Page 42 of Angel's Fall
“It only makes him bolder!”
“And walking about with it pinned into your pocket only makes you look like a fool!” Moncharmin barked back and Erik wondered if that was intentional on his part. Moncharmin did know that the walls had ears, and while Christine was the only one in the Opera who could sense Erik without fail, many felt the change in the air when the ghost was listening.
“So I’m the fool? For refusing to kiss the ring of a charlatan?”
Well, Erik certainly didn’t likethatsort of disrespect. He heard the creak of the chair above him as Richard sat for emphasis. He was right above the Ghost’s trap door, just in reach.
“How many times must I warn you, Firmin, this is no joke or trick.” Moncharmin’s voice was much louder when Erik softly opened the trap door. Erik took one brief second to savor the slightly less stale air in the office compared to the space beneath its floor.
His skills as a pickpocket remained unmatched, Erik thought to himself as he easily dipped his hand into Richard’s pocket and undid the safety pin the manager had used to secure the wad of money. As if a little piece of metal could stop a phantom.
In a heartbeat, Erik was back in the passage, a small fortune secure in his hands. It was best not to linger, as much as he wanted to hear Richard’s reaction, and it might not be the wisest thing to wander around the Opera with so much money.
He walked cautiously to the cellars, on guard as he had been since Jean-Paul’s attack and Shaya’s confession. He still felt it, just as Moncharmin must have in that office – the instinct he was not alone in his kingdom. But who would come down and interlope? It wasn’t the boy, that was for sure.
Just as the thought occurred to him, Erik stopped on a stair into the third cellar, a shadow of movement catching his eyes. Yes, there it was again: someone moving between the set pieces that concealed the entrance into the torture chamber. At least that door was shut, sparing Erik the mess of confession and body disposal.
Erik followed soundlessly after the shadow in the unlit maze of backdrops, scrims, and machinery. The interloper was dressed in black, just like Erik, with a felt hat and a long cape. Whoever it was had the specific intent of looking like the ghost. They (Erik did not want to assume it was a man) were methodically looking for something, that much was clear, and Erik wondered if Shaya had told someone about the secret entrance behind the backdrop fromLe Roi de Lahore.
The shade stopped, looking over their shoulder. Erik saw for the first time that his doppelgänger had gone so far as to wear a mask. It was a black domino, not a white mask covering the entire face like Erik’s, leaving only his lips visible. Erik remained hidden in shadow, but the shade continued to scan the dark. Again, a remarkable example of how humans know when a predator is close.
Erik held his breath and reached for his Punjab Lasso on instinct, only to remember when he found just money in his hidden pocket that Christine had burned it weeks ago. She wanted Erik to be done with his horrors – with tortures and plans to burn down the world. It was truly only her grace and mercy that was keeping this shadow alive right now.
Erik retreated, dark thoughts following him as he took a different path down to the lake. Who had that been? Why did the shade feel familiar but also so dangerous? Had he been a fool not to seize the intruder and unmask them? What would he have done with them after? He had no idea what to do with himself most days – how would he deal with a prisoner?
Erik entered his home and lit more candles, their light illuminating the brass pipes of his great organ. Cecilia loomed there, calling him to her comfort. It was not her that drew his attention, but the great, red-bound score on the shelf beside her. Then of course there were the two little caskets on the mantle above the fire. Christine had never noticed them.
He opened the casket on the left, the memory of Christine bright in his mind, thinking how she had held him through the nights as they had muddled through these weeks of deceptions. The bronze scorpion waited there, ready to strike, and Erik stood ready to turn it. One turn of that little trigger, and it would all be over. Lake water would drown the cache that could end them all. He would truly kill the monster he had been before her.
But what if he still needed it? What if one day she didn’t come back? Erik closed the casket and turned away from its twin as well, where the grasshopper waited with its deadly trigger. He didn’t need it today, but with that boy above, so close to her, he could not yet let it go.
––––––––
Raoul was tired ofseeing the same story over and over, he thought to himself as he squirmed in his box while Carlos Fontana sang of seduction on the stage. More than that, he was more uncomfortable each time he heard Christine sing, knowing who she sang for. She had sworn up and down that her teacher had not corrupted her body, but it was clear in how she sang that he had donesomethingto her soul. It was obscene, the passion she brought to each note as virginal Gilda was deflowered by the Count...
Raoul rose from his seat and strode from the family box they had leased for years. He didn’t want to see any more displays. He didn’t want to hear Christine sing for the thing that lived in the shadows. The creature Raoul was no closer to destroying after so many days of trying. Time was running out.
Each day, they grew closer to when Christine believed he was leaving. Each day, he saw her and tried to make her speak of Erik and his secrets, but she refused. He followed her through the Opera and like he had when, as a child, he had tried to catch cats in the stables. Christine was always running a few feet ahead of him, impossible to capture and pin down.
Raoul’s feet took him automatically to the door from the lobby to backstage. It was quite hard to find if one didn’t know where to look, but thanks to his adventures with Christine and continued explorations of the Opera, he knew it well now. Not as well asErik, of course, but well enough.
“Monsieur, you can’t go in there!” a voice called as Raoul grasped the door handle. He turned to see a concierge rushing towards him, panting and moist with sweat.
“I am a friend of Mademoiselle Daaé,” Raoul protested and opened the door. To his horror, the concierge threw himself in front of Raoul and closed the door again.
“That is all well and good, Monsieur, butno oneis allowed backstage that is not part of the company.”
Raoul huffed in annoyance and strode to the nearby coat room. The attendant sputtered when Raoul grabbed a paper and quill from the counter and scrawled a note.
My darling,
I miss you and wish I could be with you behind the curtain. Please order this imbecile to let me in.
He pressed the note into the hands of the concierge and glared. “If you won’t admit me, take this to Mademoiselle Daaé and let her tell you to let me back there. I want to see her.”
The concierge scowled before disappearing through the door and loudly locking it behind him. Raoul was left alone in the lobby by the entrance to the boxes, save for the various other box attendants who were staring at him darkly. Especially one older woman with wild eyes by the final box before the premiere seats.
“Tired of artifice and pretense?”
