Earlier that day Erik had been roaming the rafters, watching the set crew around him and the actors on the stage below. Ever since Christine had become Prima Donna he had been taking extra precautions with everything that had to do with the show. If something was out of place he would see that it would be fixed by the end of the day. He had already written a few notes to Monsieur Reyer, Monsieur Bayard, and Madame Giry. He hadn't written anything to the new managers yet, but nothing drastic enough had yet taken place to permit such a thing. So far he had not yet acquired his salary, but he ignored that little problem for now. Instead Erik had decided to put them to a little test. The only notes they would receive from him would be the one Madame Giry had delivered to them on their first day. He would watch them from afar, and would see if they would follow his instructions. If, by the first showing of Hannibal, they had not done so he would then take a more drastic measure to show that he was not someone that could be ignored.
For now he would remain in the shadows; silent and observing everyone work on Hannibal. And at the moment, he couldn't help but notice the new stagehand. The moment she had entered into his Opera House, though he did not know how or why, she had made quite the impression on him. He had seen her fall from the rafters that day and watched from afar as she made quite the recovery and took up a job as a stagehand, of all things. Earlier he had listened to her conversation with Christine and Meg Giry. She had given some information about herself to them, a few facts here and there, but nothing about her home or where she came from. She still claimed that she couldn't remember such things as that, and he had a funny feeling that she wasn't being very truthful.
But before he could think more upon the matter, the three girls began to talk about him, the mystery girl speaking only good things about him. That greatly confused him. No one had ever spoken well of him or his presence.
'Perhaps she's dim witted,' he thought to himself as he followed her from afar as she began her work, 'She can't possibly be, though. She has been educated. Perhaps she's insane. Likely caused by her fall. Why else would she defend me. No one in their right mind would do that,' He watched silently as she sat on a stool, a small book in hand. She was writing intently in it and seemed lost in her own world. Erik sighed slightly. He knew that feeling all too well. Though he did love coming up to the surface to watch the operas and hear the music, he couldn't help but long to head back into his domain and get lost into his own music.
The two of them were broken out of their reverie as Buquet made his presence known, trying to peek into her business. The girl quickly snapped her book shut, stowing her pencil behind her ear and the book in her pocket as she fired a retort back at the man. The Phantom smirked slightly at her ferocity as he turned away and melted into the darkness, leaving to find someone else to observe.
Later that day he had run into her again. He watched from the shadows as she made her way back to her room; book and pencil in hand. Curiosity got the best of him as he followed her. He knew almost everything about everyone in this Opera House. But this girl continued to remain a mystery to him. He knew nothing about her, and he wanted to find out at least something if he could. He made his way through his tunnels and through a small hole in the wall he observed her in the room. He watched her as she placed her book on the nightstand, but was interrupted when somebody knocked on the door, calling her away.
He eyed the book. Again, curiosity overtook him as he pulled a latch and opened a small door in the wall.
'Perhaps she has written something about herself in it,' he thought to himself. Silent as a mouse he strode over to the table and picked up the book, flipping to the first page.
He almost dropped the thing. He may have despised his face, but even he couldn't deny that he immediately recognized his eyes and mask on the page. They seemed to stare back up at him; looking into his own soul. He hated to admit it, but the drawing of himself was absolutely perfect in every way. He hesitated as he placed a hand over the page, daring to rip it away and crumple it, destroying it forever. But he couldn't bring himself to. Instead, he drifted his fingers softly over the page. Every line, every detail was spot on, and he was astounded at the talent she had. How detailed, how extraordinary, how realistic. They seemed to burst with life. As if he even had a life.
"Of course. Good night, Scarlet." His ears perked up as the two ladies started to say their goodbyes. And that's when he panicked. Without another thought he sped back over to the wall and slipped through the small space, pulling the wall shut. He heard the girl, now known as Scarlet, as she walked into the room without the slightest hint that he had even been in it. Until he realized a very important detail.
He still had the journal in his hand.
XxX
I zoomed out of my room without a second thought, looking out for anyone roaming the halls. Putting two and two together I quickly figured out exactly who took it. Who else could it have been? No one else has been in my room but me, and I was standing right outside the door when it disappeared. No one else could have got in or out. Except the Phantom. He knows the secret tunnels like the back of his hand, and I didn't doubt for a second that one of them must lead to my room, perhaps even all the rooms in the Opera Populair. And that's how he managed to get his hands on the book in the first place.
'He can't just do that!' I thought, 'It doesn't belong to him. He may be able to mess with everyone in this Opera House, but he is not going to mess with me.'
I sped through the dark and silent corridors, heading towards the Prima Donna's room. I opened the large pink door and went straight to the mirror, shoving it open and closing it behind me.
'I have to find him. He can't see the drawings. If he sees that I drew him I'm dead for sure.'
I walked for a while, angry at myself that I didn't grab a lantern or a candle, or something of the sort. The halls were dark and damp, my shoes crunching on pebbles and stepping in puddles. When I took my next step I felt the stone under my foot being pressed further into the floor, and I heard a funny 'whir' next to me. I turned just as a dagger was thrown at me, missing my neck by a few inches. Instead it shot through the sleeve of my dress, slicing my shoulder as it embedded itself in the wall.
"Ah, shit!" I yelled as searing pain shot through my shoulder. I struggled to pull the dagger out of the wall, or even try and move it away from the cut, but it was stuck in the wall behind me, effectively pinning me there. I gasped in pain and tried again as a small trickle of blood began to seep through the sleeve of my dress, but it was no use. It was stuck, and so was I.
I groaned as blood dripped down my green dress, "God dammit," I cursed, "This dress was a gift."
"Having fun?" a smooth voice asked from the darkness. I gasped, looking up as the Phantom stepped out of the inky blackness and into view. He smirked slightly as he looked over me in my state of peril, as if it was amusing, "You are very accident prone, aren't you?"
"You." I grimaced, "Good sir, I have a bone to pick with you." I tried to yank out the dagger again, hissing as I did so. It didn't even wiggle.
"A simple 'Hi' would have done nicely, don't you think?" He teased, tilting his head at me.
I rolled my eyes. Of course he had been listening, "Haha, very funny. Oh, you better get me out of this or-"
"Or what?" he interrupted, stepping closer, "You'll hurt me? I'm not so sure that would be a great idea, my dear."
"And why's that?" I asked, blowing a stray hair out of my face.
"Well, I'm not the one pinned to a wall by a dagger," he mocked, stepping even closer.
"Touche," I sighed, tossing a few strands of hair out of my face, "Can you just please get me out of this?"
He smirked and leaned forward a bit, "As you wish," He carefully grabbed the dagger in his hand and placed his other hand against my other shoulder, pressing me into the wall slightly. I felt my face grow hot as I stared into his chest.
'Jesus Christ, Scarlet,' I thought to myself, 'God, you could literally look anywhere else right now. You probably look like a tomato. An idiot tomato.'
He looked back down at me, "Brace yourself," he warned, "It could knick your shoulder again," I nodded, closing my eyes and biting my lip as he gripped the dagger and my shoulder tighter. With a grunt he yanked the dagger out of the wall. I hissed at the sharp pain I felt, grasping my shoulder firmly in hopes that it would stop the pain. I sighed in relief as he tossed the dagger to the side.
"Well, if that's all..." the Phantom smirked as he started to turn away.
"No!" I shouted and rushed over to him, "I'm not done with you yet. You took something from me, and I need it back."
He tilted his head, tapping his finger on his chin, "Took something from you? That's odd. I don't remember taking anything from anyone today." He turned away again.
I huffed, rushing around him and stepping in front of him and blocking his path,"Yes you do. You took my journal. Now, give it back." I held my good hand out to him, my bad one tucked against my middle.
He looked down at me in amusement, crossing his arms, "Journal? I remember seeing one of those today. Did it look like this?" he asked and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a black book.
"Yes! That's my journal!" I reached out to grab it, but he pulled it away.
"Really?" he smiled, "I had no idea."
"Give it back," I reached up with my right arm, but he held it up above his head.
"I don't know," he chuckled, "It seems pretty interesting to me. Perhaps I'll keep it instead."
"That's not fair! You're, like, a whole foot taller that I am!" I whined and reached up with both of my hands, forgetting my injury for only a moment. With a yelp, I grasped my shoulder, blood coating my hand, "Ah, fuck," I groaned, pulling my hand away and staring at it, breathing in disappointment.
The Phantom sighed, reaching out and taking my hand in his, placing it back on my shoulder, "Put pressure on it. It helps to slow the bleeding, and it might even stop it as well. Now, come with me and we'll get you fixed up." He held his hand out to me. I looked at it and back to him, blinking. He rolled his eyes.
"If we don't fix your wound, mademoiselle, it could easily become infected," he paused, "And I swear I'm going to give the journal back. You have my word, mademoiselle."
XxX
We had been walking for quite a while before I noticed that we were not heading back up to the Opera House. We were taking winding staircases down further into the catacombs. It was even getting chillier and more damp. I shivered and turned to the Phantom.
"Um, where exactly are we going?" I asked.
"You'll see." I rolled my eyes but kept walking. After a couple more minutes, I opened my mouth to press further, but I snapped it shut when we rounded a corner.
It was the lake. It was the God damn lake. And in the lake there was a small boat rocking softly in the water. I immediately knew where we were going. I stopped walking; too flabbergasted to move.
The Phantom turned around at hearing my footsteps stop; cape swirling, "Is something wrong, mademoiselle?" he asked.
I looked away from the boat and up at him, "You're taking me to your home, aren't you?" I asked.
He slowly nodded his head, "Yes, that was the plan. We must get your wounds taken care of, as I had established before."
"Yes, but, don't they have a First Aid Kit upstairs? I mean, people get hurt all the time, right?"
"I'm... not exactly sure what you mean by 'first aid kit' but there is an infirmary up in the Opera House, if that's what you mean. But I'm afraid no one is posted there at the moment, since it is nearing midnight. Besides, most people here have their own healing supplies so the infirmary is not well stocked and, frankly, not a wise place to go to. I have all the necessary supplies in my domain," he held out his hand to me, "Are you coming with me, or not?" he asked.
I thought for a moment. Then I took his hand and he helped me get into the boat. It rocked underneath me as I quickly sat down and steadied myself; biting my cheek and beating myself up mentally for not thinking when I had rushed into the catacombs. The Phantom, meanwhile, untied the boat and picked up a staff laying against the pole that tethered the boat to shore. Then he climbed in himself and the two of us set off; the Phantom of the Opera theme mockingly playing in my head.