Where Do I Go From Here?
By Anni Re
The sun rose over the grey hills to light up the cold and grainy morning. The Parisian morning was still in late January, its chateaus and city stores bolted against the cold. A light snow fell almost invisibly until just before it touched the ground. And in the center of this city of light there was the black scar that were the smoldering remains of the Opera Populaire, set aflame by the figure that would make the front page of this morning's newspaper. Small wisps of smoke still flitted their way through the highest parts of the roof; the internal inferno quenched by an all night bucket brigade and the snow. At a shadowed corner where the remains of the building met the street, the rusty grate that barred the sewers shifted. For several minutes it grinded against the constriction of the stone and its own weight before finally it gave way with a soft yet shrill scream and fell back into the strong arms and chest of the man that wrenched it free.
Erik's ungloved hands constricted around the cold metal and he twisted his body so that the grate leaned up against the side of the wall before he let go. He sighed his breath coming out it off white puffs through his mouth and nose flexing his hands so they would not chill from the contact with the grate. After marginally warming up his hands he reached behind him and pulled from the shadows the black stallion, which he had stolen many months back from the opera. With quiet and hesitant steps the horse and his master walked out of the entrance of the sewers into the fledgling sunlight.
The Phantom in his flight and in his despair did not mask his deformity. He walked with that side of his face pressed into the stallion's neck, his hand wrapping underneath his neck to the other side, wincing every now and again when the horsehair brushed uncomfortably against his sensitive skin. Erik's golden eyes scanned the empty streets. Only after several minutes of assurance that Paris still slept soundly did he begin to relax. Yet, he did not relinquish his hold on the horse, or uncover his face. Erik's over-bright eyes dimmed into the shadows that hung under them as the events of the previous evening washed back over him. He had lost her, lost everything, at the moment of his greatest triumph. In the night he had grappled with his anger and his despair and the effort had left him numb and exhausted. He walked through the streets not really thinking about anything anymore, only registering that one way or another the streets will lead him out of Paris. He had reverted back to his childlike instincts. Feel nothing, and nothing will harm you, and that the highway is more of a home than any city. Erik tried to shake off the oppressive, disheartening thoughts that he had spent his adolescence training himself to forget. Yet he couldn't for he had shaken his life to bits and now he had to pick up the pieces. Those pieces had to be rearranged in a new place, without Christine. But where is the new place for a man who was from everywhere.
Erik looked up from his dress shoes, now scratched and covered with sewage and looked up at the sky. It was a rare moment for a creature of darkness to see the daytime sky and as he gazed up into the sky the damaged side of his face separated over so slightly from his steed. A gust of winter wind rushed over him, his full face feeling its crisp chill. Erik closed his eyes relishing the sensation, for once no partially obscured by his mask or other such concealment. When he opened his eyes he began to sing, softly, because his voice was strained from the night before.
The earth is cold, the fields are bare
The branches fold against the wind that's everywhere
Erik and his horse reached the bank of the Seine and stepping away from his mount Erik lead the animal through the collection of iced over snow that had built of up there to get to the bridge so that they could cross. Erik still kept close to the animal's side, but he no longer let his face touch it, for the feeling of the wind made it desirous for more experiences before Erik came back to his senses. Erik paused on the bridge, the lead rope going a little slack in his hands and he looked into the river, staring at the rippling branches of trees reflected below him. He averted his eyes from himself.
The birds move on so they survive
When snow's so deep the bears all sleep to keep themselves alive
Erik continue walking across the bridge, weaving through the houses and shops, his horse more following him then Erik guiding him. His master was lost in his own musings as he took in the city as if he was saying good-bye to it, good-bye to the life he led here, still singing softly to himself.
They do what they must for now and trust in their plan
If I trust in mine, somehow I might find who I am
But where do I go from here?
So many voices ringing in my ear
Which is the voice that I was meant to hear?
How will I know where do I go from here?
Erik reached the edge of the city and stopped the horse, figuring it safe to mount him now and not be noticed. He had not saddle and only the lead rope for reins. Erik trotted the animal slowly, so as to get a feel of him bare back before coaxing him faster up a hill. On their ascent Erik felt for the first time in his life uncertainty. Since his earliest memories, he remembered being caged as a cruel sideshow attraction. He traveled and was traded through the whole of Europe and Asia at his various masters' pleasures. When the young ballet dancer that was Madame Giry rescued him from that life he felt compelled to live under the shelter of her life because it was the only life that he was safe in. Never once had he gone anywhere, done anything beyond his workings in the realm of the Opera House, because he willed it so. It was an intriguing and yet terrifying path.
My world has changed, and so have I
I've learned to chose and even learned to say good-bye
Erik stopped the horse with a jerk. He could not so easily leave Paris without once more thinking of her. His thumb slipped under his fingers and stroked the golden wedding band that was caught tight around his fifth finger. He couldn't, even at his cruelest, not in some way be happy for Christine. Her happiness made him happy, like when she was a child and haunted by night terrors and her fathers death and his presence would make her smile or laugh. It gave him hope for himself, to be happy, to have good things finally start happening after so many bad things. Her voice, the way she talked to him, sang with him cancelled out all the shouts and cat-calls. Erik gave Christine everything, as was his nature for anything he cared about, his music, his opera house, his only friend. It was in that moment that Erik realized what Christine had given back to him. He had given him back his compassion, his humility, his humanity. Christine made the Angel of Music human again. His hear fluttered, and he brushed a tear from his ruined cheek. No matter how much he had resigned himself to it the parting was still painful. But, he was happy for her, and he could not leave her in better condition. That life that was being given to her now was what operas were written about. And he, The Phantom of the Opera, above all others would celebrate anything operatic. All the same, he would miss her.
Erik looked over his shoulder at the road and beyond to the world that waited for him. A world that gave him many scars.
The path ahead, so hard to see
It winds and bends, but where it ends depends on only me
Erik nudged his horse forward with his foot and he walked down the road, his rider singing with gathering strength as he did so.
In my heart I don't feel part of so much I've known
Now it seems it's time to start a new life on my own
Erik wheeled his horse around, and the animal reared at the force at which he was turned. Erik looked from his spot on the summit of the hill and looked down on the only city he ever called home for so long, one last time. He cried out in his beautiful voice, beseeching the city of Paris.
But where do I go from here?
So many voices ringing in my ear
Which is the voice that I was meant to hear?
How will I know, where do I go from here?
The rising sun rose over the highest buildings and shined towards the west. Erik glanced at the city one more time at the city. Silently saying farewell to all the people he knew within before, with the passion and determination he took with him to everything, turned his horse again and followed where the sun's light led.
Finis
I usually write Erik as a really intense figure with lots of passionate feelings. I was curious about the more quite side of his character, the side of his character that had to put his life back together now that Christine is out of it. Hope you liked it! Review!