literature

Second Chance

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Literature Text

I want to die. Painfully, for the sins I have committed against Chr- NO! I will not think about her!
Erik cradled his deformed head in his hands. He felt as if his head would explode into tiny little pieces from the emotional pain he was now enduring. The enraged cries of the mob echoed against the cold stone walls of the tunnels above, but Erik could hardly make himself care. The Phantom's  already fragile heart was shattered, and very little could fix it. He wanted to die, be ripped limb from limb.
"Erik!" The tenor jumped. He looked up, astounded. The voice was... concerned? It seemed as if the entire world hated the Opera Ghost, why would anyone talk to him like that? Surely the feminine voice that was speaking to him was confused, thinking him someone that wasn't a murderer, a kidnapper, a man with a heart irreparably destroyed. The salty tears that had been threatening to spill over now did, and his entire body shook with sobs. He said to the voice, "You have me... mistaken." Erik closed his eyes, only to open them again in shock when he heard what the voice had to say.
"No, I do not. You are Erik, the Phantom of the Opera, unseen genius, and the angel in Hell. I know who you are, and what you've done, and this is unfortunately how it is supposed to be. But," the voice paused, seemingly gauging his reaction,"You can change things." Erik shot to his feet, regardless of a mask, and turned to face the voice. The only problem was: there was no one there. Great. I've done it. I have succeeded in making myself go mad! The voice laughed, it was a pleasant sound, like a pure white dove.
"Oh Erik, you should know yourself that angels cannot be seen." Erik rubbed his multicolored eyes in disbelief. His right amber eye seemed to glow in the candlelight, while the blue-green left eye created a mysterious appearance.
"An a-angel?" He stammered. The angel laughed again.
"At least I'm not an angel of music," she teased. Erik put his hand to his heart, still beating after all the heartbreak he had gone through, expecting to feel agony, but when the angel said it in her feather light voice, it only filled him with a bit of humor. The puffed up side of his mouth quirked up in a half smile, but soon Erik sagged and sank to the ground. He felt a light pair of hands on his shoulders, but when he glanced back there was no one there. "Is that you?" He sighed, and wiped a rogue tear forging a path down his marred cheek.
"Yes..." She breathed, "So, do you want a second chance?" The Phantom snorted.
"I doubt you could do it, but, if I could, then... Yes, I would like a second chance to learn from my mistakes, and win Christine's heart." A searing pain coursed through his body, and he cried out in pain.
"Oh Erik, it pains me to see you hurt so. I will change that. I will give you a second chance..."

The Opera Ghost chuckled when he remembered his shock and confusion when he had woken up in Central Park, in modern clothes, a flesh colored mask on his face, with a wad of American dollars in the pocket of his trenchcoat. His bewildered face as he first saw a car, how fashions, rights, and cities had changed, to be how they are now in the year 1974. Surprisingly, he picked it all up quickly, and in five years he was like every other New Yorker. Erik was making an honest living in the musical business, as a violin player in the musical Evita. It was a big hit, though thankfully no one idolized the musicians. Erik still preferred to stay out of the spotlight, but nothing could quell the thrill when he played the opening piece, and the audience cheered; even though the applause was for the entire orchestra rather than just him, it still felt amazing.
Erik skillfully guided his sleek, black Mercedes through the crowded streets of New York City. It was a lot like riding a horse, once you learn it, it never leaves you, you only get better. He pulled into the parking garage right near his apartment, and parked quickly. The Phantom pulled his black leather jacket off to reveal a navy shirt that clung to him, accentuating each muscle. Black pants and dress shoes completed the look, Erik found that modern sneakers were too uncomfortable. (A/N: In Erik's time dress shoes were the norm, and he can easily run, and do other Opera Ghosty things with them on.) Rolling his shoulders, he locked his car and proceeded to his apartment. He unlocked the door, and Marguerite was there to welcome him. The Savannah cat wound around his legs, purring. Her green eyes intelligently looked into his, and Erik knelt to scratch her head.
"Hello, my Marguerite," he murmured. After he finished she rubbed her head against his leg, asking for more. Erik chuckled and obliged, then stood and laid his keys on the table. His seven room apartment (small living area, kitchen, small laundry room, extra room where he does artsy stuff, bedroom, bathroom, and guest bedroom) was decorated mainly with his own paintings, and various pieces of furniture that melded well. After decorating his lair under the Opera House- which he had learned was thankfully still in business -Erik had a good taste of interior decorating. He had no television, but he did have a computer, which was currently off, resting on a darkly colored, wood table. A tall bookshelf was crammed with books ranging from mysteries to a book about the Titanic.
Erik's apartment building was one of the few that allowed pets, and he had taken advantage of that perk when he had bought this apartment with the wads of money in his pocket. Rent was a good deal for him, thanks to Andrew Lloyd Weber and his generous paychecks. Erik found the man intriguing, he certainly had a taste for music.
Erik relaxed on his leather couch, Marguerite lay next to him, sleeping. He read an interesting novel: Raise the Titanic. It was published two years ago by a man called Clive Cussler. The moment he saw the title in a bookstore, he had gone to the nonfiction side of the store to find out whether the ship was real; and much to his horror it was. He had bought and devoured both books, and was now rereading Raise the Titanic.

Unfortunately Erik still had his sleeping problems, and tonight was one of those nights. Marguerite mewed angrily when he abruptly rose from his bed and disturbed her sleep. Erik's bedroom was fairly sparse with a queen sized bed, a nightstand and a dresser. A small door to a closet was on the left, and on the right was a door leading to a balcony. Erik pulled on a black T-shirt, put his flesh colored mask on and pulled open the door to the balcony.
The view was spectacular, with the skyscrapers glowing with light. The wind whispered a greeting to Erik, who leaned on the railing. He looked down below, saddened. It had been an interesting challenge these last few years, but now that he was used to it, the Phantom found his mind wandering back to what the angel had promised, and Christine. The pain was lessened after years of coping with it, thankfully, but it was still painful.
Erik sighed, and walked back indoors. He was too restless to stay home. Going back to his instinct to wear clothes that blended with the shadows, he dressed in all black, and wore the trenchcoat he woke in those many years ago. He opened one of the two small drawers on the top row, where his masks laid. He normally wore the flesh colored one, but he also had half white, black, and crimson masks, and a ink black mask that covered his entire face. Selecting the black half mask, he put on a black felt fedora and pet Marguerite once, who was gazing at him, curious.
"I'll be back." he whispered, grabbed his key ring, and just as he was going to open the door, he felt a prickle on the back of his neck. Erik knew to trust his instincts, so he went into his closet, where, hanging on a peg, was a crimson Punjab lasso. He hooked it onto his belt, far on the side so the coat covered it completely even when he moved.
The Phantom prowled the back streets and alleys of New York City, melting into the shadows. He had no real goal, only doing it for entertainment. A man walked past him, not noticing Erik, eyes crazed. He took off his jacket, sweating, and the Ghost caught a flash of glinting metal. Making a split second decision, he began shadowing the man, feeling something was amiss.
They turned a corner into a shadowed alley, and Erik finally realized the man's target. A young woman, about nineteen was walking down the alley, blissfully unaware of the crazed man behind her. Erik stuck to the wall of the building and increased his speed. This man obviously had ill intent, and Erik was a gentleman, but even if he wasn't he wouldn't have stood aside as a woman was attacked. Erik gave the man a chance to prove no bad intentions, and let him approach the woman. The Phantom immediately leaped into action, though, when the man grabbed her neck and rammed her against the opposite wall. The woman's eyes were wide as she watched Erik dart forward and quickly wrap the Punjab Lasso around his neck, but he didn't notice. He was coolly calculating his opponent, tightening the crimson lasso.
That dove like voice floated into his ears for the first time in five years, "Are you sure, Erik? You don't have to become a renowned murderer again..." Sighing, Erik pinched a nerve on the back of the man's neck, and he crumpled, unconscious, to the ground. He ran around the corner and pushed the button on a police call box. He lifted the phone to his ear, where he reported the attempted attack.
Erik returned to the alley, where the woman still stood there, frozen. He gazed into her face, and a dagger pierced his heart when he recognized her face.
Christine...
She was the spitting image of Christine, with a few differences. She was taller, and her hair was light brown instead of chocolate brown, and it was straight instead of curly. Though, her facial structure was the same, that petite figure, beautiful brown eyes. Erik unconsciously sighed longingly, and approached her. The Christine lookalike squeaked as the Ghost approached, and he faltered. Did she remember? Then he noticed the subtle shaking, her glazed over eyes. She was in shock. He spoke in calm, soothing tones.
"I'm not going to hurt you." He hesitantly stepped forward until they were only a few feet apart.
"My name is Erik," he breathed. To be this close... He reached out a hand to stroke her hair, but stopped at the last moment. In the distance police sirens were wailing, and Erik shook his head, dispelling the cloudiness that had muddled his brain. "I must go..." He whispered, and reluctantly disappeared into the night.

Cecilia sat on a plastic chair at the police station giving her description of the events. It was tough to describe her rescuer; his face had been shadowed by the fedora and the mask hid much of his features. All she kept repeating to many different people was that he was dressed in all black, and had the most beautiful voice. She decided on a whim not to mention his name. The woman wearily closed her eyes, but jumped when an officer cleared his throat. Her eyes shot open.
"Sorry, miss, but you can go home now. Would you like a ride?" She nodded, and he led her to a red car. She got into the passenger seat and directed him to her apartment. He dropped her off, and Cecilia thanked him. Exhausted, she made her way up the stairs to her apartment. Erik... Her thoughts were centered on this man even as she closed her eyes in bed. Erik.....
A new story of mine! Tell me what you think with.... REVIEWS!

I spent 10 minutes looking for a cover picture, embarrassing, I know, but this is worth it.

I know some things don't match with the year 1978, but at least I'm trying.

I find it funny that Erik interacts with ALW. ;)

Leave it to Erik to think dress shoes comfy and sneaker uncomfortable.

Erik's car: [link] I know it's modern, but I couldn't resist. Erik is badassery on the streets!

Raise The Titanic by Clive Cussler: [link]

This is what Marguerite looks like: [link]

Marguerite in proportion to a normal house-cat: It is picture 4. [link]

Questions? Ask meh.
© 2012 - 2024 WhispersOfHope12
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Disgaeagirl565's avatar
JUST....
MUST.....
HAVE....
:iconmoarplz:!!!!!! :iconyayzplz: