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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
- 18
- 19
- 20
I poured myself a glass of brandy, pointedly ignoring him. What was I supposed to say? Why nothing Vicomte, nothing at all. Celeste merely wanted to seduce me in her sleep, hardly worth mentioning. And she'd damn near succeeded. I wasn't made of stone.

"What's the matter Erik, cat got your tongue?" Raoul came closer. I was surprised to see no fear in his eyes. Is this what it took to make a man out of a stupid boy? Compromise his sister? Well, I hadn't.

I sipped the alcohol, letting him get closer and closer in his anger. It would be so easy to kill him. With a simple flick of my wrist the catgut in my sleeve would have life and he would have death. So many issues over and done with. But he had two skirts to find shelter behind now.

"You think what, Vicomte,” I asked, reaching for the box I kept my drugs in. "You think I'm making love to Celeste? That maybe I've been enjoying her since the day you brought her to me?" Raoul paled. His mouth opened and closed uselessly. I kept my eyes on him as I lined up an assortment of pipes and instruments on the coffee table.

"You think Celeste comes to my coffin in the night? That I take these cold, bony hands and run them across her hot flesh?" I lit an alcohol lamp, chuckling. "But no, you think she's like Christine, influenced by my voice into nearly giving up her virtue, and you've managed to stop it just in time." I tsk-tsked, unwrapping a ball of opium. "At least, that's what you hope."

"Goddamn it!" Raoul came for me from across the table. I shoved him backward easily as my arms were longer. He staggered, but didn't fall. Squaring off to face me like a sumo wrestler, he opened his mouth and bared his teeth at me. It was the most emotion I’d ever seen out of him, which made me look at him very closely. I noted that while his body wanted to thrash the hell out of me, his brain was telling him to stay put.

Well, he wasn’t completely dim-witted. I was hard on him because it pleased me to be hard on a boy who’d had everything handed to him on a silver platter, not because I really thought he was stupid or lacking in some way. He was actually a brave man, and as much the hero Christine thought he was. Too bad he was as ignorant as the day was long.

"You know nothing," I said calmly, putting the opium under my tongue. "I haven't touched one luscious curve on your sister, except to aid her out of the gondola or carry her back to her bed."

De Chagny straightened from his aggressive stance, but only slightly. "Then why did I find her in your room, acting like a-"

"A woman?" I finished for him. "She's a grown woman, well past the age where she has to answer to you for where she makes her bed." I bent down and began to pack hashish in my clay bowled briar-stem. "If you attempt to tell her where to bestow her favors she will consider you no better than the man you gave her to." I held the lamp up and took a look, soothing pull off the pipe. In a few minutes I would be so numb even the Vicomte de Chagny wouldn't be able to stir my ire. A good thing too, for his lack of faith sorely tempted me to break his neck. I had never gone against my word and I had promised him I wouldn’t harm Celeste.

"Ask yourself why I would return Celeste to her bed if I was so eager to take advantage." I breathed out a cloud of smoke directly in his reddened face, watching him cough and splutter. "You must think me capable of anything Vicomte, anything at all."

"You haven't lived as long as I have, boy," I went on, sitting down on the couch. "You think your sweeping generalities and assumptions are made of granite. They aren't." Another long pull at the smoldering hash. Lovely. "Out of curiosity, on what grounds do you base my ineligibility for your sister? Perhaps you were hoping for another match, another wealthy man to marry her?" If he admitted it I would kill him on the spot, sister or no sister, wife or no wife.

"Don't be ridiculous, I wouldn't-"

"You wouldn't marry her off again?" I gave him a suspicious look. "Tell the truth Vicomte."

"I wouldn't! Celeste can stay single once her husband is out of the way." Raoul coughed again as I sent another cloud of hash smoke into his face. "I would prefer never to make her endure another marriage," he continued, "and especially not to you!"

"But you haven't told me why." I took another opium ball and laid it on a back molar. The bitterness became a focus for my rapidly fogging brain. "I meet your basic requirements, didn't you know? I am of noble birth, though I hardly see fit to parade it around. I am wealthy too, I need never work." I paused to inhale from the pipe, watching him try to process my information. "I am more than capable of protecting Celeste, even from myself," I went on. "Not many men could claim such."

"But you couldn't love her!" Raoul walked to stand over me, squinting from the haze hanging around the couch. "You aren't capable of loving anyone more than you love yourself." Hands on his hips, he glared daggers into the sockets of my mask.

Again I felt a small prickle of admiration for the Vicomte. Not only was he summing me up aptly, at least to his own mind, he was still right in my face. He was like a rooster facing down a fox, a rooster with precious hens to protect. I’d spent enough time with him to know he understood fully how much of a threat I was. Yet, here he was, crowing and flapping his wings around. If only he had as much perspective as he had righteous indignation I’d take him seriously.

Of course I was capable of love. No creature was born so low that they didn’t understand love. How typical that he judged me beneath all other life. Such was my fate. Monsters were not allowed to have softer feelings along with the bad ones; monsters were one-dimensional scapegoats created to project and carry the filth of all humanity. As long as one could point a finger at a creature worse than himself he would be the superior one.

"I loved Christine enough to let her go with you," I countered softly. "I loved her enough to give her your miserable life. I didn't release you from the torture chamber because I wanted to; I did it to keep from breaking her heart." I picked up my brandy again, watching with interest as it swirled inside the bowl shaped glass. As long as I could focus on the physical, the tangible, my thoughts would remain emotionless observations. And as long as I remained emotionless, I could resist hurting the ignorant boy.

"You think I can't love Vicomte? You think my face prevents me from feeling all those things any man may feel?" I drank, savoring the sticky sweetness that clung to my lips. "For that matter, did you have any illusions that Pierre Lescot loved Celeste?"

"No, but I thought it could happen. People often learn to love one another in arranged marriages." Raoul was starting to wind down. I though the hash might have something to do with it, his eyes were glazing over. He no longer appeared steady on his feet. I welcomed his dampening of spirit. Not only were his accusations against me unfounded, they were deeply insulting.

I sat my drink down and looked at him pointedly. "I wouldn't say that at all Vicomte; I don't think I could learn to love someone just because I belonged to them. But you've never been someone's property, have you? You don't know what it's like to have a master."

I stood up and opened my shirt. "These scars that interest you so much are what an owner can do. Most of Celeste's are on the inside, but they have no less power to hurt. I am glad she can forget hers enough to even approach me, if you can get my meaning. It is a good sign that she would even show interest in a man." I closed my shirt and sat back down. "Don't misunderstand me; I know it must have terrified you to find her in my bedroom. You want to protect her now that you know a little of what she's suffered, I understand that."

"Do you monsieur? Have you ever had a sister?" Raoul sounded pained. "I'm supposed to look after her and I couldn't do that even after I discovered how much I failed her. Worse, I can do nothing to protect her now. I'm at your mercy monsieur, and you've never had much of that for me." He put a hand over his eyes, and unaccountably, I felt sorry for him.

Well, he mostly spoke the truth there anyway. I never had any warmth for him at all, though I hardly felt I'd wronged him by it. I didn't take kindly to having a chance for love stolen right out from under me. The handsome Vicomte could have had anyone he wanted, but he had to have Christine. Now he insisted I was a fate worse than death for his sister.

But he was wrong. I had been merciful to him many times. I’d had many opportunities to kill him and passed them by all for the sake of his little songbird.

"Was it mercy that made you unload a pistol at my back Vicomte? You fired at me with no more reservation than if you aimed at a rabid dog." I picked up my pipe again, watching the color drain from his face. "You hit me too, in the shoulder, a most inconvenient place to try and dig out a bullet." Putting the briar between my teeth, I rose to my feet and pulled a box down from the mantle.

"Here is your bullet monsieur," I said softly, rolling the mushroom shaped piece of lead around in my palm underneath his eyes. "I never told her you know, never told her that her noble Vicomte shot me." I dropped the mangled metal in his hand and turned away. "Don't preach to me about mercy for your sake, you've seen more of it than most people."

"I- I thought I'd hit you," Raoul murmured, looking at the bullet. "There was blood on the balcony. But you didn't slow down...” his eyes had taken on a faraway look. "You didn't slow down and you didn't act like a man with a bullet wound. I thought I'd just grazed you."

"Go back to bed Vicomte," I said tiredly, "I'm not manhandling Celeste and I'm not interested in your little revelations. It doesn't matter to me if you treat me like an animal, you aren't the first nor will you be the last." I sat down, dismissing him with a wave of my hand. He stared at me a long moment. Still holding the bullet in his clenched fist, he turned and walked down the hallway.

I lost track of how much time elapsed with me sitting there, staring into the fire. I had lied to the stupid boy. It did matter to me. I wasn't a thing. I was a man. It never got any easier. I was older, wiser, knew the unreasoning hatred in human beings for all that was ugly, but it made no difference. It still hurt.

Sometimes I felt like one gigantic festering wound. Here in this house, candles extinguished and music set aside for the night, I could hear my skin trying to repair itself. As quickly as I healed, as healthy as I was, some of my wounds never quite closed. My scars became outward indicators of my bruised and battered soul. For every line I carried outside I had two inside. All I had to bandage myself with was music, and sometimes even my music made wounds.

Well, why not go double or nothing?

I went into the music room and wheeled out the pedal harp, bringing it back into the parlor with me. I would have naturally played in the room I kept it in due to its weight, but it was beside the de Chagny’s accommodations and I didn't want them to hear me.

I played for hours. The soothing tones of forty-eight strings mellowed my mood into a state of removal. I felt every note, rode every vibration possible. The grandfather clock chimed seven times, but I barely noticed it. I moved into a playful, happy piece of Celtic origin as Christine stumbled out, rubbing her eyes. She smiled at me, unsuspecting I had raked her husband over the coals or that I had sat playing all night. I nodded a good morning as she sat down on the couch.

Her eyes roamed over the drug paraphernalia on the coffee table and her expression turned from sleepy to knowing. Absently, she picked up a pipe and smelled it. I smiled at her investigation. She was always so curious. Plucking strings with one hand, I held the other out for the pipe. She relinquished it with a charming yawn, sliding the alcohol lamp closer to my position. Laughing lightly, I took advantage of her thoughtfulness. Christine had always tried to please me with my music; she wouldn't stop my playing for anything. At least she was kindred to me in this way, and I felt gratified.

Soon, Raoul joined us. He sat beside his diva to listen, his eyes rather pinched and worried. I renewed my melody, making it a thing of innocent joy. He laid his head back, relaxing, his hand twining with Christine's. In twenty minutes they were in another world. I let them ride rainbows and fluffy clouds for an hour, enjoying their rapt attention and childlike expressions. When I stopped playing they stirred, looking at me in mild disorientation.

"People with irregular heartbeats respond to a harp," I said quietly, getting up to stretch. "People with mental imbalances are calmed as well. David knew what he was doing when he played and sang for Saul." I looked to Christine, who was nodding in agreement with me. "You are the David of this opera today Christine, let us hope your voice will soothe the savage managers above us. I imagine they are in a furor over that poor man who committed suicide yesterday." I swept the litter of pipes and drugs back into their box, smiling at Raoul's sudden return to discomfiture. Christine was used to my sense of humor, but the Vicomte never would be. "You should use the mirror passage when you go up, it will save trouble and allow for a bit of discretion," I finished.

"Of course Erik." Christine got to her feet and did a little stretching of her own. "I'm too nervous to eat anything this morning, but I would like to make some slippery elm tea if you don't mind." She glanced at the clock, frowning. "I have two hours to fret and pace."

"Don't do either," I admonished lightly, "You are still the best diva ever to set foot in Opera Garnier."

"Yes my dear, you worry over nothing." Raoul stood to give her a kiss on the cheek. "If Erik says you are ready, you are ready."

"Well, with the both of you giving me such reassurances, I will go with confidence." Christine flashed a blinding smile and retreated to the kitchen, leaving us together.

I rolled the harp well away from the fireplace and stood it in the far corner. I had no interest in pursuing another conversation with the Vicomte de Chagny. Perhaps he would get the hint and follow his wife.

"I will be going with Christine of course,” Raoul said suddenly. "I worry about trouble."

"Wise of you," I responded, "She will be getting many questions about the Phantom as well as her diva status. I will follow you if you want an extra measure of safety."

"You will be our guardian angel?" Raoul asked, his gaze moving toward Celeste's door. "I would much rather you stayed with my sister. I don't want her to be alone."

"Very well. I can't say I wouldn't prefer it myself."

"What do you mean by that?" Raoul asked suspiciously. "Are you baiting me monsieur?"

"Nearly always Vicomte de Chagny, nearly always." I leaned against the front door, feeling the cool, smooth stone against my head. "Don't get wound up again, I haven't enough drugs left in my bloodstream to remain civil under your lurid accusations." I moved off the wall with effort. "I'm going to sleep until you leave, wake me if you need to."

I left him there, feeling his eyes boring into my back.
- 18
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Rossignol