Page 34 of Angel's Mask

He couldn’t go home, not yet. He didn’t want to be locked in a tomb with his music and distractions because every note would sound like her, and nothing could distract him from the truth: that she wanted him, or at least a false version of him. That she had practically begged to be his. It was incredible and terrible.

And so instead of descending below, he climbed, high into the flies where painted clouds and castle walls hung among catwalks and endless miles of rope. It was there that he finally stopped to breathe, like the foolish, earthly man he was. Christine had given herself body and soul to a false angel and that knowledge thrilled and disgusted him in turn.

Was it so bad? To have her like this? It was more than he ever could have imagined, and it hurt no one. Why shouldn’t he bring her pleasure and take some himself? It’s not like he had actually touched her or violated her. Just the thought of crossing that line made his skin and heart scream in panic. But perhaps...perhaps by some means she would allow that too...somehow.

He sighed and let his head fall into his hands. It was a simple gesture, normal for anyone but him. But the moment his fingers touched the mask he remembered exactly why no one, least of all a kind, beautiful wonder like Christine would ever let him close. He gripped the edge of the mask, his hate for the thing and the face it concealed flaring like gunpowder meeting a spark. Erik tore the mask off, letting the cool air brush his face as he stifled a scream.

What would she say if she saw this?

The mask clasped in his left hand; he raised the right to do something he had avoided for years. He touched the scarred, shriveled flesh of his cheek then the edge of the hole where a nose should be, just to remember. Did it make what he had done worse, knowing this face kept him from ever doing more? Did it justify his crimes?

“Dear God...”

Erik spun at the voice, another simple reflex, and another terrible mistake. Below him on another catwalk none other than Joseph Buquet stood, staring at Erik’s unmasked face in abject dread.

“Dear Lord in heaven! You are a demon!” Buquet screamed, stumbling backwards. For the second time that night, Erik acted without another thought and jumped.

Mask still in hand, he advanced on Buquet, letting the wretch take in the full horror of the Opera Ghost’s face. This was the man that had nearly hurt Christine. He deserved to suffer. Buquet turned and ran, rushing down from the catwalks via a ladder then another rope. But as soon as he tried to cross again, Erik was right there, and he knew the fire in his eyes was burning bright.

“Please! Oh God! Get away!” Buquet screamed. His face was red, and his hair was wild, and he smelled like a sewer of wine. “Let me go! Please!”

Erik saw no reason to do so. He had already done one monstrous thing this night, why not keep going? He pounced on Buquet, locking his hands around the man’s neck. He couldn’t touch Christine, so why not feel this flesh beneath his fingers and remember that he was a monster?

“I should have made it clear earlier,” Erik growled as Buquet pawed uselessly at him, gurgling for breath. “You’re no longer welcome in my theater, Joseph. Do you understand?” He pushed Buquet away and the man gasped for breath. Erik expected him to nod and run, but instead, the brute looked up. Something cruel and stupid kindled in his drunken face.

“You want to drive me out, monster? Now that I know what’s under that mask of yours?” Buquet spat. “You’ll have to do more than threaten if you want to get rid of me, devil!”

Erik carefully replaced the mask as Buquet stood defiant, fists half raised. Erik had taken off the mask to remember who he was, hadn’t he? Now he wouldn’t forget.

“As you wish, Monsieur,” Erik said.

He wondered who else was left in the Opera right now. Surely Christine was too far away to hear the scream.

Adoration

The Opera was livelierthan usual as Christine made her way to the costume workshop. The very fact that she noticed was impressive, given how full her head still was with the wonders of the night before. It was the sort of nervous energy and activity that usually only preceded a performance. When she reached the workshops, no one was working. Instead costumers, carpenters, firemen, and stagehands were all gossiping in the halls.

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