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BEcause of your black heart	By : squirrely Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 2329 -:- 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
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Chapter 3

I awoke hours later in a room I had never seen before. It looked more like a cave. I looked down and noticed that I was in a new change of clothes, a white shirt and brown trousers. The bed I was lying on was beautiful, with a red velvet comforter. It was black and metal and looked like a bird with its wings rapped around the mattress. I started to panic and got up slowly. I walked out of the door and out into the open lair. My jaw dropped when I saw a lake down below me. I glanced to the right to see the biggest pipe organ I had ever seen. It was beautiful, black and gold with sheets of music scattered across it. I walked past it to see a long table with various sculptures, sketches and other things. As I walked along it I found a glass heart sitting on a metal tray. On top of the heart was a beautiful diamond ring. There was a white sapphire in the middle surrounded by diamonds. I picked it up and held it in my hand, instantly recognizing it. This was my aunt’s ring, Raoul’s mother’s ring. His father had given it to him after his mother died and told him to give it to the woman he loved.
I tightened my grip around it and swallowed hard. I looked around once more to the point where it finally sunk in.

“This isn’t happening.” I said. That’s when I saw the gate to the lake rising. I ducked down behind the table, forgetting I still had the ring in my hand. I heard something being pulled onto the shore of the lake, then footsteps leading up to the table. A black cloak was hung on the hook on the wall but I couldn’t tell who did it. That’s when I crawled around the corner of the table, trying to escape, but instead go a view of my keeper’s legs. I looked up slowly to see a tall man. He was in a black suit, his long hair slicked back to the back of his collar, and a white mask covered the side of his face. He kneeled down to me, looked me in the eyes, and held out his hand.

“I don’t appreciate thieves.” He said.

That was when I remember I hadn’t put the ring back. I looked down at my hand, still closed into a fist, and released my grip on the ring. I dropped it into his hand and he put it back in its place. He walked back over to the organ and sat at the bench. I stood up and froze in my place. This was real, it was all real, and this was the man that tried to kill Raoul. He glanced over at me.

“Are you planning on sitting there for the rest of the night?”

“N-N-No…” I said. I was shaking and breathing shallowly.

He turned around with his back to me.

“You’ve been through quite an ordeal, you should get more rest.”

“Who are you? Why did you bring me here?”

“My dear, I believe you’re asking questions you already know the answer to.”

“Why don’t you just let me go back?”

“And jeopardize my hide away? I am not as foolish as people make me out to be.”

“Please?” I pleaded with him, almost in tears. He didn’t reply. I looked back at the gate and noticed that it was still open. I slowly walked down to the shore of the lake and then, without hesitation, ran into the water and towards the gate. Just when I thought I was going to be free, the gate dropped down just as I was going to make my escape. I gripped the gate and shook it. I spun around to find him standing on the other end of the lair next to a lever, I was trapped. He took off his jacket and vest and left his white shirt. He walked into the water and came towards me. He grabbed me around the waist and threw me over his shoulder. I pounded at his back and screamed but it didn’t even faze him.

“Put me down! Put me down now! Damn you!”

He didn’t pay any attention to my pleas, but instead grabbed a rope from the table and sat me down against the wall. He tied my hands together and then my ankles. I had tears running down my face like crazy and my cheeks were bright red.

“Why won’t you just let me go?” I asked him desperately. “I swear to god I won’t tell anyone about you.”

“God?” he chuckled. “God you say? You expect me to put my trust in god? Do I look like someone he has blessed?”

I turned away from him and closed my eyes. I started to cry, silently but noticeably. He sighed in frustration.

“Child, unless your tears can free you from the binds of those ropes then I see no reason for you to being crying.”

“I’m no more of a child then you are.” I said coldly. “I’m nineteen years old, I’m an adult.”

“Then why do you fear me?”

“Because...”

“Because what? Because I am a monster? Poor child, only children are afraid of monsters.”

I stopped my crying and looked at him. That was when I realized that he was right, I was acting childish. I was doing nothing to help my case at all. Crying on the cold stone floor wasn’t going to free myself from his lair.
After a few hours, I began saw away at the robes with a stone that was projecting from the wall I sat against. The ropes rubbed against my wrists as I did this, turned them red and broke the skin. I continued to saw away at them, being as quiet as I could so he wouldn’t hear me as he worked on his score. My hand slipped and cut across the stone. I cried out in pain as I looked down at the gash which came up my forearm. Fresh blood trickled down my arm and onto the floor. My hands were still tied together as I sat against the wall, crying, bleeding, my eyes clenched closed.
When I opened them, he was kneeled down beside me with a knife in one hand. I cried out and backed away from him. He grabbed hold of my ankle to stop me and came down with the knife to my wrist. He cut the ropes off my wrists cut the ropes off my ankles and helped me to my feet. I followed him over to sit on his organ bench. He left for a moment and came back from another room carrying a small brass bottler and a piece of cloth in his hands. He kneeled down beside the bench and reached for my arm. I flinched a bit, and he stopped.

“Just let me see your arm.” He said and held out his hand.

I hesitantly did as he instructed and placed my arm in his hand. He took the bottle and poured its contents onto my cut. I cried out in alarm as an intense burning ran up and down my skin, a stinging feeling buzzing up the entire length of my arm. He leaned into my arm and gently blew onto the cut. The pain went away and I took a breath. He stopped blowing and took the strip of cloth in his hands. He wrapped it around my arm multiple times and then tied it off. He gently took my arm in his hands and sat it back onto my lap and stood up. I stared up at him in awe. Never would I have expected him to do that, the second I cut myself I had expected him to just let me sit there and bleed on the floor.
He held out his hand and I slowly put mine into his. I got to my feet and he led me over to a red velvet sofa. I sat down slowly and he went back to sit on his bench. He went back to work instantly as if nothing had even happened. Everything that happened within those last fifteen minutes was a complete shock to me. He blew on my cut to stop the burning, as a father would do for his infant child. I laid down on the couch and closed by eyes, not knowing what would happen next.
I awoke on the couch, not knowing how long I had been asleep for. I turned and looked at him to find him still working on his score. Never had I seen someone so dedicated to their work. He never even played a note, it was as if he new every note by heart and new exactly how it would sound. I cleared my throat and leaned back on the couch.

“Monsieur?” I asked him.

“Yes?” he asked, without ever turning to look at me.

“How long was I asleep?”

“All night.”

“I’ve been here all night?”

“Yes.”

I sighed and sat back against the couch.

“What is your name?” I asked him without thinking.

He stopped what he was doing immediately and seemed to completely freeze. He slowly turned to look at me.

“Excuse me?”

“Your name,” I continued. “What is it?”

He cleared his throat uncomfortably and shook his head.

"That, I intend to take with me to the grave." he said, looking back down at his work.

"We haven’t been properly introduced." I said.

"What's the point in that?" he asked.

"Well, I’m obviously going to be here for quite some time. I think its best that I know the man that I’m living with." I said, jokingly. He didn’t laugh, nor did he show any other sign of amusement. My smile vanished.

"My name is the name my mother gave me the day I was born, therefore I do not intend on ever using it."

"Please monsieur, I just want to know your name. I doubt it will cause some great controversy. I would prefer not to have to call you 'phantom', for it sounds a bit childish to me."

"Why are you even speaking at all?"

"Because... because you're not at all like they described you."

He looked at me with wide eyes.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Just... you seem to have a softer side, a poetic side. That’s not the way they described you, that’s all."

He seemed to be either upset or moved by what I said because it almost looked as if he would cry. But then he looked back down at his work. I sighed and turned my back to him.

"Erik..." I heard him say. I turned to face him.

"What?"

"My... my name is Erik."

I smiled lightly.

“I always liked that name.” I said to him with a light smile. “Thank you for saving me last night Erik.”

He paused for a moment and looked at me. I could tell that by using his name I had hit some kind of emotional barrier, it was a wall that must me knocked down.

“What is your name?” he asked in return.

“Amelia.”

“Is there a last name or am I to assume you were born without one?”

I hesitated. I knew that if he knew my last name that I would be done for. If he knew I was related to Raoul then he would surely kill me. But he told me his name, and it seemed like that took a lot of his strength to do.

“Amelia… De Chagney…” I finally said.

He paused for a moment and looked at me in a look I couldn’t explain. It looked like a combination of fear, anger, and hurt all in one.
He stood up from his bench and walked into the other room. I sat there alone in the lair, staring ahead. To my surprise, the only emotion I felt at that moment was sympathy, and not for myself. Not for Raoul, Christine, or anyone one else, but for poor, lonely Erik.
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BEcause of your black heart