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Rossignol	By : Savaial Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 5240 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Rossignol
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Ch 4
- 5-Ch 5
- 6-Ch 6
- 7-7
- 8-Ch 8
- 9-Ch 9
- 10-Ch 10
- 11-Ch 11
- 12-Ch 12
- 13-Ch 13
- 14-Ch 14
- 15-Ch 15
- 16-Ch 16
- 17-Ch 17
- 18-Ch 18
- 19-Ch 19
- 20-Ch 20
- 21-Ch 21
- 22-Ch 22
- 23-Ch 23
- 24-Ch 24
- 25-Ch 25
- 26-Ch 26
- 27-Ch 27
- 28-Ch 28
- 29-Ch 29
- 30-30- Epilogue
- 14
- 15
- 16
I wondered if I'd said too much while dreading I hadn't said enough. All the time I cleaned up broken glass I fretted over it, leaning one way then the next by turns. When finished tidying I lay on the bed to brood.

I couldn't believe I'd had the nerve to touch him. His instinctual, yet aborted attempt to move away spoke worlds to me. Not only was he accustomed to avoiding contact, what contact he'd received must not have been friendly. I knew the signs very well. If any man but Raoul or Erik touched me now I was likely to make a scene.

Erik's condensed story told me more between the lines than he probably knew. He'd been madly in love with his little diva. The very room I now occupied had been made for Christine. Her mark showed everywhere. The brushes and combs of heavy silver bore her name. The closet full of dresses I chose from; hers. The perfume I'd smelled on her the very first day hung in the air here, especially in the bathroom where dozens of bottles lined the shelves.

I didn't see how he could stand it. I would have no sooner lived with the ghost of an unrequited love than I would have stayed in Hamlin. Perhaps he simply hadn't had the energy to purge his house and had lain down here like a wounded animal so long he'd forgotten the room.

I marveled at Christine's ability to choose my brother over this man. Raoul, had he not been my brother, would have never gained my attention. Naturally I would have a hard time seeing his charm, but the differences between the two men were glaring. My host was very much a mature man, educated beyond what one could learn in a structured system and more than aware of how the world worked. I respected Erik for that. Raoul was just a boy and would probably remain one forever. The world would always be a mystery to him. I was disappointed in my brother for being so short-sighted.

The most glaring thing standing out to distinguish the two men though was passion. Erik had a thirst for knowledge, a drive to create and explore his world. It wasn't a matter of forcing industry either; it was a matter of preference, of his personality. Raoul hadn't the willpower to stay with any hobby, and wealth had ever made him unfocused. Many pursuits had attracted him, but they had been abandoned upon turning familiar. Erik would master any problem he set out for; Raoul would set out for not having problems at all.

I could only guess that Christine had been more comfortable with a safe lover. Of all Erik seemed to be, safe was not listed among his traits. I recognized in his eyes a mania that had lived beside me in Hamlin, the mania of buoyant mood swings and sudden violence. But the warning signs of such moods were easy to see. A man suffering from this disorder tended to withdraw first, as if sensing the way his brain was about to turn. To someone unfamiliar with manic-depressives, such volatile behaviors would be terrifying. Christine hadn't the stomach for it; she had no strength to endure, even for great reward.

And what great reward I suspected. I knew Erik's hands were capable of the most delicate of touches. The way he played his musical instruments assured me that he could play a woman with the same amount of finesse. Indeed, I felt he wanted to. He was starving to. His hunger to try took my breath away in that one, unguarded moment…

I admitted my own hunger worked against me as well. It frightened me to be so caught up in a man, so attuned to his movements that I felt rather than saw many of his actions. I had been attuned to my various tormentors, but this was very different. Lying in this room at night I heard, sensed, and imagined the grace of his walk, the tilt of his head, and the tap of his fingers against the arm of the sofa. The resolve to lay still rather than seek him out and drown in his presence wavered mightily until sleep came. Apparently I could not stay away from him even then, for I sought him in my sleep and spilled out my pain like a girl going to confession.

He was so strong, so confident of himself. I was drawn to that about him. He was my champion, this underground murderer.

He vowed never to be my villain and I believed him. I knew plenty of villains, and none of them had thought twice about hurting me. Erik had never hurt me. Erik had soothed my pains from the first moment I came here. Under his gentle hands I was healing, slowly but surely. I remembered myself now, remembered what I was like before my father hurt me. I would not be remembering if not for Erik.

I knew what villainy was. Villainy was a broken hymen at the age of three. Villainy was the theft of my voice. Villainy was being raped over and over by two different men. Villainy was being sold to a stranger and locked away for ten years.

I thanked providence I had not conceived a child during these last years. Perhaps the beating Pierre had given me on our honeymoon had prevented that little problem. I didn’t know what I would have done if I’d borne a child from any of the three men who’d used me.

Counting Erik as a villain seemed very wrong. He was a good man, deep down inside. His eyes were caring and kind, his touch always light and respectful. He hadn’t been forced to take me in, he’d offered. He’d fed me, clothed me, bandaged me, and stolen my pain from me with music and patience. He made me feel like a woman again, not a toy to be used and thrown back in the floor.

If Erik was a villain, I’d yet to see it.

But what of the chandelier? What of his abduction of Christine? I frowned and buried my head in the pillow. I didn’t like this report; that was very true. I knew all men to be ruled by their passions though, so why should I feel Erik was above all that masculine chest-thumping? He was in an elegant package, so perhaps that was the reason. Perhaps it also had to do with his air of refinement.

I felt very confused. Erik stirred feelings in me that were as familiar as they were alien. I could grasp the very edge of myself while I spoke to him, teeter on the brink of remembering my core self. But when I slept, Erik was more than a tool to remembrance. When I slept he was a tool to salvation.

*************************************************************************************

"Celeste?"

I heard him at the door. With my thoughts turned toward knowing him carnally, his voice proved to consume me. I got up, staggering with the languid weight in my legs. "Yes?" I opened the door.

He stood in full dress, complete with cloak and hat. His gold eyes drifted down to me unhurriedly, leisurely considering my state of dress.

"Do you want to go to the roof?" he asked simply. My mind was so far away from anything so mundane as a trip out that I just stared at him. After a moment he chuckled.

"Have you forgotten my Phantom persona so soon? You stare as if you don't know me."

I'd know you anywhere, I thought.

"I haven't forgotten," I answered, my tongue as thick and unresponsive as it had ever been. "I'll need a cloak, just a moment."

He chuckled again as I flew to the closet.

"I take it that's a yes. Get one with a hood, it's raining."

"How do you know?" I found a black woolen cloak near the back that didn't look as if it had ever been worn.

"Stop a moment and listen." Erik bade.

I halted my frenzied movements, doing as he said. Very faintly, I heard the distinctive pattern of rain on a tin roof.

"Something I engineered," he offered at my confused expression. "I love the sound of rain. I knew I would miss it so far underground, so I turned some ductwork to my advantage." He tilted his head, considering me strangely. "I know you could have heard it in here, what takes your mind so far away?" Erik took the cloak and aided me into it, going so far as to work the clasp shut. His nimble fingers made it a speedy affair.

"My thoughts take me many places,” I answered. "I've mastered being Somewhere Else, it's habit forming."

"I see. Are you ready? No gloves?"

"No gloves."

We left the house. As I stood at the lake, wondering how we would get across, Erik directed my attention to a gondola moored nearby.

"I hope you don't get seasick," he murmured, aiding me inside. I settled onto the cushioned seat, with a smile.

"I haven't yet. I don't think Charon would upset his passengers too much though."

Erik's dry amusement drifted across the lake as he took up his pole. "My dear Celeste, Charon's mere presence is the upsetting part."

“When first I parted that river of glass
I thought the time would never pass.
But Acheron bled to Charon's lake
And I drank from Lethe, never to wake."

"Besides," he continued after his short but mesmerizing recitation, "Charon wouldn't be taking you from the Underworld; he would be bringing you to it. No one could bribe him for a two-way trip."

"I seem to recall reading that, but I can't help thinking he might have had some pity." I let my fingers trail in the water, soothed by the silky cold. "Didn't the Styx have a special significance? Something about oaths?"

"Yes, the gods swore their most important oaths by the Styx, the penalty for breaking one was to drink and lose your voice for nine years."

I laughed. "I wonder what oath I broke? By Hades, it must have required three drinks!" I fell to quiet chuckling, highly amused. I stole a glance at Erik, noting his air of unease. "I do know why I was silent, I'm making a joke,” I explained. "And I thought it was funny."

"You have a highly developed sense of humor," he answered at last, giving a wry shake of his head. "And also a twist of the macabre." He shrugged and brought the pole up for its final pass. I could see the shore now. "I can appreciate a little dark humor," he finished.

Erik leapt out as lightly as a cat. I stood up, my eyes falling to the ground. I didn't know where to begin.

"Allow me," he said, reaching out with both hands toward me. He encircled my waist and lifted me from the boat as if I weighed nothing. I steadied myself on his arm as my feet touched the sandy bank. Warm, hard muscles flexed under my fingers. I didn't let go immediately. I didn't want to let go at all. Erik said nothing at my lack of propriety. He turned and dragged the boat farther aground with frightening ease. It seemed I was getting a small lesson in his physical abilities today, and while not the kind I really wanted, the show thrilled me to no end.

Watching him walk, even in such veiling darkness, proved a larger thrill. Erik was like a caged animal at home, but here in the catacomb underbelly of the opera he was almost invisible. He was a shadow, a whisper of air across inky blackness. I barely heard him at all, and couldn't shake the thought that the tiny bit I did hear was deliberate. I marked him by the scent of patchouli and the disturbance in the air when he blocked the flow. A few times I fell back, but he came for me the very moments I faltered. He was listening to me; he knew when I hesitated.

"Stop here a minute Celeste,” Erik whispered. "I haven't had a bit of fun with the managers in a month." A sudden beam of light came from the wall beside me, illuminating Erik's masked face. He peeped into the hole, his chuckle so light I could barely hear it. "Those idiots." He said it more to himself than to me, but I didn't feel excluded. "Wait here," he said suddenly. A quick burst of blinding light and he stepped through the wall. I immediately took his place at the keyhole, excited at what I might see.

Erik glided to a desk in this office style room. He pulled a key from his coat and opened the locked drawer. A red envelope appeared from the same pocket as his key, and he put it inside and relocked the drawer. He seemed about to come back so I prepared to step out of the way, but he stopped. His hands fell on a stack of papers lying on the very corner of the desk. The stack was sifted through with efficient speed, and when he found what he was looking for, he put it on top of the pile. A pen was borrowed and he scratched a quick line or two on the foolscap. When he made it back in I thought I'd ask, but decided to wait until we were on the roof.

The rest of the journey there went without incident, and when we stepped out into the mid afternoon rain I felt a little cheated I hadn't seen more deviltry. The magnificent view went a long way to making me feel better; I sucked in my breath at the rain-swept vista.

Grey-washed and dampened, the city stretched out forever. I didn't think I had ever been up so high in my life. Wind whipped my clothes and caused Erik's cape to billow out in a dramatic and majestic way. He beckoned me to the edge with a patient hand.

"How would my little house guest like a better view?" he asked, jumping up onto the very edge of the roof.

I nodded. I wasn’t afraid of heights.

"Give me your hand and step up here," he said. "I promise I won't let you fall."

I stared at his outstretched hand. He’d taken his glove off.

Tears sprang to my eyes. My angel, who was afraid of being touched, offered me his naked flesh instead of a polite and impersonal glove. I looked up into his brilliant citrine eyes and basked in the meaning of acceptance.

Without fear I placed my fingers in his palm.

Effortlessly, he drew me up to stand beside on the narrow ledge. Locking his leg into a statue beside us, he wrapped an arm around my waist. Very slowly he eased me out over the edge. My heart began to beat very fast as I beheld the tiny people far below.

Carriages sped to and fro. Black umbrellas bobbed along the avenue, their people hidden but markedly different in how they walked. I closed my eyes; enjoying the drifting sensation... I thought if Erik let go I would smash into more pieces than Christine's ill-fated mirror, but I didn't care. The thrill meant everything, and I trusted Erik's strength.

I began to laugh. If Raoul happened to see me up here he would drop dead of a heart attack.

Erik pulled me in and led us back to safety, the most visible corner of his mouth twitching. "What's so funny?" he asked, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Oh, I just happened to think about my brother while you had me dangling into the blue." I giggled helplessly as I imagined the horror on his face. "He'd shit himself upon seeing us."

Erik's laughter coated Paris. We cackled together for a good while. Erik reached under his mask and wiped a tear away, shaking with now silent amusement.

"Celeste, what are you doing up here?" Raoul's voice thundered from behind me. I whipped around but there was no one there. I looked back to Erik for help only to see him still laughing.

"Did you hear that?" I asked, almost in a panic. Erik straightened. From behind me Raoul's voice came again.

"I can't believe you did that Celeste, it isn't safe!"

I stared hard at Erik, not turning. The imitation was flawless, but I knew Raoul wouldn't be hiding if he were so mad. Awe and burst of pure inspiration sped me toward him. Slowly, so he would see what I meant to do, I reached out to lay the barest pressure to his throat. A heartbeat of silence, then I felt a vibration underneath my skin.

"You're a very smart woman, aren't you?" he said in his own voice, though it came from behind me as clearly as Raoul's had. "Do you know about ventriloquism?"

Reluctantly, I pulled my hand away. "No, I don't know what you're referring to," I admitted. "But it had to be you; I wouldn't have missed my brother up here. You did him perfectly."

"Thank you, that means a lot coming from his sister." Erik gave a small sound of amusement, pushing his hat down more securely onto his head. "I can teach you how to throw your voice if you like; it can be a lot of fun in certain situations."

I opened my mouth to reply, but at that instant the stairway door burst open. In horror I recognized Vernon Lescot, Pierre's brother. He strode toward us quickly. Erik pulled me against his body protectively, tucking me under his cloak. His impassive stance calmed my fear, but still I trembled under his arm.

How could he have found me?

"Ah, I thought I saw a little coo-coo bird up here," Vernon leered, his eyes flicking toward Erik. "This is none of your business monsieur, step aside."

"It most certainly is my business," Erik contradicted smoothly. "Who are you?"

"I'm her brother-in-law monsieur, who are you?" he spat, pulling a revolver from his coat and leveling it at Erik's heart. His evil face reflected his joy at violence. His thick lips barely covered his sharp teeth.

"I'm no one to make angry," Erik answered. He bowed his head to me. "Celeste, do you want to leave with this man?"

I shook my head no. I wouldn’t let Vernon take me back to Pierre if I had to throw myself from the roof.

"She stays with me." Erik did not seem to even notice he had a gun pointed at him. "Kindly tell your brother he has lost his wife."

"What the hell is this?" Vernon leered at Erik. "What are you, the de Chagny hire? I followed her idiot brother here half a dozen times, wondering why he was leaving his sister in the opera house. You must be his man."

"What does it matter?" Erik made an impatient gesture with his hand. "I'm not going to let you take Celeste. I would like to speak with your brother if he is available."

"Like Pierre needs to come all the way from America when his family can take care of things!" Vernon laughed. "My brother can't be bothered, he's a busy man!" Vernon's narrow face hardened as he looked back to me. "And little Celeste is going to come back to her family peacefully, isn't that right? Or do I have to break your other arm?"

I shrunk back instinctively, feeling faint. Erik wasn't going to give in and he would be shot! Vernon wouldn’t think twice about killing Erik. He’d enjoy it, he’d even brag about it.

"Are you deaf monsieur? Celeste is staying with me." Erik gave my shoulder a little squeeze and moved away. "Don't worry," he said softly. "M. Lescot is just about to leave." He began walking slowly to Vernon.

Vernon eyed him warily, renewing his grip on the gun. "Who says I'm about to leave," he laughed harshly, "You must be crazy too."

Erik never hesitated, only continued to walk toward Vernon. When he began to speak...

Oh that voice! That voice of candlelit darkness deepened to the blackness in the bowels of the earth. That voice which caressed my mind and scraped my nerve endings became pure, unadulterated wickedness.

"But you have to leave monsieur,” Erik answered, his voice the smooth silk of a fresh razor. "You've told me all I needed to know and you aren't of any use now." He held out his hand. I felt him gain control of Vernon. "You aren't much use to anybody, are you? You certainly don't need that thing in your hand; it's only as useful as its owner. Give it to me."

Vernon handed the gun over, but I could see he fought Erik's voice with all his might. I feared he would shake off the stupor Erik was lulling him into, but my fears were unfounded. When Erik spoke again his voice had tripled in intensity. I began to lean toward him, helpless to resist a command that wasn't even for me. His voice made me mad with longing and insane with fear.

"You like to think Pierre needs you, don't you? You know he doesn't, he just lets you think that so you won't be found out. He doesn't want the shame of having a worthless brother. He hides you." Erik walked forward, pushing Vernon farther and farther toward the ledge. Vernon's eyes were wide, glazed over with Erik's control.

"I can tell you how to get his notice. You'll have to show the world you exist." Vernon was against the small retaining wall now. Erik waved him up onto it with his hand.

Vernon obeyed his every gesture, backing slowly and steadily toward the edge even though he did not want to. The fear in his soul made his body sweat and skin turn red, but he continued to move as Erik wished. Vernon had always complained of not having enough, of not being trusted to do more for Pierre. Erik had picked up on it instantly, and used it to his advantage.

My mind refused to make sense out of the scene unfolding before my eyes.

"Why don't you jump monsieur? Since you are so very useless it will be the only way to make an impact." Erik laughed softly at his own joke, leaping up to join Lescot. He leaned close, putting his lips almost against the man’s ear. "Your brother couldn't possibly fail to notice you then, could he? Go ahead monsieur, step out into fame."

He jumped. I did not hear a scream and Erik hadn't even touched him. The ease of his murder staggered my imagination. I gripped the wing of a stone angel, feeling the world grow rotten and soggy under my feet.

Erik leaned out briefly to look, then jumped backward, landing squarely on the safety of the roof. He held his hand out to me. "Come along Celeste, we can't stay up here now," he said. "We should go back inside anyway, or we'll catch our death." His voice was light as air. "You certainly wouldn't want to come down with something," he continued, his second innuendo toward Vernon even more amused sounding than the first.

I shivered. My feet began to carry me to him. I felt helpless to resist his commanding pose. He promised, he promised never to hurt me! My instincts screamed for me to run away. Such power wasn't human! He was the Angel of Death! I knew now why Raoul had been so afraid, why Christine hesitated to speak of Erik at all. They were frightened to death of him; they'd seen this view of him before. He was merciless and unrepentant with those he considered an enemy.

I drew alongside him and waited. Erik looked down at me, his eyes glowing in the gray, misty half-light. As I stared his gaze softened.

"Celeste?"

"Yes?" I was proud my voice didn't waiver.

"You don't have to go with me at all. I can take you somewhere safe, somewhere I won't be."

The offer hung in the air.
- 14
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Rossignol