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...My name	By : larch Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > AU/AR Views: 3899 -:- 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-...My name
- 2-Two
- 3-three
- 4-Four
- 5-five
- 6-six
- 7-seven
- 8-eight
- 9-nine
- 5
- 6
- 7
‘I remember waking up to the smell of thick wool, almost right off the fluffy lamb. I remember the smell of the last of my perfume, sweat taking over for it. I remember most of all, waking up that day… that it smelled human. A happy human scent. Albeit a happy, sticky human scent people reserve mentioning for bordellos.
"Erik," I muttered, rolling over. As I did, I felt the warm, smooth sensation of his arms loosely holding me.
"Yes?" he asking, just waking up. He tried to turn his face away from me entirely.
"It’s morning," I said, brushing my fingers along his unmasked face.
"How would you know?" He asked, shifting under the blanket.
"Because I do," I said, smiling.
"Ah."
"I can stay another day, it’s Christmas. People are supposed to be at home, praying and playing with toys and being happy."
"I’m happy—for once."
"Thank God."
"I don’t believe in him, remember?"
"Then thank Nothing."
"I’d rather not get up."
"I don’t either. At least not yet. Erik?"
"Yes?" He said, sleepily.
"How’d the organ get down here? It obviously couldn’t have fit through the door."
"I took it apart. I took it apart and made sure I saw how it worked and I put it back together down here. It was old and they were about to buy a new one. I finished it right before the fire."
"I wonder if that old man really killed himself."
"I don’t know. All I know is that I didn’t start the fire."
"I came right after that fire. And for five years I thought you were some sort of hoax or prank."
"And once you knew I was real, did you start believing in the rumors?"
"Not really. At first I thought you were too pathetic to even kill someone."
"I’m taking that as a compliment."
"Raoul will want to know where I’ve been," I said, snuggling closer to him, enjoying the warm flesh against my chest..
"And?"
"I love you. I mean it. I may have just been a year, but—"
Erik said nothing and kissed my forehead before we both fell asleep again.’
* * * * *
"Hey, Sidhe?" Hase asked, trying to figure out which way a Japanese print was meant to go.
"This isn’t about the chamberpot, is it?" Sidhe asked.
"Did Raoul have kids?"
"Of course not. He was a guy!"
"No, I mean did he… you know, pass on genetic material to a future generation?"
"I think so, here, no wait, where is that book?" Sidhe mumbled, sifting through a pile of junk he had decided to keep rather than sell—including, but certainly not limited to the chamberpot.
"Speak of the devil" someone said, walking though the doorway. They looked up, and then slowly stood up. It wasn’t the man who had wandered in, but the sword that he was holding, and the expression he was wearing.
"Not to be throwing salt on an open wound here, but why did you leave the door open?"
"Ventilation, and for the pizza guy."
"Excuse me!" the ominous man with the sword yelled. "I’m the one wit the weapon here!"
"Yes, sorry?" Sidhe said, as if the man were ordering fries.
"Funny you should call him ‘pizza guy,’" the man said.
"Please tell me he has acne," Sidhe said, wincing at the mental image of what the real fate of the unfortunate delivery man.
"Are we entitled to know who you are and what’s going on, or do we have to buy the deluxe package?" Hase asked.
"Fine, we’ll do it the James Bond way," the man said sardonically, yet not letting the sword down even once. "Allow me to introduce myself, Dante Luisifeur, distant blood relative, and benefactor if you’re dead."
"Oh, hell," Sidhe muttered.
"Raoul’s descendants moved to America in 1929, hoping to cash in on the swing and the stock market. Along comes a Chinese ma the the name of Lui and the result is marriage. Being complete idiots, the name was changed to Luis, the morons moved back to France, the next generation became Luisifleur and next thing you know some hippie pagan gets the idea it’d be funny to have their name be Luisifeur."
"Actually, it was late in 1928, but—oh, right, the sword," Sidhe said, closing the book and putting it away on a shelf that wasn’t there.
"Speaking of which… why the sword?"
"Oh come on. This is New York! Anyone sane, with a motive just shoves a gun in his pocket, fires off a few round in his boss or wife or the nearest McDonald’s and then goes an has some coffee before the cops come get him. They’re just going to file this under ‘Nutcase’ and it’ll be nothing more than a conversation topic at the donut shop."
"Won’t someone notice that’s your sword?"
"I reported it stolen two hours ago, and I bought these gloves off some bum for a hamburger.&quoP>
P>
"How do you know he won’t report you?"
"He was high, talking to a lamp post and kept calling me Gerald."
"… I know I’m a lawyer, but I’ve suddenly hit cross-examination block."
"Why?" Sidhe asked.
"What?"
"No, why?"
"Why what?"
"Why…this?"
"Let me put it this way: you have stuff. I kill you and I get the stuff. I want the stuff. So why not? What a bunch of morons. Didn’t you wonder about the house?"
"What house?" Sidhe asked.
"Did you think the Victomte lived in a box? MY house! And I’ve been looking for ht erest of history for six years!"
"I don’t suppose you’d wait until we auction this?" Hase asked.
"No. You see, my part of the family has a habit of not playing fair."
"Can I keep the chamberpot?" Sidhe asked.
"Moot question, since I’m not letting you keep your life
"Hase," Sidhe whispered. He wasn’t sure why, but his voice suddenly wouldn’t work beyond the volume of a parrotlet.
"Yes?" his brother whispered, backing away as Dante stepped towards him.
The past has happened whether or not the present knows of it.
"Please tell me this doesn’t just work in the movies," Sidhe said, and tossed the sword to his brother.
* * * * *

‘I wish I had known. I wish I had done something first. I wish I could have done something, said something. I wish I had had a gun. I wish I were a man.
No, that would have changed nothing. And, looking arounw, lw, looking at the bodice of my dress stained an ugly crimson forever, staring at my hands as if they belonged to some foreign marble statue colored the same crimson, wondering if the crimson will ever come off my brow and out of my hair, I want to scream.
I can’t scream.
I can’t scream.
I’m trapped. I’m trapped in ugly red everywhere. I’m trapped in a corset and petticoats. I’m trapped as a woman and I’d hate ever being a man if I knew what I was.
Please, make them stop. Make them stop saying ‘monster.’ Make them go away and stop thinking I was drugged or tricked or forced. Make them go away and take their damn laudanum with them!
I just want to sit here and cry. I want to make him cry to. I want him to understand. I want
I want Erik! Damnit, I want Erik!
I want him in my arms, I want him happy, and I want him whole and safe and I want to scream!’
* * * * *
There was blood on the diary. Just enough to blot out the rest of the p as as it was smeared with tears.
Desperate swordfighting had led Hase and Dante out into the hallway. It more resembled a pair of chopsticks angrily fighting each other out of resentment or the first swordfight ever fought after the sword was invented than anything that even vaguely resembled even one of them knowing what he was doing.
- 5
- 6
- 7
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...My name