red covered the floor from wall to wall,
another oriental rug of somber creams, blues, reds, and blacks in the
middle. A black leather sofa with a
beautifully woven throw of the same Persian origin, a chair that looked more
like an ornate throne, and a monstrous pipe organ arrested her immediate attention. A coffee table, three huge bookcases, and a
piano bench of rich, deeply polished ebony also occupied the room. Candles in tall candelabras were lit
everywhere, giving the room a romantic atmosphere and Jenny detected a
heaviness in the air that could only be caused by some exotic incense.
Jenny examined his bookshelves with
interest, aware that some strange silence had passed over them. Perhaps she
could find something in his books to comment upon. Notre Dame de Paris, Les Miserables, Les Sonnets de William
Shakespeare, Oedipus Rex et Antigone, classics and contemporaries alike
occupied the shelves in meticulous alphabetical order. But what caught her eye was a thick book on
the bottom; La Belle et La Bete: Fairie Tales from France and other
Countries.
"Fairy tales?" Jenny
inquired, pulling the book out to inspect it closer. "You read fairy tales?"
"I am in the process of writing
my own compositions, including a fully-orchestrated opera; sometimes I find
fairy tales to be a valuable source of inspiration." he replied in answer.
"I always loved Beauty and
the Beast." she said softly.
"Except the ending, once the Beast became a handsome prince... I
lost interest."
"Why is that?"
"I don't know exactly. Maybe because deep down, I wanted him to
stay a beast, not to continue his suffering, mind you, but... I don't
know." she struggled. "Maybe
because I always place myself as Beauty and when the Beast became this handsome
prince... I found myself over-shadowed.
It would still be Beauty and the Beast, but with the roles
reversed."
"How can you say that?"
Erik asked, daring to stroke her cheek with one skeletal finger. "How can you think that you're
unattractive?"
"Because... I am." was her
simple answer.
"No, you are not. I think you're pretty." he cupped her
chin in his hand, forcing her to look him in the eyes.
"There is nothing pretty about
me." she shook her head sadly.
"Much about you is just
that." he repeated. "But you
apparently are blind to your own attributes."
"Name some." she demanded
suddenly.
"Well… you're compassionate and
kind, you've a beautiful voice, you-" he listed.
"Which are all well and
good." Jenny interrupted.
"But those have nothing to do with looks, Erik… those are
personality traits."
"True." he nodded,
caught. He looked at her briefly,
trying desperately to lock onto one feature that stood out. "Well… appearances aren't all that
important."
"A strange statement, indeed...
coming from you, Maestro Le Fantome." she smiled at her smooth
change of subject and direct confrontation of her nagging suspicions.
To Erik's intense chagrin, he could
see in her eyes that she knew everything; no point in even trying to deny
it. How had she known, when everyone
else except Christine was clueless?
Evidently the company's credulous nature had made him careless.
"How did you know?" he
tried to sound nonchalant. "What
gave me away?"
"I put two and two together and
I got seven" she smiled smugly.
"You, as Maestro, share many qualities with the Phantom. For example; a stunning voice, musical
genius, a dislike for Carlotta, etceteras.
In addition, you have the engineering knowledge and magician's skill to
make it appear that you're a ghost.
You must have the entire Opera rigged.
Shall I go on?"
"No, you've succeeded in making
me look like a bloody amateur." he said gruffly, annoyed at both his
incompetence and her observance.
"But you must promise me, swear on your parents' graves that you
will never reveal my secret to anyone.
My very life is in danger if you do."
"Why? What have you done?" she asked.
"Never mind!" he growled
like an angry tiger. "Just
swear!"
"All right!" she
yelled. "Jiminy cricket, but you
do over-react to things, Erik. Please,
calm down!"
Her scolding words hit home almost
immediately and Erik's harsh anger abated.
He relaxed from his ready-to-pounce stance and stared at his previously
out-stretched hands in bewilderment.
The girl was quite correct... he did lose his temper often over
seemingly little things.
"Forgive me..." he
whispered. "I suppose I find it
extremely difficult to trust anyone.
But that doesn't excuse my behavior towards you just now."
"You're readily forgiven."
Jenny replied, the annoyance in her eyes quickly disappearing as she stifled a
yawn with the back of one hand.
I think you need some sleep, ma
chere... it's past two in the morning." Erik said gently, greatly
relieved that she had kept a cool head in the face of his anger and had
managed to stave it off with ease.
"Erik... about my knowing your
secret... you're not angry with me are you?" she asked, her eyes wide with
vulnerability as Erik led her into an adjoining guestroom of sorts.
"No, cherie...
never."
"Stay with me, until I fall
asleep?" she murmured as he laid her on the huge bed and drew the blankets
over her.
"If you wish."
"I do."
"Then, I'll stay with you until
you are sleeping."