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Memoirs of a Monster	By : Luv Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 2993 -:- 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
- 15
- 16
It has been three years since I laid down my quill and tucked away the account of Madeleine. Having kept my promise, not once had I ventured above ground to interfere with her new life. I even went so far as to resist asking after her when Madame Giry made her usual pilgrimage down to my home to deliver news of the opera house. She could see it in my eyes, no doubt, but in her usual manner, remained stoic and silent. I took it to mean that the girl was well, and that she had moved on, her time with me only a faint memory, one she most likely confused with any fleeting dream.

For the most part the past three years have been good. Encouraged by Maddy’s memory and the advice she had left burning in my ears, I had taken it upon myself to include regular rides and outings into my life. Cesar was doubtlessly pleased with my new habit, and together we spent many a fine evening together, enjoying the fresh air and stretching our legs. I visited the meadow weekly, and often lost myself in thought at its edge, reminded of things past that would never be again. If I closed my eyes, the gentle breeze was her breath against my cheek, and the far off songs of night’s creatures were her sweet murmurs of pleasure. How fortunate I was to have such memories, for I had never imagined it would be so.

Two months ago, however, I made my way to the stable, eager for my ride, and discovered Cesar was gone! There was no sign of him at all; I searched every stall to no avail. He had simply vanished. My mind raced with possibilities and came to the sole and solemn conclusion that after years of being held prisoner in an environment to which he was not suited, my horse had died. It was a dreadful realization, and one that led me back to my home in a haze of misery where I promptly sat down, whiskey bottle in hand and cried like a boy who had lost his best friend. I drank through the night, depleting myself of my entire stock of liquor, and lamenting the loss of the only remaining shred of happiness I had.

Upon waking the next morning, with my head throbbing from the effects of the alcohol, I surveyed my surroundings. My home was ransacked, by my own drunken and distressed hand. Furniture was upset, parchment lay thick as snow on the floor and items were cast and smashed in random places about the space. I viewed the wreckage with a strange sense of accomplishment. I had gone mad in the night, and well I should have. Once again God had found the source of my torment and deftly delivered the wounding blow. I cursed His name groggily, holding a hand to my poor head.

A small noise from far off caught my attention then, and I looked up to discover Madame Giry. It was no surprise to me, and I dutifully took the boat across to fetch her, not caring about the disheveled state of my home. Let her think what she would, I was hurting and cared not to hear from her the lectures of propriety and self-control. Should she take on in such a manner with me today, I thought, I would not be able to hold my tongue.

Much to my surprise though, when I reached the lady, she had a passive look on her face, nearly a smile. As this was entirely out of place on the countenance of Madame Giry, I felt a sudden jolt of panic. I stepped close to her and inquired why she had come.

“I have this for you,” she held out a folded letter. This seemed of no great consequence, often the managers of my opera house corresponded with me, usually vague and meaningless threats that I found delightfully humorous. In all the years since the fire, not a single request of mine had been ignored, despite the flurry of outraged notes I received claiming that they planned to do just that. In the end, they always complied.

I took the neatly folded square of heavy parchment and recognized immediately that it was not the usual variety on which the managers sent their notes. This was a much coarser type of paper, and it had a faint lavender tint. Something else seemed strange, and I held it to my nose to in fact discover the lightest perfumed scent. Turning it over I saw my name scrawled in a light and elegant hand. This was from a woman.

“I shall leave you alone.” I looked up and could have sworn I saw a smile flicker again across Madame Giry’s face. She nodded courteously at me and in a swirl of dark skirts she had turned and disappeared from where she had come, leaving me dumbfounded with my letter. I ran my fingers over the delicate handwriting. Erik.

Unable to wait, my curiosity piqued, I turned the letter back over and pried open the seal carefully. It unfolded in my trembling hands and I read the following:

My Dearest Erik,

I write in the hopes that you are well. I know it has been a long time, and I wonder if you even remember me. Ours was such a brief acquaintance, however precious, and I often wish it had lasted longer. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you, and I want you to know that.

My days with Madame Giry were good. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for seeing what was best for me and sending me there. She is a strong woman, and I learned so much from her. The work was hard, and pleasing her was no small feat, but I gained so much from the experience. I will always be grateful to her, and you, for that.

Six months ago I was married. He was a farmer, a kind and gentle man named Pierre. Older than me, he was widowed before we met, his wife struck down by consumption. I met him in the market while running errands for Madame, he was engaged in the noble task of trying to save a dying cart horse (the poor beast had been worked to death). Happily, his efforts were not in vain, and he was able to buy the animal from its cruel owner. Having been on hand to help (I seem to have an uncanny knack for being in the right place for rescuing unfortunate beasts), I accompanied him to his small farm just north of the city. There, I believe I fell in love with him. He introduced me to such an assortment of ragtag animals, all had once been neglected, forgotten or the victims of abusive hands. Here, on the cozy farm, they were a happy lot, clearly enamored with their keeper and looked after with the utmost care and attention.

Erik, my husband died just three weeks ago. Taken from me far too early by the hand of a murdering bandit while on his way home. I have struggled with his death endlessly; looking anywhere I could for answers, none to be found. I have relented, given up my quest for meaning and allowed it to rest in the Lord God’s all-knowing hands. And my mind is better for it Erik. My heart still aches, but my mind is at peace.

The main cause for my letter to you is this. As I fear you may already have discovered; Cesar, your beloved horse, no longer resides in the stables of the Opera Populaire. Before his death, Pierre and I had the good fortune to visit the opera house, and while there, at my bidding, he made arrangements to purchase Cesar.

Erik, I hope you are not angry. I know how much Cesar meant to you, and what a comfort he was to you. I was torn with the decision, but in the end, I knew you would want only what was best for Cesar, in the same way you had selflessly known what was best for me.

Cesar lives the life you had always dreamed of for him. He lounges happily under the shade of apple trees (and if I’m not careful, he would make himself quiet sick off of the fallen apples, such a glutton!). He has a warm barn with a large stall bedded deep in straw to sleep in at night and the friendship of several other horses. Erik, you should see him! Why just yesterday I watched from the porch as he and another old gelding stood basking in the sun, standing head to withers scratching each other affectionately.

I still ride him, for he does love to be ridden and I fear he would miss it dreadfully. He is as spry as ever, perhaps more so with his newfound life. He is ever patient and obliging, pulling the light cart into town when I need to run errands and waiting loyally until I’m ready to leave.

But I sense something in him, a distraction when we pass the opera house. His ears prick, his eyes search and often he bellows a deep questioning whinny. As happy as he is, he misses something from his old home, and I can only assume it is you he searches for. He is your horse, Erik, no matter how content he is in his new life; he feels the void of your presence.

Cesar is not alone in that regard. Since Pierre’s death, and truthfully even before, I have been lost in thoughts of you, of our time together. My husband was a decent man, a wonderful man, and I loved him as a good wife should. But my heart belonged to you from the moment I first saw you, that night in the stable when together we saved Cesar. At night, I still hear your voice and feel your arms around me. The kindness you showed me has never been forgotten. The years have not erased my profound love for you, no matter how my life may have changed.

My home is a small farm north of Paris where forgotten creatures are treated with love and kindness. It is a happy place, Erik, where the sun shines on everyone equally and darkness comes only at night. I hope that you will consider it your home too. I will welcome you whenever you so choose to come, for nothing in the world would make me so glad as your company.

With all my Heart and Love,

Your Maddy

I cannot say at what point I had lowered myself to the ground, but I sat with the parchment shaking in my hands, my jaw slackened in disbelief, and my heart pounding in my ears. I glanced back at the signature, ‘Your Maddy’.

“My Maddy,” I said to myself, just to hear the words was enough to make me close my eyes and sigh.

She wanted me to come to her. I pictured what the quaint farm must look like and took a deep breath as though inhaling the same sweet scented air that Cesar now breathed. Oh, Cesar! Lucky beast! My heart swelled with happiness for him. I pictured him as she described, in the company of other horses, on a grassy meadow, greedily munching apples from the ground. I smiled then, and before I knew it I was laughing. Laughing! Out loud and uncontrollably! I was so happy I could scarcely contain myself.

Scrambling to my feet, I carefully folded my letter back and stepped into the boat. I pushed from the bank, my heart fluttering with excitement, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

I wondered what a gentleman should wear for a trip to the country.
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Memoirs of a Monster