The Masque of Paris ( Phantom of the Opera )

Chapter 8 - Damned to Hell

Intruder

I am suspended above air as my attacker constricts my body like a python— stealing the air from my lungs. Struggling against the inhuman strength bound at my arms and waist, I use whatever energy my depleted body has left. There were few chances where I had scarce freedom— when the criminal was momentarily distracted by his means of traveling and there were hints of hesitation that I could take advantage of. My arms would break free only to have them shackle behind my back again. There's little that my screams do to favor me. The foyer became a coffin— except two bodies reside within it instead of one. Any living souls rested within the trenches of the theater— far from my cries of help.

My blood tumbles through my veins— urgent to find an escape. My head grasps for a saving grace — a plan of rescue— but there is none. It is empty. Only adrenaline rules my mind and a single echoing thought.

Killed— I'm going to be killed!

I feel my eyes swell and my throat clogs— and in my chest brews a fit of emotions— fear, anger, dread— all of it bubbles and boils to the beat of the drum in my ears. It's deafening. I can't hear anything else. Had I been paying attention, perhaps I would know where my assailant was taking me. Had I been paying attention I wouldn't have been snatched up at all! Lost in my thoughts. Not a care in the world. Oh, how Vincent was right that my inner distractions would be the death of me!

In my frenzy, I tried to collect myself. Tried to absorb for-certain information.
The air remained steady about me, didn't bite as winter air should— we were still in the Opera House.
The sound of footstep didn't reverberate far from its source— at an incline— in a narrow passage but one I couldn't place.

But soon my lists of deductions run dry. Panic and frenzy further ensnare me. The drums in my chest only grew louder— hoping they were loud enough for someone else to hear. The tears press into my skin. I have no idea where I am. I have no idea where I'm being taken. No one will know where I am. No one will find my body until it rots and reeks the place. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.

The shoulder beneath my diaphragm tense as my breath heaves and catches. There's nothing to be done. A stage hand I am, but even years of training have not prepared my body to fight off the grip of one easily twice my size. My torso becomes one of a carcass— limp and dead to the world— giving way to the exhaustion that's been weighing on me for twenty-four hours. I try to fight it off in vain. This is what a tragedy feels like. This is what an actor accepting their death feels like. When they fall to the elements and even a glimmer of hope has abandoned them. As if a final act of spite, I dig my nails into the figure beneath me. I'll be damned if I die without giving some hell.

My body is suddenly flipped back onto my feet. The shock to my knees makes them buckle and collapse. I fall back. My hands free, I rip the wool bag from my head to face my attacker— I wasn't going to be killed without looking him in the eye. My chest was free to breathe and residual tears trickle down my cheeks. All the fear and dread churns over the anger as I'm met with a dark figure— standing still— and a face hidden behind a hood.

We stay like that for a moment— in mournful silence. The silhouette leers over me— then grabs fistfuls of my blouse pulls me forward as it crouches before me.

"I'm about to be killed by some faceless coward, am I?" The words blurt from the depths of my core without a second thought. Perhaps I've just sealed my fate.
There's a pause in his movements. And a low— almost lyrical laugh bellows from within the hood.
"You fear for your life— and yet you are brash. That is how fools get killed."
My eyebrows furrow. That voice— is one I've heard before. A melody of a deadly lament. A chorus of the night. So familiar and yet so unrecognizable. And it dawns on me.

"You are the ghost..." the realization slips from my lips before I can stop it. Troubled by my kidnapping, there wasn't much thought to connect the letter in the foyer and the apparition before me.
These words freeze him, leaving me an opportunity to squirm under his heavy clutch. Fear is whipped into my stomach as the ghost's grasp tightened— but I was careful to not let it show.

He pulls me as if I were a rope, just inches away from the dismal abyss that sinks into the hood. I held my breath. Something old and long forgotten echoes in the chamber of my mind. All thoughts scatter away leaving a single warning to ring.
One hand clamps onto my attacker, and the other is a fist planted at my temple— as if to ward away evil spirits and keep them at bay.

Keep your hand at the level of your eye.

My stare hardens to stone as something stronger than fear grips at my chest. I can't quite place it. However, I knew this was my only chance to prove I wouldn't be subdued by a ghost; by a phantom. This is my Opera.

"It's quite a shame, Mademoiselle Benóit, that we couldn't have met more formally— before I kill you." The words hiss from beneath the cloak.
"You can not even look me in the eyes when you threaten my life." I grit out just as quick.
This time his silence wasn't filled with careful thought— it occupied annoyance and anger.
"Bold girl— you think me a fool. A jester." The voice sneers, "I thought to show you mercy by saving your soul— but, on behalf of your request to face the Devil— I will damn you to hell."
The curtain draped across his face is ripped away. My eyes are overwhelmed at the sudden change— like they were adjusting to the brightness of a ghost light on a darkened stage. Contorted and scarred skin was fleshed out on high cheek bones. A single grey eye protruded from its socket. Twisted and charred features consume me. I am entranced by such a gruesome face. However, further examination led me to the other half— where lies a completely different story. It could be described as angelic compared to the hell that neighbors it. I'm left aghast. Never have I seen such a face— such a mythic form—

"Elodie?"

A well acquainted voice echoes far into the depths breaks me from my trance. I begin to hear my heart again— as if I had briefly died.
The third party alarmed the ghost, and with a curse, he says—
"Now— your soul belongs to me."
As silently as he had appeared in the foyer, he releases me from his grasp and leaves me scattered on the floor.