The Masque of Paris ( Phantom of the Opera )

Chapter 9 - Already Ensnared

The clad in black figure melted into the scenery about me. Only when I felt his presence fade within the shadows, then I too melted into the floor. Confusion, fear, and adrenaline weighed my body into the wooden slats. I prayed to God above for the grace that saved me. The only other living soul that could rescue me from the nightmare that was hovering over me, breathing down my neck, just seconds earlier. Seconds? Had it really been seconds? It felt like forever.

"Vincent?" My voice echoes in the cavernous backstage. My eyes absorbed what little light crept up this far. I was able to clue in that this was the 17th floor— right below the rooftop that the rafters so religiously pressed above me.
But— Vincent was waiting far below me, tucked away into the house of the Opera. How did he not see the criminal storm up with me in his keep? How did he not hear the screams? Yes, there are multiple ways up to the 17th floor, but they are all open aired, not concealed in the slightest. My cries would have traveled with ease and alerted the masses; Vincent should have hear— unless—

I scrambled to my feet with an idea. In the deepest trench of our backstage, three walls that cave around me neighbor the outside world, too thin to even keep the December cold out. The only way to have contained the event would be through a secret passage inaccessible to the rest of the world, including myself.
I began to recollect the short echoes from the walls during our ascent up here— pointing to a shallow, narrow corridor. There has to be a secret passage— perhaps even many— but with walls that couldn't be thicker than a man, there's no possible way for one to be stashed within them.

I am choked into complete darkness as my hands search for a door that may unknowingly skirt these walls— very little illumination dared to accompany me, making my task all the more difficult.
This unsheathed desire to know every secret of my home proved to be overpowering, even in the face of death.
It was in this moment of brave, deadly curiosity that it occurred to me that I may pry my way to the very ghost that lurks here. I recoil from the dark unknown, reminded by my unsteady veins what had just taken place.

"Elodie!"
I was swept up into a great flurry. Ash blonde hair trickled into my view and I was suddenly compressed into a soothing embrace, one I was rather familiar with.

Vincent

Only he could force out any and all other thought that didn't hold his scent— the scent cedar and sage.

"Heavens above, woman, what are you doing up here!" Vincent exclaimed, though quietly, into my ear. A realization whipped into me how close we were— how his arms clung desperately around my body— how I could feel his excitement of exercise beat into my chest— his breath on my shoulder—

I struggled to answer him due to a horrendous beating in my own throat— only now it wasn't out of fear. My voice stuttered as I tried,
"I- uh- there- there was a man- I think- and he took me here- but I don't know how-" I squeezed out.

It was rather hot for December.

"A man?"
Vincent withdrew, and I felt warm, battered hands hold my face dearly. I could feel the haze of concern on his eyes, but I couldn't seem to hold focus on them. My mind wandered to the very hands on my face and the warm breath on my lips.

The temperature, is indeed, very unbearably hot for a winter night.
I concluded.

"El, you're crying," he softly noted. His dark eyes examined once over me, and then the doting worry was ripped away to horror as his stare pierced my neck.

"Elodie—"

This sudden change alarmed me from my daze.
"What? What is it?" I reach for my collar where his eyes drew me, and my fingertips grazed the coarse, frayed scratch of a rope. I felt all previous red and heat that Vincent brought drain from my face.

It all happened so fast. The letter— the kidnapping— the burlap bag that assaulted my eyes— but I can't recall the ghost ever obtaining or holding a rope— let alone lace it around my neck into a noose. Even when I took the precaution of keeping my hand at my eyes, he still managed to ensnare me before— before—

There wasn't any other word exchanged. My feet were stoned to the floor and my trembling knees buckled beneath the weight of my fear. Was I breathing? I can't tell. Everything has seemed to stop. It must've been only a moment, but it felt like my entire lifetime.

Quietly, Vincent loosened the rope's grasp on me, but I could feel the burn beneath his fingers— anger, hatred— but he was careful not to reveal it as he delicately removed the noose that the passion was aimed at.
Questions simmered in his face: who— how— why?
But he was sensitive to me and how overwhelmed this night has been and decided the urgency could wait.
He allowed one question, however:

"Have the doors already been locked?"

It took me a second to register what he meant, then it clicked that he meant about the entrance. Only the managers ever held the keys to the Opera house. No one else, that I was aware of, bestowed such a power.

"Yes,"
Said a voice. I think it was mine, but I wasn't so sure anymore. But before I could conclude on the matter, Vincent had already declared a proposal:

"I want you to sleep with me tonight."

"Excuse me?"

All life returned to my face, and then some, in the form of a red monster. I'm sure I collapsed after being hit with such a request, because my feet were no longer beneath me.
Wait— no— I hadn't fainted— Vincent had swept me up in his arms and marched dutifully down the escape stairs.

"At least wait for an answer before deciding for me, you animal!"
I protested. I can't say I'm innocent of entertaining the idea with my lifelong best friend, but this isn't by any means the proper way to court a woman!

"Well, I assumed you would agree."
The simple answer left me aghast. I was sure that he made it an objective to tease me. How tasteless too! In such a serious tense moment where I could've been murdered!

"Stop feigning innocence!"

Vincent looked at the brightness my face shone, "Oh," he sung "I see why you're excited."
"Well, when you word things so poorly, what else could you possibly mean?!"
I exclaimed. His lips responded with a hush that stifled the air, and that alone I felt made me burn brighter.
"I want you to stay in my room tonight—"
"That's no better!"
"Heavens, woman, let me finish." The playfulness faded from his voice,
"I want you to stay in my room tonight— so you can be safe."

His face hardened after he uttered those words. He didn't look at me— or didn't want to look at me.
He had already walked a few flights in the term of our bickering when it dawned on me:
"I could walk myself, you know." I pointed out, a little annoyed that he thought me so helpless. Not to mention, I haven't had the greatest experience of being hoisted off my feet tonight.

"I know." He starts, "I'm carrying you for my sake, not your's."

Another stiffened second ticked away and it was painful with my wonder at its wits end.
He must've felt my confusion sink it's teeth in the air, for he further indulged me on his reasoning.

"If you were walking in front of me, and that fiend snatched you up again, I could do nothing but watch. If you were walking behind me, and you were attacked, I wouldn't even be the wiser."

He paused.

"However, if you are in my arms, that bastard would have to kill me to take you."