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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.

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The opera house was dark and there was no life stirring within as Cesar and I returned. I carefully saw to my friend’s comforts, rubbing the saddle marks from his coat and securing him in his stall. I offered him a bit of pear that I had saved for the conclusion of our ride, my humble thanks for his service and companionship. This he ate quite happily, and in his own way he returned his thanks, a soft nudge into my chest that made me smile. (That I could smile after a night like this was in and of itself a miracle.) I remained with him for several minutes, stroking his long neck and admiring his handsome face. He looked back at me with peaceful brown eyes that grew heavy and blinked slowly under the soothing rhythm of my touch. The exercise had done him good, and he was ready to rest. When he stood motionless with his hind foot propped and his bottom lip sagging comically from drowsiness, I whispered goodnight to him and left for my own bed, feeling the effects of the night on both my mind and body.

I was nearly to the end of the aisle way about to emerge from the stables when a noise caught my attention. I stopped, turning my head so that I could more clearly perceive of whence the noise had come and of what type it was. A horse cleared his nose, and another nickered softly as it shuffled its hind legs to find a new position to stand in. Then silence fell, and thinking I must have been imagining things, I was just about to set off when I heard it again, this time much more clearly.

Someone was crying.

I whirled around, listening still as the crying continued, and crept back down the row between the stalls, my eyes darting from one side to the other. It was getting closer, a faint whimpering cry, that of a child, or a woman. At last I came to an unoccupied stall, and stopped. I listened closely and heard the muffled sob and struggle of someone trying to suppress sadness and pain. My own pulse was racing as I went against my nature and moved into the stall towards the source of the noise. Perhaps because of my own melancholy existence, I often found myself overwhelmingly drawn to the suffering of others. Whether it was to commune with another soul as tormented as mine, or to draw strength in preying on the weakness of a fallen individual, I could not resist the temptation to seek out and explore the cause of such a mournful sound. Nothing erases one’s own misery like the acute suffering of another less fortunate soul.

My eyes being as accustomed to the darkness as they were had little difficulty making out the crouched figure huddled in the back corner of the stall beneath the manger. I moved silently forward, my cloak brushing the bedding of straw as I stepped carefully. When I reached the place I stooped low and asked who was there. To my surprise, the voice that answered me was familiar. “Phantom?” The voice said with barely enough breath to be heard. I recognized the young woman at once and as my eyes focused fully I felt horror rise up in my chest at the sight of her. She was completely nude, shivering and hugging herself in a tight curled ball beneath the manger. I could not make out the details of her appearance, but she shook and quaked so that I knew she must have met with a terrible misfortune. I asked where her clothes were and all she could say was that “they” had taken them. She also added quite hastily that “they” would be returning at any moment.

Without further thought on the matter I unclasped my cloak and held it out to her, telling her to wrap herself and come with me. She took the garment but stayed frozen in place, her limbs shaking so violently that I wondered if she was in the grip of some sort of fit. I told her she must come, feeling myself a little daunted by the prospect of whoever was responsible for her wretched state returning. I had no rope handy, and without the element of surprise, I was no match for two men or more. When she still sat dumbly, I took it upon myself to reach out and take hold of her firmly. Surprisingly she did not resist my actions and I easily pulled the frail body out of hiding. Taking care to keep her draped in my cloak, I hoisted her into my arms. I stood with little difficulty, finding her almost sickeningly light, a mere skeleton. With a cautious scan of the area, I checked for any that might serve to impede our departure, and finding none, I moved steadily and swiftly out of the stable and bore the young woman to the boat that waited on the banks of the lake to take me home.

I settled her as gingerly as I could into the boat, noting that her slip of a body seemed to disappear in the folds of my heavy cloak. She appeared to be moving from consciousness into a state of shock. I hurried, grabbing the long staff and setting us across the slick surface of the lake as swiftly as possible. When the candlelight became strong enough to illuminate her face, I glanced down and observed blood on her swollen upper lip and dark shades about her eyes that signified bruising. She looked hollow, like a ghost. I thought on what had undoubtedly occurred. “They” had taken her clothing and “they” were certain to return for her. As I had feared, her identity had been revealed. I shuddered inwardly at how predictable the actions of men could be at times. Given a chance to do the noble thing, it is a rare man who does not instead choose the immoral and immediately gratifying thing instead. I could hardly count myself any better; my past actions had been those of an irrational madman with no thought to anything but his own perversity. Why only tonight I had gone against the better judgment of my conscience and allowed my primitive nature to override morality and deliver me into the very hell I had found myself. We reap what we sow, I had thought as much propped against the twisted tree on the edge of the meadow crying like a child at my own lack of restraint. Men, it seemed, were only one step above beasts in their thoughtless surrender to the basest of desires. It is no wonder then that women are such tolerant and patient beings, sent from God to ease the suffering of men and perhaps show them the light of goodness; angels on earth that are subjected to constant abuse by their coarse and uncivilized counterparts.

Reaching the shore of my home at last, I secured the vessel and eased the poor body that now seemed wholly unconscious into my arms and stepped to solid ground. She did not stir as I carried her across and placed her with the utmost care on the bed. She seemed fragile enough to break. I stood looking down at her, a pale face framed by awkward short hair spiking out from her scalp. Her bruising was significant, cheekbones shaded with a hideous green and purple, eyes ringed and lip split and caked in dried blood. I felt apprehensive, but with unsteady hands I gently pulled the cloak from around her body and laid it open. She was curled in a fetal position, her left side to me. There were large bruises over her hip, thigh, ribcage and arm. I turned her as easily as I could onto her back and despite myself I gasped, “Monsters!” Blood caked the inside of her slender white thighs. Her neck bore the tell tale signs of attempted strangulation, black and blue finger marks that came together from either side, large hands on such a small neck. Her right eye was swollen completely closed and at the hairline just above, there was more matted blood from a sizable gash. That the creature still breathed was a miracle to me. She could not be more near death.

Confucius said, “Men's natures are alike, it is their habits that carry them far apart.” Determined to right the evils of those I considered no better than myself, I vowed to the lifeless figure before me that she shall come to no more harm. God and I had long ago given up faith in one another, but in the back of my mind, in the depth of my forgotten heart, I discovered the hope that I could again find the warmth and purpose of a good deed. I lived but for the kindness of a stranger, the time to repay my debt had now come. “You do work in mysterious ways,” I muttered under my breath.

I resolutely shrugged my coat from my shoulders and pulled my gloves from my hands to set about the task of easing the anguish of the wounded. I filled a basin with water from the lake and using a soft cloth, with shaking hands, I cleansed the blood from the poor wrecked body. I worked slowly and as tenderly as I could, all the while whispering words I was hardly aware of, silent reassurances and empty promises that went unheard. My mind filled with images of vengeance for the criminals responsible for such an act. I thought to God. Where was He now? I knew the answer of course. He was here. Lying before me, brutalized by the hands of his own beloved children. And in that instant I felt the true clutch of grief in my chest that brought a painful sob into my throat.

When my best effort had been given to restoring some of the young woman’s dignity and comfort, I wrapped her back in my cloak and left her to sleep. Though I was fatigued to the point of exhaustion, I stayed awake the remainder of the night. I sat in a simple wooden chair, unblinking, watching the timid rising and falling of the black cloak with her shallow breathing. During the hours of silence the strangest sensation pervaded my spirit. Looking at the broken innocent, I knew that I would somehow be changed for this most grievous and unlikely encounter. And though I cannot say how, I knew it would be for the better.
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Memoirs of a Monster