Chapter Two: Meeting Christine, Meeting *cough* Sir. Andrew Lloyd Webber Author's Notes, The Nightmare Continues: I do not own Andrew Lloyd Webber (Now) or the Phantom of the Opera or any of the characters. They belong to Mr. Webber and The Really Useful Company. I do not own Mr. Owen-Jones, or any of his family. I do not own Celia Graham or any of her family. I do not own the other Phantom of the Opera, or any of those characters. However, I do own me, and there is nothing, you or anyone can do about it!!! "Erik? Erik are you there?" John sat on the sofa in panic. He could here someone knocking on the mirror. Who else could it be except Christine? Quickly he slipped on Erik's spare mask and hid the half-mask under the sofa. He stopped for a moment to think what Erik would sound like. His thoughts were interrupted by Christine's voice. "Erik! Erik you said it was time for my lesson!" John quickly jogged to the boat, and jumped in. The boat was obviously different to what he imagined. It was longer and more impressive. He grabbed the paddle and slammed it down in to the water. 'SNAP!' Half of the paddle began floating away in to the fog of the lake. "Crap" John said simply. He pulled up the sleeves of his Persian costume, and dipped his arms in to the water. "Aaa!" He exclaimed in surprise. "Hot hot hot!" Well how else was Erik going to bathe? He slowly paddled his way to shore. Christine's cries continued. "Where are you Erik?" He paddled faster until finally he felt a sharp sting against his hand. He had grazed it on some stone. "Damn it!" He crawled out of the boat and looked down. There was sand and stone mixed together. He looked at his robes, full of sand and dirt. "Erik, if you don't want me here . . ." Quickly in his trained Phantom voice he said, "er . . . no my dear! Just a moment Christine." He flattened his hair down and attempted to brush off most of the sand. He quickly ran up the staircase and up to the mirror. "Well Erik? Open the mirror. How else will I get through?" Drops of sweat dribbled down John's head. He looked around for a way to open it, finally finding a small lock at the top. He unlatched it, and quickly opened the mirror. Christine walked through the mirror, and my god what a beauty she was. She was so different to Andrew Lloyd Webber's interpretation. Long, blonde straight hair brushed against her shoulders. Deep, mysterious blue eyes. A thin, yet not neglected body. "I can understand what Erik sees in you." John said without thinking. Christine looked at him confused. "Excuse me Erik?" Realizing what he just said, John replied by stuttering in his rehearsed Phantom voice. "N-nothing child. Now come, we must rehearse. What opera are the opera house performing?" Perplexed she said, "I told you a few hours ago Erik, Faust. Is something wrong with your voice?" Stuttering and making excuses, John took Christine down to the lake. London "I don't know what your thinking John! We've had to call on our standby, and he's no good!" Erik strolled along the corridor with a blank, confused look on his face. "What was it? The electric organ?" Andrew Bridge laughed smugly. "You have no idea do you John?" Erik spoke up. "Excuse me monsieur. I do not take kindly to you insulting anyone, not John or me. And . . . electric?" Bridge looked at him stupidly. "Jesus who do you think you are? The Phantom of the Opera?" He said in a mocking voice. Plainly, Erik replied, "well . . . who else?" Bridge looked at him curiously, before walking away to the stage office muttering "idiot." Erik looked after him. He had to get out of here. To the cellars of this 'opera' house . . . After ten minutes of searching, Erik decided that this was certainly not his opera house, neither was it Andre's, Firmin's, or Carlotta's for that matter. "It seems the universe is making fun of me again" Erik sighed. Suddenly he jumped, as someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to see a man he had never seen before, and behind him the woman that looked like Christine but called herself Celia. Erik eyed them suspiciously for a moment, until the man, who was balding said in a firm voice, "John what the hell do you think your playing at?" That was it. Erik snapped. "Who the hell is this John?! Why do people keep asking me what im playing at?! Why do people stare at me even when my mask is on?!" The man facing him was quite short, and wore a dinner jacket. He was a man of very important status when it came to music, especially the Phantom of the Opera. "John grow up! And take that god damn mask off!" Andrew Lloyd Webber reached out to Erik and ripped his mask away. Celia screamed, and Webber recoiled in fear. Erik's minced, scarlet skin was exposed. The hundreds of cuts and bruises were exposed. And a small piece of his skull was exposed. Erik roared in hatred, grabbed his mask, swept his cloak over himself and disappeared in a flash. |
| The Phantom of the Opera: 1881-2002 |