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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
- 6
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I found Madame Giry, as I expected, in her quarters, sitting comfortably in a chair with her feet up, her head back with eyes closed, a damp cloth over her forehead. The day’s work done, she was undoubtedly recovering from her strict regiment with the ballet. Madame Giry spared no one, hers was a brutal program, and even she felt the effects at the day’s conclusion. I wagered her dancers were all sound asleep, far too tired for any after hours exertions. She sat up, the cloth falling into her lap at my entrance, and on seeing me, she leaned her head back again unconcerned.

“I have a note,” I said quite simply, taking the envelope from my breast pocket and placing it on the small table that stood just by her bed. At this she opened her eyes and glanced at the note then back at me. She waited for an explanation and when I did not give one immediately, she closed her eyes again. She would never be presumptuous enough to ask what the note contained, nor would she look for herself when I had gone. But I had always disclosed the contents to her, as a matter courtesy and because I valued her opinion of my requests (not that I ever changed them if she disagreed). I am not sure what held my tongue this time, perhaps the personal nature of the request. She would want to know why I was demanding the dismissal of Lachenel, and I knew her well enough to know that she would not accept half truths or simple answers. She would pull the facts out of me, and she would disapprove entirely of my dealings in the affair. Most of all, I knew, she would frown on my fondness for Maddy, and though I could hope to conceal my affections, I had little doubt my shrewd friend would see right through me.

“What’s wrong with your face?” She asked this without opening her eyes or stirring a muscle. I couldn’t help but see the humor in the inquiry, and fought the temptation to come back with a facetious retort. (What’s wrong with my face? Where do I begin?)

She sat up then, looking squarely into my eyes. “You’re bleeding,” she said. At this I pulled a glove off and hastily lifted my fingers to the edge of my mask just above my jaw line. It was so raw and painful there that it seemed the logical place. Sure enough, I examined my fingertips and they were reddened with drops of blood. I could feel it then, a single drop coursing down under my jaw and to my neck. I wiped frantically, preserving my shirt.

“Oh,” I said, unsure how to respond. I stood dumbly, mopping my own blood as she rose and came to me. She didn’t say a word but backed me to the edge of the bed and forcefully pushed my shoulders until I sat obediently. Madame Giry was not a big woman in the least, but she had an iron grip to match her iron will, and I doubted many had the nerve to cross her. She was perhaps the only person in the Opera Populaire who was less afraid of me than I was of her. “It’s nothing,” I tried miserably to convince her. She narrowed her eyes at me incredulously and reached for my mask.

“Mon dieu! Erik!” she gaped at my face and placed the mask on the bed beside me. Glancing down, I could see several blood stains on the underside of the thing. It smelled of sweat. “Why have you not been removing your mask? What are you keeping from me?” She went to the basin and poured some clean water, took up the rag she had been using moments ago to mop her own brow and returned. She studied me carefully as she wringed the water from the cloth and began to dab it over my burning face. I winced. “Hold still,” she demanded, and I did.

As she doctored my ravaged skin, first bathing it tenderly and then blotting it dry before applying a medicated ointment that made my eyes water but thankfully did not sting, I told her of the note, of Cesar’s predicament, of the girl disguised as the stable boy. I related my late night ride, but omitted the instance in the red light district and concluded with my discovery of the naked young woman. After explaining how Madeleine had fallen prey to Lachenel and his disreputable cronies, I justified both my dismissal of the head groom and my ongoing concern for his victim. With nothing left to say, and my face in much better condition, I waited for her reply.

“The girl is down below?” she asked, not hiding her shock. “With you?” I confirmed that she was in fact there when I had left her, and had been there for several days, recovering. At this she cocked and eyebrow and gave a skeptical grunt, turning from me to hang the damp cloth over the back of a chair to dry. “You must let her go, Erik,” she said simply.

“Of course I must!” I got to my feet outraged that she would immediately assume I meant to hold the girl captive. “She is free to go at any time she wishes.” I stood staring accusingly at the small firm frame of the woman before me. She was unwavering as she looked directly back at me. “Lachenel would harm her again,” I explained trying to soften my tone. “And she has nowhere to go.”

Madame Giry seemed to stop and think for a moment about all of this as she tapped a finger against the class jar of the ointment. “Lachenel is a drunk and a menace,” she said at last. “I am as eager to see him gone from this place as you, whatever the cause. Meg’s own safety has weighed heavily on my mind with the likes of him prowling about here.” She paused setting the ointment back in the drawer of her dresser and pushed it shut with her hip. “You are fond of the young woman, I can tell.” She said this with a hint of foreboding in her voice. A warning was coming. “You say she is free to leave, but I know you Erik.”

I had no response for there was no way to avoid the insight my closest friend has into my psyche. She had the undeniable capability to give voice to the argument within my head against my weaknesses. When I chose to ignore my conscience, Madame Giry was always more than happy to step in and act on its behalf, echoing what I knew to be right. It angered me, made me feel like a child, but yet I constantly referred to her for counsel, so I cannot say that her advice was unwanted.

“The girl can come here, and stay with me,” she said at last as though it took a great effort and was not an entirely welcomed idea on her part, but she could see no other way of appeasing me. “I could use extra help. Between maintaining the dormitories, keeping track of my dancers, instructing, and waiting on you whenever you deem it necessary to call upon me, I am spread thin. I am getting older after all.” She smiled at this faintly.

“No older than I,” I assured her with a smile of my own. I crossed the room to Madame Giry and took both of her hands in mine. “You would do this for me?” She nodded, squeezing my hands slightly. “Come for her tomorrow,” I said with a faint feeling of sadness in my heart. “She will be ready.”

“She had best be,” Madame Giry took her hands from mine, picked up my mask and handed it to me. “Now I am tired, it has been a long day.” I took the mask and then took her hand and bent over it to kiss her knuckles. In her usual fashion, she laid a hand on my good cheek and stroked her thumb softly against my skin. “Be safe,” she said.

“I will,” I answered and I quickly secured the mask back on my face. It was uncomfortable, but not so much as it had been. I turned then, my cloak swirling around me and brushing against the furniture in the small room, and headed for the door. It was late enough to move undetected through the hallways. “Give my best to little Meg,” I said, but no sooner had I started to open the door than it burst open from the outside and Meg herself came bustling in. The moment of fright from both of us quickly dissipated and Meg hugged my neck, forcing me to bend almost double to accommodate her and kissed my cheek. I patted her kindly on the back and bid both she and her mother goodnight.

On the way home, passing through the dim corridors, my mind raced with thoughts of Maddy. She would have a good home with the ballet, and under the watchful eye of Madame Giry, she would be safe from harm. What’s more, she would not be far away from me. Still, I meant to make no great effort in that regard. Once settled into her new routine, I would fade from the young woman’s memory and she would live as beautiful young women are meant to live, a purposeful life where she could enjoy the light of the sun and the companionship of her contemporaries. It was for the best that I did not interfere once she was gone.

But we had tonight, and I felt my heart speed at the thought of our last hours together. I would do everything in my power to make sure that she never forgot me.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Memoirs of a Monster