The Phantom

A Visit from Erik

Three weeks past, and Erik was notm to be found. The Persian tried tracking him through Paris, even checking for the le Rue de Scribe, which appently didn't exist. It was exactly three weeks and two days after the first performance when the Persian was eating a quiet supper in his small dwelling near central Paris and he heard a knock on his door. Swallowing the lump of bread in his mouth, he walked to the door. He could not see anyone outside the window, but he opened the door anyways. There stood Erik. He was wearing a mask that covered his entire face, but the Persian could still sense that he was sad.
"Daroga. I have come to ask a favour of you."
"Come in my friend and dine with me. Let us speak before we get to such matters." He let Erik in and they settled at the table. The Persian prepared a plate for Erik. He nibbled on a heel of bread, though he didn't seem hungry. He was skeletal, the Persian noticed. His thin hands were more boney than any hand had the right to be.
"I have not seen you for some time. Where have you been?"
"I have been around, daroga. Minding my business." There was tension behind his casual words.
"You do not seem alright. Are you sick?"
"I am in despair, my friend. I want to go back to my opera house. I want to sing and listen and live! Oh, daroga, I need it! I would want nothing more! But I cannot fulfil my desire! I have tried to show my face and I was beaten, oh, and they screamed and ran and I was alone and they wanted me gone! I am no different than any other, but I am marked by ugliness! I cannot stand this!" He buried his head in his hands.
Surprised by his friend's outburst, the Persian rubbed his thighs. He could do little to comfort the other, and touching him would only make him angry. With as much caution as he could allow, he spoke to Erik, "Do not be so distraught. You came to box five once, surely you can do so again. Go when no one else does and sing!"
"You don't understand! I cannot do that! I must be known by all! I am the creator of the opera house! It is mine!"
"You only built it. It belongs to another, Erik."
"No!"
Such a cry of pain had seldom been heard in Paris. The Persian knew there was no compromise, not for Erik. If he could not achieve fame in his opera house, he could not live. Erik was a slave to his creation. Music and art were the things that mattered the most to him. The opera had been built to house both, but it was disgraced to Erik.
"Erik, please, you msut let go of it!"
"I created it to be a palace for my music, daroga! And now it is not for me! It is a place for the common entertainment of the public! You cannot understand."
"And yet I must. You said you have come for a favour. What is it you need?"
Erik changed from terribly distraught to a plotting madman in a split second, "It is a solution to my woe! I have found a way to solve this great problem! A way that I can forever be in peace! I simply need your help to make a deliver to the owner of the opera house, in time."
"What is your solution?"
"I have found an underground lake that touches the walls of the third cellar. I have found this lake. It is under le Rue de Scribe!"
The Persian was confused, "Erik, le Rue do Scribe doesn't exist! I have checked with many and more!"
Erik laughed, "It is a secret road, my friend.  I will build my house aside the lake and that will become my home! I will be able to enter into the thrid cellar of the opera house and it will be mine! I will be famous, as famous as any! I will sing and the whole opera house will hear me! My music will grace this opera house!"
"Erik, this isn't wise!"
"No, it is genius!"
"Erik, you will be found out and killed. I couldn't bear for that to happen! I will not make whatever delievery you wish for me to make! Please, do not make this mistake!"
Erik regarded the Persian. His yellow eyes were liek two burning stars. Fearsome eyes, the Persian thought. He was a monster, and always would be. A genius, but a monster. The Persian had seen Erik strangle a man without a single cause. he had seen him inflict horrible tortures with a tree of iron. He had seen the octagonal rooms with mirror walls that Erik designed, made to drive men out of their minds. If Erik had his freedom, he would cause terror for any who entered the opera house. The Persain would never dare say it out loud, but his thoughts on Erik's solution were clear: he would not help the monster.
"Daroga, I am afraid I do not have your support. Are you certain of your decsion? I have seen you in my opera house many times. I know you are obsessed with it."
"I am certain, Erik. I cannot do this."
Erik touched his mask and made for the door, "Then goodbye daroga. I shall see youa gain, but perhaps you will not see me."