The Shadow's Melody || The Phantom of the Opera || Book One

10. Fleeting Lies & Curious Eyes

Chapter Ten || Fleeting Lies & Curious Eyes

Mélodie

After little persuasion Erik had finally brought me down to his lair.

It's beautiful. Amazing. There aren't enough adjectives to describe Erik's home. Well, perhaps there is one other adjective that I can think of right now. That adjective would be: messy.

There was sheet music everywhere. There was sheet music splayed on the floor, on the tables, under the tables, over his organ.

He has an organ?

Erik hung up his cape and came over to me, "What?"

"Nothing it's just," I couldn't help but smile, "it looks like you threw all of your music on the floor."

"Ah," a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, "that would be because I did throw it all on the floor."

Glass cracked beneath my feet and I noticed all the covered or half covered mirrors. Those that weren't covered at all looked like they had been smashed with something. Raising my eyebrows I looked at Erik who had his head down.

His long fingers pushed some papers around on his organ, "Ghosts of the past."

Running my hand over the broken frames I tried to figure out what he meant by that. Avoiding stepping on anymore glass I wandered to a different part of his lair. Candles were the only source of light, giving everything a warm golden appearance. The stone walls were cold and damp to the touch. There was a crumpling sound as I stepped on something else. More parchment strewed across the floor.

Noticing one in my hand Erik called out, "Don't."

I now understood.

I ran my hand over the drawing of Christine. His artwork is quite good, nice shading, perfectly capturing her big brown innocent eyes. She truly was beautiful. So young and so pure. Angelic.

I turned my head to look at the lair again. News paper articles from after the world wide known opera fire came back to me. One of them told about the lair, how it looked. It hasn't changed.

Ghosts of the past.

I could see Erik on the other side of the organ through the many different candelabras. He no longer looked tired and thin, but I could still vaguely see the broken man in his eyes, haunting him. Feeding off of him. Taking his life.

Gently setting down his drawing of Christine I picked up another piece of parchment. I read his elegant cursive: "No One Would Listen"

Skimming over the notes I grabbed Erik's hand and gently pulled him to the organ. Placing the sheet music on the organ I whispered, "Can I hear it?"

Erik, who was now sitting, ran his hands over the ivory keys, "I haven't played or composed in years."

I sat down next to him, "Please? Pour moi (for me)?"

He caressed the keys once more, and then my eyes fluttered shut as his beautiful voice traveled throughout the many passageways beneath the opera house.

'Shamed into solitude

Shunned by the multitude

I learned to listen

In my dark, my heart heard music.'

Erik's voice sent my soul soaring, as it would for the rest of my life.

* * *

By the time he had finished my face was soaked with tears. I heard his angelic voice in my dreams that night. The urge to find all those people who had mistreated him all those years came back stronger than ever.