10Here's the next chapter! This is from Eric's point of view, and yes, I have taken some artistic license, especially with how old he is, but I didn't want to make too old. I haven't explained where Eric went the past couple of years, but that will come up in later chapters. Thank you so much for any one reading this, and those you reviewed for the last chapter. Thanks again, and I would like opinions on this chapter too!
Life After Death
Eric looked up at the Opera House that had used to be his home. Looking as new and fantastic as usual, it had its usual amount of grandeur and busyness. It looked so different, yet so familiar. He wondered if Box 5 still had the loose step, or if the corridor behind the painting of the Seine had been blocked off yet. And most importantly, what had they done to his home? Was the lake still there at least? They had most likely taken all the furniture and his life's work. He shuddered at the thought that his precious drawings might be in a trash heap somewhere. At least I won't have to stumble on a picture of her. Christine still haunted him; though he would never admit it. His emotions where torn between hatred, love, envy, and longing. Hatred for her betrayal. Love for her soul and voice. Envy for her ability to have a perfect, normal life. Longing for love. Maybe not her love, but anyone's love.
But Eric knew how to deal with pain, and he carefully hid his regret in the deepest part of his mind. A place he thought no one could reach. He silently walked to the cellar door in the back of the Opera House. It had been two years so he had decided to come back to the place he had loved so much. Yes, loved so much, I destroyed it. He was the reason it had been destroyed, and it haunted him. He slowly went down the narrow hallway until he came out into a long, dark passageway. It was one of the many tunnels leading around the basement. Eric shivered; he had not remembered it being so cold. There were cobwebs hanging from the rafters and they looked eerily pale and wispy in the candle light. Am I really getting spooked by this? Eric, you are the only thing closest to a ghost that haunts this Opera. Except if Joseph Bouquet haunts the catacombs, waiting for the day he can place his cold hands around my ne- ERIC. You idiot.
As he traveled down the halls he relished that the old symbols he had carved into the walls to keep from getting lost were still there. Faded, but still there. Laughing at the jokes he had played with the Opera staff, Eric touched them the way someone would touch a priceless artifact. While they had taken the red marks on the wall and the symbols of black magic to be horror signs, he just needed them to find his way around. It had come in handy when he had first vowed to know the Opera like the palm of his hand. He would have only been fifteen back then. Wow. Time goes by fast. How many years have gone by?
He had come to the Opera when he was fifteen, with the help of Antoinette. Then around fifteen years passed and he met Christine and fell in love twice. At the end of those fifteen years Christine left with the viscount. He would have been thirty. And now two more years have past and he was thirty two. Thirty two, and in the prime of my life. Already heartbroken and heading nowhere, but I'm only thirty two. No job, no point in life. No one even knows I exist, except for people who I want to forget. He was planning on moving back to the theater and deciding whether or not to start his old hobby. Terrorizing the public, obsessing over music, possibly killing a couple people in the process, was all in a day's work. He came to the end of the tunnel and slipped into a hidden doorway. He came up to the cave entrance and a grin spread over his face.
Eric saw the lake, his lake looking as beautiful as ever. It was large, with stone pillars stretching out of the water to the ceiling. Its surface reflected the light from his candle and it shimmered in the firelight. The boat was gone, so Eric waded into the knee deep water. It was freezing and he shivered even more. It had gone down since he was last there so a boat wasn't entirely necessary anymore. I couldn't care less about catching a cold, anyway.
The island better still be there. He waded farther into the lake and came to his home. It did not show its former glory. It had been ransacked and pillaged since he left. There was barely any furniture left and the piano was gone. All of his artwork and musical papers were gone. He went up the steps and onto the balcony, caressing the carvings on the wall that he had slid past so many times. Looking at the empty space, that had never been cold and dark before made Eric feel sad. It was like part of his heart was missing.
He had no time to grieve. He had to make his presence known to a certain Opera employee. And make sure this generation of fools was going to run his beloved Opera properly.
He looked out from the rafters above the stage and watched the rehearsal. The new main soprano was decent; thank god she wasn't like Carlotta at all. He had read about her in the papers, what was her name… Margot, Mary, oh Marguerite de Tourney. She was actually quite good, though not very beautiful. Oh, well not every singer has to be Christine. Christine! Christine! Was everybody in this bloody place going to remind him of her?
Eric focused on finding a way to let Mademoiselle Giry that he was there. She was Meg, but a Meg grown up and hardened. She would have to have been hardened after her mother's death. It figures, I'm gone for a couple of years and I never got to say goodbye. She'd been the only person to ever show me kindness. He watched her daughter walk around the stage, instructing the actors and dancers. Eric sighed and decided he felt too tired to do something new. He untied the backdrop and sent it plummeting towards the stage. It crashes and scared the dancers and de Tourney. The letter fell peacefully down to the stage at Meg's feet. She picked it up and looked up. Eric was safely hidden away in the shadows. He watched as she looked at the seal; thank god he had been able to find his seal and writing supplies still at his home. It had been overlooked. Meg called to one of the stage hands and told him something quietly; as everybody went to help the fallen soprano and hoist up the backdrop. The stagehand left and he wondered where she had sent him. I will have to arrange a meeting with her. I also should meet these new managers, before the next show opening. While he was traveling Europe he had missed seeing the shows and hearing the Opera play every night.
The stagehand returned, accompanied by a girl. Who is she? She was wearing pants and seemed to be confused and annoyed. Who was she? Was she a ballerina, but then why wouldn't she have been dancing? If she was a singer, that did not explain her crude clothing. A stage hand or a servant maybe. But a girl stagehand was not too common. I shall have to find out more about her, she intrigues me. Of course Eric had no idea of actually meeting her, he didn't want to meet anybody except for Meg; and only because seeing her was essential. No other foolish girl was ever going to reach his heart. And he was certainly never again going to teach anyone music.
"It was just an accident, everyone. Everything is perfectly safe. But Robert and Antoine, please be more aware. Come on, let's get back to that scene," he heard Meg say and the commotion started again on stage. He heard the conversation between the girl and Meg,
"What's that?"
"A letter, nothing of importance. Elissa, you should go help them." Elissa. That was her name. A pretty name, though why did he feel like he had heard it somewhere before?
I shall have to inquire about this Elissa
Phantom rocks! Though Poor Heartbroken Eric. Please, I'm begging for you to push the little review button!