No Regret
©2005 Black Rose Collection
Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera story and all its
characters are copyrighted to their rightful owners. The idea is original and
mine, but of course, I claim no ownership of characters used here.
This short story continues on just after Raoul and Christine leave the
Phantom’s lair.
The Opera Populaire burned, the windows shattering with each enraged flame that struggled to escape. Raoul, holding tight to Christine’s hand, emerged from the underground burrow and stood on the street with the other patrons of the theatre who had been fortunate enough to flee the Phantom’s rage. Inside, brave men fought valiantly to contain the massive inferno from consuming the whole of the grand building. Those left outside, who did not cry simply shook their heads, watching, waiting for the inevitable moment when the pursuing mob would emerge, the murderer in shackles, or worse.
Deep inside the recesses of the Opera House, the Phantom stood, staring at his disfigured face in a piece of one of his shattered mirrors. His voice shook as he said to no one, “I have failed. My love is gone forever. I have nothing…I am nothing.” In his hand, he held a second mask and he gently placed it over his face. It was the final piece. Now, with his deformity covered once more, he put on his coat, fixed the sword by his side and set out on the task of leaving his sanctuary, for good.
Christine’s pain consumed her and she found herself wondering aimlessly along the street that ran parallel to the Opera House. Her Angel of Music forced her away before she could express what her heart truly felt and now, she could not let her feelings go unsaid another agonizing moment. She looked for Raoul and her eyes seem to transfix on him through the group of panicked people.
I’m sorry…her eyes shot to him, but he did not see her.
Time was running out. This was her moment…her point of no return.
While Raoul was occupied with comforting the frantic cries of Firmin and Andre, she slipped secretly away. Risking her own life by running past flames that licked the very walls and breathing the deadly, thick smoke, she found her way back down to the tunnels, its twisting path getting longer and more distorted with each step. When she saw the gondola, exactly where Raoul had left it, her lips let out a sigh, thankfulness that her heart had led her back to the right place. She stepped in and began her journey and prayed that he was still there, somewhere hiding. As she approached his underground home and could finally make out something recognizable, her heart immediately sank. No longer did his candles stand lit, his precious mirrors were shattered, papers containing his hard work scattered and more importantly, the Phantom of the Opera was no where to be seen.
Quickly, she scrambled out of the gondola, telling herself not to panic. She ran up to the Swan bed she once had been placed so lovingly in a vain hope that perhaps he lie there in wait.
She found nothing.
Just as quickly, she ran back down, but immediately, she stopped at his organ. She so hoped she could see him there, composing just for her, as he had done countless times before. Her hand stroked it admiringly, but now was not the time for regret; she simply wanted to find him before they did.
“Angel?” she called out into the silence. No reply came. Then she spotted another broken mirror, one she had not noticed upon her arrival. When she approached it, she could easily see that the broken mirror led out of his lair and into another passageway. She stepped inside and called again, this time softer and more timid, “Angel?”
Again, no answer came to her weary ears.
Her voice continued to call, louder with each passing second as she knew time was running out. “Angel!?” her voice was panicked.
Indeed, she thought, he is gone, he must have found his way out, somehow..
Through the long dark tunnel she ran more frantic, her breathing descending into a few gasps of terror as she knew the angry mob would soon find their way to her and take her away. Please be here…
The Phantom heard a voice call out from the emptiness of the tunnel, but surely it was an illusion, his Christine was long gone.
Angel?…he could hear.
How could that be? He sought to investigate and found the closer he came to where he’d left, the louder the voice became. Confirmed. It was in fact his Christine.
Christine turned her head away from her current path and soon found herself lost in the vast turns of the new tunnel. Her feet, unaware of her dilemma, continued to move forward. Eyes wide and breathing shallow, the path slowly became darker and darker as she traveled further away from the broken mirror and into the unknown. “Are you here?” she called out, her arms outstretched, feeling the coolness of the stone walls.
Suddenly her movement was halted as hands grabbed her out of the dark. She cried out in panic, turning with the assumption she’d found the pack of wolves that were there to take her Angel away. But, with just a bit left of the torch light, she could see a tall figure, white mask covering half a face. It was her Angel of Music. He stood with no expression, still trying to sort out why she hadn’t let the opera house and angry she’d put herself in danger.
“Oh my Angel…” she reached up to touch his face, but was stopped.
“I sent you away.” He simply answered her, keeping a tight grip on her hand.
“I know, but I did not wish it.”
“You must leave; there is nothing here for you now.”
“No, please…don’t send me away again.”
Although he didn’t want to hurt her, to frighten her, she couldn’t stay, it was too risky. “Go to your lover.” He growled and she jumped.
How innocent her beauty…
Tears formed in her eyes as she said, “No, I don’t want to stay with Raoul. Please don’t make me go.”
“What about that foolish boy?”
“I care for Raoul, that I cannot deny, but you are my Angel of Music and here is where I belong. You sent me away before I could tell you. Angel, I want to stay with you, always.”
The Phantom’s harsh face melted away to a tearful and hopeful appearance. But again, he knew this wasn’t right and said back to her, “You’re wrong, you don’t belong here with me, it is too dangerous now. I must leave here…never to return.”
She was not about to give up. “You sang to me, remember? You sang, ‘anywhere you go, let me go too’. Prove it, take me with you.”
His hand raised and wiped the tear from her cheek. “You will never have a normal life, we will always live in the shadows, I am a wanted man Christine, a mur.….”
She immediately interrupted, “I
don’t care my Angel. We can leave
He gasped. Could it be true? Could he possibly live outside the opera house with the woman he loved? If she believes it so, then shouldn’t he? “Yes.” He whispered. “Promise me you’ll love me and I will never leave you.”
Christine smiled as she embraced him, “I will, I will love you forever my Angel.”
He pulled her away to press his lips against hers as his hand reached deep into his pocket and pulled out a small, folded handkerchief. Their lips parted, he took her hand and placed the handkerchief in it, then brought her hands to his lips with a gentle kiss. His own eyes now full of tears, he looked down at her sweet face and said with as much dignity as he could muster, “My name is Erik.”
She allowed herself a moment to open the handkerchief and inside found several rose petals, slightly faded, but still soft to the touch. “Those are what are left of the rose you left on the rooftop. I tore them from the stem because I was hurt, but my love for you would not allow me to discard them. It was all I had left of you.”
Moved by his gesture, she let out a warm, simple laugh, not out of amusement, but out of joy, “Erik, I love you.”
“Christine, I lo…”
Track down this murderer he must be found… now rang out at the end of the long tunnel and Christine became frightened. “They’re coming for you. No more time for words, we must go now.”
Erik turned around quickly and pulled his sword from its sheath and angrily declared, “They will never take you away from me again!”
“No!” she screamed, putting her hands on the sword. “No more bloodshed, please.”
He looked at her panicked face and slowly placed the sword back where it belonged. His face scowled as he looked around, his mind working a plan of escape. He grabbed Christine by one hand and the closest torch by the other and started running deeper into the tunnel. “I have a way out, but it’s at this end…”
Christine remained silent in obedience, knowing she couldn’t navigate though this alone and trusted that Erik could. Once they reached the dead end, she could see a wooden door, half the size of a regular door, but large enough they could both squeeze through. “Through this door there is a narrow passageway that leads to the outside stables.” He said, handing her the torch.
Erik reached for the metal handle and pulled away immediately with a large growl. “Arghhhhh, No!”
“What’s wrong?” she asked him.
“The handle is hot. There’s fire on the other side, we cannot go out that way. Here, we must go back to where we came, it’s our last chance.”
Turning, they ran back around the multitude of twists and turns, toward the broken mirror and the entrance to his lair, but as they came closer, the voices of the angry mob grew louder and louder. Erik stopped cold. “We must reach that window,” he pointed up to the end of the tunnel where a stained glass window hung about four feet above. “there…we can climb up and make our escape.”
The ever frenzied mob grew closer and now the fire of their torches could be seen lighting up the tunnel. Erik looked around, extinguished his torch, then pulled Christine with him into a tiny corner where two pieces of stone didn’t exactly meet. “Close your eyes and hold your breath.” He instructed, and she did as he asked, pressing her head to his chest. She could hear his heart beating…fast, like hers. His hands kept her close to him and his lips pressed against her sweet smelling hair. As the mob approached, they both closed their eyes and held on to each other tighter than either one of them thought they could.
Closer and closer the crowd came, out for blood, his blood. The heat of the torches felt as if they could burn their very flesh, but just as quickly as they came, they passed where Erik and Christine were hiding and continued down the corridor.
They weren’t found!
Almost afraid to move, they stood frozen until the tunnel grew dark once more. The sounds of the mob grew more and more eerily silent and Erik raised his head. They had to move fast as he knew that once the mob reached the end of the tunnel, they would turn back as he had.
“This is our chance, let’s go now.” He took her by the hand again and ran like thunder towards the window. Erik reached down, grabbing the unlit torch he’d thrown away earlier. Turning back and shielding Christine, he slammed it into the window, shattering it instantly and sending shards of glass flying in all directions. He pushed up the metal screen that was behind the glass and hooked it to the roof of the narrow passageway. Finally, he took off his coat and laid it in the window to cover the broken glass then he turned to his love, picking her up in his arms and helping her into the now open hole. “The path is not too narrow, crawl through it until you see an opening, when you reach it, wait for me there.” He instructed.
“What about you?” she asked.
“I’ll follow shortly, there is something I must do.”
“But…”
He placed a finger over her mouth. She nodded and did as he bid her.
Once she was safely away, he grabbed one of the lit torches off the wall and ran back into his lair. He was alone, or so he first thought, but there was another inside with him, Meg Giry, who had led the mob down to his labyrinth. She had stayed back to examine the Phantom’s burrow more closely, but upon hearing the Phantom enter, in a panic, she ran and hit behind the long velvet drape that once covered one of his mirrors. In her hand, she clutched one of his masks.
Erik noticed the rustling behind the drapery and knew he was no longer alone. He did not care. He had a task. On the floor, he found one piece of sheet music. He brought it to his eyes to examine it closely. It was a piece from Don Juan Triumphant and it appeared to be undamaged. That would soon change. He picked up several pieces of his music and with all his courage, lit them with the torch, throwing the fiery pieces out of his hands, watching them burn mercilessly. He walked through, quickly torching everything from the Swan bed to the organ before arriving back at where he started. He turned and with a smile, he lifted the red velvet veil that secured Meg from his view. Her face grew pale and she began to shake.
“Do not fear my sweet,” he began. “I will not harm you; I need you to do me a service.” He reached down deep into his pocket and brought out two items. The first item, an envelope, he placed into Meg’s trembling hand. “Could you be a dear and deliver this personally to you kind mother? I was going to have this delivered at a later date, but I find this will be much faster, do you not agree?”
Meg took the letter and nodded yes, calmer but still weary.
In her other hand, Erik placed the ring that Christine had given him. “Please be sure that this is returned to the most honorable Vicompte De Chagny as it is no longer needed. I will purchase a proper one for my new bride very soon.” He closed her hand and kissed it as smoke began to fill the room. There was no more time for idle chatter. “Go now before you are singed by the flames.” He said calmly and stepped away. He watched as a very confused Meg made her escape, smiling with a grim contentment.
Standing now at the passageway, in one last act, he threw the torch behind him, watching for a moment as the flames consumed every item he held precious. His eyes closed, forcing the images of his beloved music burning away so mercilessly in the only home he’d ever known. His lair would be no more, but he would leave nothing for the blood thirsty mass to pillage.
His eyes flew open. The would-be captures grew near, and he threw himself up into the opening, as the lights from their torches became brighter and brighter. He pulled in his jacket, a scowl creeping across his face as he pulled down the metal screen and covered the opening to the window. Once the wires were secured tightly, he turned to follow his love.
Christine had crawled on her knees, slowly upward, the wedding dress ripping and shredding with each passing minute. Her mind and body tired, she was sure she couldn’t go another inch, but to her delight, in front of her she could finally see a small opening. She stopped as she was told and waited for Erik.
Just as her breathing slowed and her knees were not so sore, Erik caught up to her, relieved, but exhausted. “Stay here.” He instructed, passing by her and peeking his head into the opening, before turning back and saying, “It’s safe, come, my love.”
He crawled out of the tunnel and turned to help Christine down. She stopped and looked around, not recognizing where she was. “Where is this?” she asked him, noting the loose chain and cut rope on the floor. She walked to the small round stained glass window and tried to look out.
“We are above the opera house, love.” He kept pacing, as if he was sure they had been followed. He would not let his nerves calm until they were securely away.
She turned back and picked up the piece of remaining chain, “This is where the chandelier was secured?”
“Yes.” He said softly.
“So this is how you came up here undetected.”
Again, he answered, “Yes.”
She looked once more at the window, “Why are we so far above, shouldn’t we go down?”
“Yes, there are many ways down from here.” He took her hand and they started out of the small enclosure.
Meanwhile, Raoul had been so preoccupied with calming the hysterical mass of people that he hadn’t immediately noticed that Christine was no where to be found. He missed her now and nervously walked through the crowd asking if anyone had seen her. No one had.
“Andre? Have you seen Christine?” he asked the co-owner of the opera house.
“No, Vicompte, not sense the two of you arrived here.”
“She must be around here somewhere…” he started when a hand touched his shoulder. He turned and came face to face with Madame Giry.
“I saw her.” She said to him.
“Where Madame Giry, where?”
Unemotional, she turned and pointed to the burning opera house. “She went back inside.”
Raoul turned pale. “Why? Why would she…?”
Just then, Meg Giry emerged from the opera house, followed by the rest of the horde who had forged down into the lair to seek the Phantom. They were exhausted and very unhappy. Meg, still holding one of the Phantom’s masks, approached her mother and Raoul.
“He’s gone, they couldn’t capture him.” She told the two of them.
“He couldn’t be gone,” Raoul assured her, “he couldn’t have had time to escape.”
“The Phantom is very resourceful Vicompte, he knows ways around this opera house that no one else knows.” Madame Giry replied, taking the mask from her daughter.
“I saw him.” Meg told her mother.
Raoul turned with a resounding, “You did? Where?”
Meg disregarded the question and reached into her pocket, pulling out the note and the ring. She held out the note to her mother, “He asked me to give you this.”
Madame Giry held the note in her long, thin fingers, not sure if she should read it now or until she was alone. The silence allowed Meg to continue, “And Vicompte, he asked me to give you this.” She then took the ring and placed it in his hand. He studied it intently. “What did he tell you?” he asked her.
“He said that it was no longer needed and that he would buy Christine a proper ring when they were married.”
He face dropped and all the color from his warm cheeks disappeared. “Did you see Christine?”
“No, Monsieur, I’m sorry.”
Raoul turned back to the opera house and said softly, “Then he is to escape, with my Christine…”
As Meg comforted the heartbroken young man, Madame Giry stepped to the side and opened the envelope. Inside was the note, so similar to the countless others he had written as the Opera Ghost. She read to herself:
My Dearest Madame,
It is with deep regret that this will be my last letter as O.G. I must thank you, kind lady, for all you have
done for me. Please, do not grieve for
me, but think of me fondly. Perhaps it
is never too late to begin again.
And I, will always remain, your humble servant,
Erik
With no show of emotion, she placed the letter back into the envelope and slipped into the pocket of her dress.
Erik and Christine reached the stables and thankfully found no one there to hinder their escape. She reached up on the nail by the door and grabbed a long black cloak and threw it around her tattered wedding gown to shield her from the cold as Erik ran into the stall and took the first horse he saw, bringing it to her.
“We are almost there.” He told her. He started to mount the horse, but she stopped him.
“I must ask you something.”
“Yes, anything my love.”
“You have no remorse for any of this, do you? Buquet, Piangi, the chandelier.”
He turned away from her, “Why do you ask this now?”
“Because, I have to know.”
He returned his gaze, studying her eyes for a moment. “No,” he replied, “because I did it all for you. Does that indeed make me the monster you once feared?”
“No, but only because I do believe you regret it Erik. You felt you had no other alternative, but you’ve now learned you do. I saw you in the tunnel. You were ready to fight and to die for me, but you put the sword away. You know you no longer have to kill, you no longer have to hurt or feel hurt ever again.”
“Yes. But, perhaps regret will only come in time, love. When that happens, I will fall to my knees and beg your forgiveness.”
“Then my Angel, I will give you the absolution you seek.”
Erik took the reins of the horse and mounted the steed. “Come my love, we are free.” She took his hand and with one strong, swift stroke, he effortlessly pulled her onto the horse with him. She held him tight and he quickly rode away.
With everyone otherwise occupied, no one saw the white horse appear out from the side of the opera house and ride off into the dead of night… all except Madame Giry and it was only then that she shed her first tear.
But, more importantly, she told no one.