Many thanks to chasten.
This is a re-telling of Frederick Forsyth's "The Phantom of Manhattan" which, in turn, was his sequel to Gaston Leroux's "The Phantom of the Opera."
It has a few erotic scenes and all of the characters involved in those are over eighteen.
Why a re-write? I figured, after all the trials and tribulations, someone needed a happier ending.
Be warned that this is a "longish" work, so it may not be your cup of tea. But if it is, I do hope you will enjoy it.
For John.
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PROLOGUE
Christine turned the boat slowly across the lake. How many times had she done the same thing so many months ago, and how many times had she promised herself she would not return? And she had almost succeeded, she had not even ventured near the vaulted doorway under the Paris Opera House, the doorway that led to this secret lake, to his lair; the last time she had been here was when he had let her leave almost a year ago -- with Raoul.
"I shall never see him again, I shall never see him again," that was the only thought she had as she and Raoul escaped on the very same boat she was in tonight. She was glad Raoul had found her, glad that Erik had allowed the two of them to escape, but there was a heaviness in her heart that she could not explain when she saw his bent figure in the lair, defeated and hopeless and alone. She had not seen him since.
The weeks and months that followed their escape flashed through her mind; she had immersed herself in work, long lessons with Maestro Vigor, the only teacher she found who could compare, almost, to... Erik. Rehearsals and small appearances with a vocal chamber group followed and these led to individual invitations. And finally, the only one that mattered... a request to return to the Opera House... for a solo recital! Maestro Vigor, Raoul, most everyone was ecstatic, it was after all the culmination of her hard work and sacrifice, but Christine had felt almost... empty.
She knew why, of course, perhaps, she had always known... he was not there to share it with her; for one mad moment, after a particularly trying rehearsal had left her lost and exhausted, she wanted to dash to the underbelly of the Opera House, through the vaulted doorway and down to this lake, back to his lair, back to... him, to ask him, beg him to lead her through the notes of the score and past them, into the purity and essence of the music. He would, though, in all probability, would not have been there anymore. The rumors of the ghostly presence in the Opera House had not been whispered about in a year, the sightings of the black clad phantom were now only a dim memory; until this afternoon... when Raoul, Maestro Vigor and Monsieur Albrecht Destain, the conductor, approached her with a new score.
"It is an incredibly beautiful aria, Christine, and as yet unpublished," the conductor said, "Vigor and I went through it and we believe you should include it for your recital."
"It was left at my doorstop the other evening," the Maestro said, "and I only looked at it last night."
Raoul saw the uncertainty in her eyes.
"Play it for her, Albrecht," Raoul said.
Christine shook her head slightly, another aria to learn and her concert was but a week away, but she gave the three men a kind smile. They were only looking after her and wanted nothing but for her to be a success. She pulled a chair and set it closer to the grand piano at the center of the stage and sat down.
"Let me hear it, M'sieur," she said softly.
The conductor opened the score and placed it on the piano. He sat down and started to play.
Christine felt her heart skip a beat, her hands gripped the armrests of the chair.
It was Erik's music!
So here she was now, beneath the Opera House, in the small boat that would take her back to the lair. Christine craned her neck, recalling the number of candles she had to pass before she would turn the boat next. At last, after counting and twisting her way through the dark waters, she heard the faint strains of organ music... was she dreaming? A small flicker of hope gave her strength, she pushed the long boat pole harder and saw the brightness of the lair, lit by the many candles that surrounded it, the music was louder now, a sob escaped her, tears started to stream down her cheeks... he was still here!
Erik heard her soft cry and stopped playing. He rose at once and strode to the edge of his lair, the boat was approaching, even in the darkness, he knew it was her... Christine! He leapt into the waters and swam towards her.
Christine let go of the pole, and tore away the heavy muslin skirt she was wearing, and she, too, jumped into the lake.
No words were spoken as they met in the middle of the dark waters, they clung to each other like children, their arms clasped tightly around each other. He lifted her face and kissed her on the forehead, but drew away quickly, suddenly aware of how cold and wet they both were. They made their way through the water, back to the brightness of the lair. He carried her once their feet touched dry ground and set her down at the hearth.
They looked into each other's eyes. Erik raised his hand and ran his fingers across her cheek, down her neck and lower still until he reached her heaving bosom. He brought the other hand up and cupped her breasts through her wet blouse and ripped it off her, leaving her naked except for the thin muslin underskirt that fell to her knees. Turning quickly, he grabbed a blanket from his bed and wrapped it around her. He pulled her into his arms, gently rubbing her back and arms through the thick material.
"Why are you here, Christine?" he asked softly, "we said our good-byes months ago. Why have you come back?"
She looked up at him.
"You sent the score of "Adoree" to Maestro Vigor, did you think I could stay away after hearing it again, Erik?"
He did not answer, instead he bent his head and stared at her face, time stilled until finally, unable to stop himself, he kissed her lips. It began hesitantly, like the whisper of a butterfly's wings, but it started to fan the flames of their hunger; it grew and deepened, their lips parted, eager for each other's taste. Their tongues swirled and danced together, savoring the soft recesses of their mouths. At last, Erik pulled away, realizing he had to end this madness.
"You must leave, Christine," he said, his voice almost harsh, "you must leave now, before we do something we both will regret."
Christine slid the blanket off her shoulders, she put her arms around his neck and pressed her nakedness against him.
"It is you I love and I will never regret that," she reached up and touched his mask, "I want to see your face, Erik, when I give myself to you," she whispered, gently pulling it away from his face.
He closed his eyes, waiting for the gasp of revulsion. But there was only... silence. He opened his eyes, slowly, afraid that all he would see in her eyes would be terror. But -- there was only tenderness in them, tenderness, desire and... love! She stood on tiptoe, and kissed the scars and ridges that marked the right side of his face.
Erik was lost. He lifted her and carried her to the bed.
They gave themselves to each other that night, making love again and again, passion building upon passion, promising each other in breathless whispers that never again would they be parted, until sleep claimed their spent bodies.
When Christine awoke, he was gone.
Chapter One
"Over here, Miss Daae, over here!"
