Page 17 of Bewitched By the Phantom
After what feels like an hour of walking the halls but is only really a few minutes, I find a room that I’ve never been in. It must have been some sort of office at one point, but an office that belonged to someone who cared. There are pictures hanging on the walls, paintings even. A broken mirror sits off to one side, reflecting the man I see standing inside.
I immediately duck behind the doorjamb, holding my breath so he doesn’t hear me. When there isn’t a pause in his garbled singing, I slowly peek from around the corner again, watching as Erik stands in front of one of the paintings.
The painting is an old oil painting, half covered in mold and decaying with time. Someone said this power plant has been decommissioned for fifteen years. That makes sense when you look at the photos and artwork on the walls.
Erik is humming low in his throat, the sound deep and strange. As I watch, he places his hand over the painting and the sound in his throat changes. He begins to sing quietly, his throat glowing faintly with bioluminescent veins. I watch as the painting begins to degrade further, strokes of color flaking away into dust. The music doesn’t echo, it reverberates through him, changing him. His voice becomes layered, corporal, as if pulling harmonies from the painting’s soul. I watch, horrified and awestruck, as his spine arches unnaturally and a low, hungry sound thrums from his chest, like a cello scraping bone.
His mask begins to crack from the energy of it, fracturing along the jaw, revealing a strip of grey skin.
I gasp, the sound loud in my ears. So loud, I know he heard it before he jerks and spins. His eyes meet mine, locking as we both hover in this in between moment of uncertainty. The small bit of his face I see is glimmering with unearthly beauty, before he slaps his hand over the mask, blocking my view.
I stare at him with wide eyes, horrified. “What are you?” I choke out.
He steps back into shadows and disappears as if he was never there, leaving behind only the scorched edge of the canvas. I step further into the room, searching where he could have gone, but there are no other doors. There’s no way he slipped past me.
I’m hallucinating. Clearly. Because otherwise, what the fuck did I just witness? I don’t end up grabbing food. I quickly make my way back to our apartment and close myself inside, chalking it up to stress and the knowledge that I shouldn’t walk around alone at night.
A soft hum catches my attention and I follow the sound, frowning when I see my mic sitting on the table. It’s not plugged in, but as I get closer, it’s clear the hum is coming from it. I pick it up, confused. Now isn’t the time for our equipment to get faulty.
I shake the mic, and the hum cuts off. I stare at it for a second, shrug, and move to set it back down. Before I can, a new sound statics across the mic before it starts to play music, a recording of my duet with Erik. But I’d never recorded it. We’d never had a mic near us.
And underneath my voice, I hear his, pure, full, seductive. The song cuts off and instead, it’s him, low, growling, “I told you, Angel. You’ve known me for longer than you think.”
I drop the mic and stumble backwards, my eyes wide with fear. I rush to my small room and slam the door behind me, locking it before I shove the small chair up under the doorknob.
My heart beats against my ribcage like a beast trying to escape. Fear flickers in my chest, but beneath that, far beneath, so deep I almost miss it, is a little bit of arousal, too.
Chapter
Twelve
Fuck it. Sometimes a bitch has gotta do what a bitch has gotta do.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I try to casually walk toward apartment number three without looking sketchy. I’d checked the schedule. The Cadaver Cantata are due in the rehearsal room so they should be over there, far away from their apartment. Which means their apartment should be empty.
I hadn’t slept a wink last night. Instead, my mind had replayed every interaction I’ve had with Erik, going over every detail, before connecting them to the Phantom. I don’t know if it’s possible, if what my mind is saying is even real, but there’s only one way to confirm it or debunk it.
Break into Erik’s room.
Okay, so maybe it’s not the best idea. Honestly, I’m not even sure this will tell me anything. Erik could be a neat freak or a minimalist and have literally nothing in his room. I’m not sure which theory is worse. That he’s just a lead singer who leans heavy into the mystery and spookiness of his persona or that he’s the real deal spooky? Fuck, I don’t even know which one I want to be true.
I do know that he shouldn’t be in his apartment, and I’m going in whether it’s a good idea or not. A girl’s gotta put her mind at ease.
Apartment number three is on the other side of the hub where they built the temporary apartments into the area. Honestly, I don’t know how they managed to build apartments in the middle of an abandoned power plant, or why they decided to waste so much money. They could have just brought in campers or something. Hell, we would have slept in a tent just fine if there’d been no other choice.
And now I’m going on a rambling mind rant while I stand outside of apartment three looking suspicious.Do it or leave, I tell myself, trying to hype myself up to break into the apartment. Funny enough, if I get caught, this won’t be the first time I get in trouble for breaking and entering. Lucky for me, the last time I got caught, the cop was sympathetic. I’m not really sure what would happen here.
I glance around. No one’s looking at me. No one’s paying attention at all. Maybe no one will question it. Maybe they’ll assume I’m hooking up with one of the band members. There’ve been quite a few hook ups between bands. It happens. It’s not a big deal. Honestly, I’d rather rumors float around about that than someone realize I’m breaking in.
When I realize no one is paying attention and Erik isn’t anywhere to be seen, I step forward, grab the doorknob and twist. The door opens, and I realize they don’t even bother locking their door. Idiots.
I step inside and close the door behind me, looking around at the living and kitchen area. Nothing looks out of place except for a gaming console rigged up to the TV. The controllers are tossed haphazardly on the table, as if whoever had been playing didn’t want to stop or did so in a hurry. The kitchen itself looks pristine, like no one ever uses it.
Glancing between the four doors, I try to decide how I’ll know which room is Erik’s. I move over to the first door and peek inside, but I immediately decide it’s the drummers when I spy all the drumsticks sitting around. Broken ones, new ones, some that look like they were used as some sort of eating utensils. Definitely not Erik’s room. The second room doesn’t feel like his either. There’s nothing inside it to indicate anyone even sleeps here. I turn toward the third room and roll my shoulders. The closer I walk to it, the more I’m certain this is his room. I don’t know how I know that. Just that it’s a feeling.
When I open the door, the scent that always clings to his skin, petrichor and velvet, hits my nose and I know I’ve found it. I push the door open wider and take in the small room.
We were given the option to decorate our own rooms, but that had seemed pointless when it was only temporary. Erik clearly didn’t think the same. His room is like a shrine. Antique furniture takes up the space, including a beautifully carved wooden bed, bigger than the twin size mattresses we all got. The furniture is well-loved, but also well-taken care of. The comforter on the bed looks like velvet, lush and beautiful in red. There are even red drapes hanging from the corners above the bed, giving it all an air of mystery. Candles sit on every surface, extinguished right now, but clearly used when Erik is here. They’re not the kind you plug in either. These are pure wax flame candles, fancier than anything I’ve ever seen. On the dresser, there’s a silver candelabra, red candlesticks half melted on it. The room smells like old roses, burned sugar, and dust, but beneath all that is the smell of Erik. It’s not what I expected, but somehow, I’m also not surprised.
