You Alone

DISCLAIMER: See chapter 1. Rigoletto belongs to Verdi.

A/N: An update! Yey! :D


CHAPTER 9 - You Must Be Always On Your Guard


Nadir Khan was sitting on the edge of his bed in the comfortable guest room of the de Chagny estate, not quite able to believe his ears.
"Please, Erik, tell me that you are not serious with this."
His laughter was soft - friendly even. "Nadir, you know me well enough not to ask that."
"So you really are going to do it - do this."
It was not really a question and the Daroga did not expect Erik to answer - but he did.
"Daroga, you need to understand something. I have always been denied what I have longed for. I will take that no more. They belong to me."
"But..."
"No buts," his tone was still playful, yet there was something underneath it - something that the Daroga knew too well.


He could remember the times Erik had used that very tone. The Khanum, the mirror room - all of it. For a while, even the Daroga had believed that Erik had changed, that his son had somehow been able to soften his character. Christine might have missed it - Erik had hidden it well under the layers of his voice - but it was still there.


A loud banging noise, followed by a woman's frightened scream brought him back from his thoughts.
"What was that?" he asked.
No answer.
"Erik?"
The Daroga received no answer, which made him even more worried. He quickly entered the hallway and saw something, which made his heart shrink.


The little Philippe de Chagny was sitting on the highest step of the stairwell, hugging his knees against his chest. His face was pale and the Daroga could see that the child was doing his best not to cry. Without saying a word, he sat down next to the child.


They sat there silently for a few minutes before the former head of police asked the child, what was wrong.
"It's nothing, Monsieur," the child answered, staring at some point in the distance.
"Philippe, you can trust me. Your Angel has told me to look after you as well as I can."
Oh, how hard it was for him to call Erik an angel! He knew better. He knew Erik should be called Angel of Death but no more. However, what he said seemed to surprise the child.
"Have you spoken with my Angel, Monsieur Khan? Is he here now?"
He simply nodded as an answer.
"Then Papa will have to pay for what he has done."


There was no doubt of it now. Philippe de Chagny definitely was Erik's son. That was all Nadir Khan could think of as he watched the child stand up with the most interesting look on his face. It was not anger, no. It was something more horrifying to see on a face of such a young creature.


Revenge.


"Philippe. Could you tell me what your father has done?"
"No, Monsieur. It was my Papa. He broke my new violin - threw it to the wall. The violin used to be my father's."
So, the child knew that Comte was not his real father!
"I am sure he did not throw it," he coaxed.
"Oh, yes, Monsieur Khan, he did. I saw it myself. He really scared Maman - that makes my Angel even angrier."


The child could not have known better what he is talking about.


That night, the Comte was not surprised to find out that his wife would rather sleep in a guest room than share a bed with him. He was still ashamed to remember what he had done earlier that day. Not only had he destroyed his son's new violin - thanks to which Philippe began to cry now every time he saw him - but he had also accused Christine of deceiving him with - even the thought of actually having said this to Christine made him blush with embarrassment - the Phantom.


Raoul had tried to explain it all to Christine, of course. He had told her that he had been worried by the news brought by the Persian. Erik had disappeared and the young Comte was perfectly aware of the fact that nothing could disappear completely from this earth. She had not listened to him but he could not really blame her for that. After all, he had all but called her a liar - a cheater.


With a frustrated groan, the Comte got up from his comfortable, warm bed. There was no way he could fall asleep - at least without a proper little nightcap. Yes, that was what he needed. A nightcap. At the library. As quietly as he could, he went downstairs and entered the library. He had had a melody stuck in his head for the whole day and he was starting to grow rather sick of it. He could remember that it was from an opera - probably one by Verdi - but he could not remember a single word of the lyrics. Yet, as he was sitting in his favourite chair, a class in his hand, the melody seemed to start grow deeper - more real.


After a little while, the Comte could already hear the orchestra and slowly, steadily the lyrics started to flow. Raoul could remember now, that the opera was indeed 'Rigoletto' by Verdi - but the voice he was now hearing was not the baritone of the title character but a tenor even though the lines were Rigoletto's. Deciding to ignore that he concentrated fully on the lyrics.


We are two of a kind:
my weapon is my tongue, his is a dagger;
I am a man of laughter, he strikes the fatal blow!


There was something oddly familiar in that voice but Comte de Chagny was too tired to get his sleep-fogged mind to actually think about the fact. He could not understand how he had been able to get that upset earlier that day! Christine had had this little habit of talking to herself for quite a while now. Had he really heard a male voice answer her? Earlier, he had been so sure about it but now as he thought of it, he was not that sure anymore.


O mankind! O nature!
It was you who made me evil and corrupt!
I rage at my monstrous form, my cap and bells!
To be permitted nothing but to laugh!
I'm denied that common human right, to weep -


It was odd that the Phantom had been fonder of 'Faust' than 'Rigoletto'. The title character in Verdi's opera was - at least in the opinion of the Comte - quite a lot more like the man that had haunted his wife all those years ago. He sipped from his glass, relishing the taste of the expensive liquor. He had been taught years ago that it was not correct to wish for someone's death - even if it was one's worst enemy - yet, he could not help it.
"Erik, I most certainly wish that you are dead - by your own hand or someone else's, I do not mind, as long as you are dead," he murmured.


And I must contrive to do it! Oh, damnation!
My hate upon you, sneering courtiers!
How I enjoy snapping at your heels!


Apologizing Philippe - that was difficult but the child would certainly forgive him as soon as he had bought him a new violin and some new note sheets. Christine, on the other hand, had not said a word ever since he had entered the room. He was sure, though, that after a few days everything would be back to normal in one way or another. The Comte knew his Comtess.


If I am wicked, the fault is yours alone.
But here I become another person!


Slowly, the arias of 'Rigoletto' began mixing in his ears into one, chaotic piece of music. The lines of the Duke, Rigoletto and Gilda were melting into one, disturbing tune that slowly started climbing towards its crescendo. The Comte put down his glass, closed his eyes and put his hands on his ears - knowing that his gesture would be completely useless since the voice that was quite close to making his ears bleed was only a result of his own, unstable mind.


That is why, he was rather surprised when the room grew silent as soon as he had covered his ears. Blinking slowly for a few times, he lowered his hands from his ears and could still hear nothing. Shaking his head slightly with a soft laughter, he decided that he definitely needed more sleep.


Ella mi fu rapita!


The Comte reached immediately for the dagger he always kept with him. That last voice had definitely been real - and whoever had shouted those words was in this very room. Italian had never been his best language but he knew it enough to be able to translate the four words the echo of which was still haunting the room. She was stolen from me.


He could not find anyone even though he searched the whole mansion. With a frustrated grunt, he slumped into his favourite chair, still holding the dagger in his hand.


It was in that very same chair the servants found him after a few hours, when the Sun had risen.
"Monsieur?"
The Comte stirred slightly but did not seem to wake up.
"Please, Monsieur le Comte, wake up."
The alarmed tone of the servant's voice did its trick and Raoul slowly opened his eyes.
"What is it, Pierre?" he countered the servant's question softly.
"It is your son and Madame la Comtess, Monsieur."
Suddenly, he was very much awake. "What? Has something happened? Where are they?"
"That is the problem, really, Monsieur. They both have disappeared - as has your guest, Monsieur Khan."