Hopeful Soul: A Phantom Story

Chapter Eighteen.

ERIK:

My elaborate red death costume was ready for the Masquerade Ball, matching Poe's description to each and every detail. However, instead of a mask, I used the cruel joke that was my face to match 'a mask like a corpse.' With droplets of red ink running down my cheeks, I found myself ready for the party always described as joyous and fun. Just before I could approach the trapdoor leading to the foyer, I was interrupted by a familiar voice, "Going somewhere?"

The daroga held a golden candelabra, obviously surprised by my face, "Only gallivanting with the precocious people you call Parisians. And yes, daroga. Before you ask, this is no mask."

He gulped rather audibly, but I was tired of the fear of my face. Hopefully the gullible people of Paris would not try to remove my 'mask', "Well it is a very... elaborate costume."

"That, I know. Now if you'll excuse me, I will be on my way."

"Wait."

What more could he possibly want from me? Sometimes I had the idea that the daroga was in my life to make it even more hellish, "Yes, daroga?"

My voice gave away how irritated I was and he grew wary of my temper. Though he was an irritating gentleman, he wasn't too dimwitted, "Why did you kill Buquet?"

I thought back, knowing there were many reasons I murdered him - but there were two that stuck out the most. The first, though very moronic on my part, was because I grew irritated with my management not taking me seriously. But the other involved much more detail and I leaned comfortably against the walk to begin explaining why to the daroga...

Besides all other necessary evils being performed tonight, I realized in fact that no one had followed my instructions. Box five was occupied by the managers and La Carlotta played as the Countess, but all that was not the focus of my evening any more. I heard Buquet speaking with another stagehand of Christine's beauty. That made me jealous enough, but nothing prepared me for the words that spilled out of his mouth, "Maybe when she matures a bit more, I can have a little fun with her."

That threw me over the top. My anger could not be contained any longer and he was only in the way. His words probably meant nothing, but at the time I could have boiled with anything. The music of the ballet began and so did my little game of cat and mouse - in which I was the lion. Buquet not only said the most damnable thing, but he discovered my place in the shadows - the end was near. I heard the trills of flutes and violins, pulled out my lasso and jumped for the opportunity.

He choked as I wrapped the Punjab lasso around his neck, pulling hard and feeling power run through my veins. I knew this was wrong - she would probably hate me forever, but I didn't care. Everyone and the God's hated me, so what did I have to lose? I kicked his body down, showing my work to all. There were screams of terror and I heard the shriek of my Christine, feeling instant regret. There was nothing I could do - my life was pointless, now...

"So now you see why. The reasons are completely moronic, but I digress. Now, I shall be headed off."

Though I headed for the trapdoor that lead to the backstage area, I had a follower. Monsieur Khan had went with me through the trapdoor and he nodded pleasantly at me before entering the lobby. I had time to prepare for my entrance, with my score to Don Juan Triumphant at hand, but I wouldn't be too extravagant with it. How crafty could one be with a grand entrance?

I smirked when the music of a dance had ended, thrusting myself onto the scene. I earned silence. A lady had fainted from the sight of me, Madame Carlotta had her mouth open in awe and my managers flushed and drunken faces caught my attention. How more easy could this get? Not only did I succeed in winning the attention of the on goers, but I stalled the orchestra.

A malicious smirk spread across my face and I introduced myself as the Red Death, "The Red Death rebukes your merriment! I come forth as the madman you so claim I am, which in fact I might be. I have only three demands. One; that my management leaves casting an errand of mine for as long as this opera is haunted. Two; that in this opera, La Carlotta is not the lead soprano. I instead favor Christine Daaé. And lastly; my opera," I threw it at the feet of managers, "Don Juan Triumphant!"

Monsieur Richard stared at the score, but I had my focus elsewhere. Christine stood in the center of the crowd and began shivering as soon as she realized that I looked to her. As I had so expected, le Vicomte de Chagny stood right beside her. Of course she didn't listen! Of course she would come here with the pretty boy and smear it into my face that I was not worthy of her! Jealous wasn't enough to describe me - I was furious.

They moved through the crowd, headed for the dark door leading up. I heard her desperately pleading to not be questioned and followed them in another way, through a passage that lead to Apollo's statue - or more correctly - his lyre. As I tied myself to the statue, gripping the lyre tightly, I saw the two lovers appear from the beaten, silver door.

My head had hurt so badly when I saw them. And, much to my dismay, he kissed her - on the lips. Without thinking, I let out a moan of agony - this was the last bit of proof that my poor, tortured mind needed. I wanted to end it all. My life was useless and I wasted time on this woman who even my subconscious knew wouldn't love me in return.

I hurt again when she spoke of me - of my face, "I've been there, Raoul. In his underground home. When I removed his mask, horror awaited me. His face is like that of a corpse. His eyes, sunken and his nose... there wasn't a nose. Only a black hole in the center of his face. I would have been disgusted, had it not been for his tears. When he cried, I was terrified. A corpse-like man cried at my feet and I felt sorry for him."

"Do you love him?"

I didn't want to hear it any longer, but I couldn't risk being spotted. My cloak had tangled around a pillar and I held my breath, "I do not love him. But I do not hate him. I don't know how to feel. There is something about him that makes me feel safe, but then there is also that part of him that frightens me to death. He killed Buquet. Who knows what else he is capable of doing. Raoul, you have to help me. After I perform in his opera on Friday night, I need you to help me leave. I have no idea what to do."

She would try to escape after the performance. I destroyed everything. She would never love me and it was because I had frightened her. Yet she gave another kiss to the Vicomte and held him against her, "Christine?"

"Yes, Raoul?"

One did not need special senses to know what he was doing on a knee. My eyes shut and I bit my lip as I indeed heard a proposal. The worst thing was the fact that she said yes. Upon opening my eyes again, I saw the two lovers exit the rooftop through the silver door and began frantically untying myself. Tears were running down my hollow cheeks and my fingers were unsteady as I finally unknotted the rope from the statue.

There was no hope for a soul like mine, but that didn't stop me. Another plan formulated in my mind. She once looked up to me with a happy face and even when I brought her down to my home she loved my voice. Perhaps if she wouldn't love me on her own, I could persuade her.