For Me (Madame Giry/ Erik)

[mercifulheavens]

Author’s note---

The bold text is sung to the tune of the "I remember there was mist..." This story is written to explain why Buquet was killed by the Phantom... of course from the movie not the book...

~ For Me ~

Madame Giry sat in front of her vanity mirror. Her long hair fell down her back in its usual plait. With steady hands, she lifted it up to form a crude bun and sighed as she watched it fall back down in the mirror’s reflection. Blue eyes, that burned rather than stared, looked deeply into the reflecting glass as though daring it to turn away.

Why so sad, Madame Ballet?

She smiled ever so slightly at the Phantom’s steadily voiced question. Without turning her head, Antoinette rose from the chair she sat in and pulled her dressing gown up from the chair it was draped over. She sighed as its thick velvet sides wrapped around her, covering and warming her.

Are you strange as they say?

Or perhaps they simply need

To your good advice, to heed,

“Monsieur le Phantom, how kind of you to visit.” She stated, turning to face the masked man behind her. He smiled at her and nodded.

“Kindness befits you better than murdering.” Madame Giry finished, her hand unconsciously gripping the side of the mirrored vanity.

The masked man said nothing, but rather turned his face so the lit candle hid the unmasked flesh. His breathing was the only sound in the room as it came in gasps as a man trying to control himself.

“I thought you would understand.” Came the whisper from behind the mask. Madame Giry stiffened.

“You thought I would understand your killing of Buquet? I do.” He looked at her, turning his face toward the light in disbelief.

“Then why are you angry with me?” The Phantom asked, stepping closer to the woman who had saved him many years before.

Antoinette turned away once again and forced her clenched hand to release the wooden frame of the vanity.

“You killed him because he angered you. You’re better than that.”

“It wasn’t that I killed him but rather why? He did anger me.” Pride and power radiated from the Phantom as he spoke and Antoinette pulled herself further into the darkness that the corner of her room provided. “Because he angered you.” The confession froze the retreating woman in her tracks. “I saw him again and again go against you and cause you worry and pain. You used the noose on him as well. Didn’t you want him dead?”

The Phantom’s eyes searched for the woman he spoke to in the darkness, but even his sharp eyes could not see her. Madame Giry wrapped her arms tightly around her covered body and slid down the papered wall. His words had brought such a terrible mixture of self-loathing and disbelief to her mind that it pained her.

“You killed for me?” She whispered, the darkness and emptiness of the room magnifying the volume of her words.

“Yes. Why not? You rescued me from the cages of my captors and led me into the paradise of my Opera.”

“ No one else would rid you of that vile man. A drunkard and a fool.” He spat the last words and Madame Giry cringed as his voice echoed through her room.

Pain tore up her chest as Antoinette clutched her hands. She faintly heard the rustle of cloth before she saw him kneel in front on her. Her eyes closed as his hands gently touched her shaking shoulders.

“You shouldn’t have killed for me, Erik.” she gasped as sharper pain enveloped her mind and darkened her sight. “You shouldn’t have killed for me.” And then her world became darkness.



Christine sat by the bedside of her surrogate mother and former ballet instructor. She held a cool cloth to the older woman forehead in a vain attempt to bring down a fever.

“How is she?” Raoul asked from the doorway of the bedroom. Christine turned to face her husband and shook her head grimly.

“The doctor said she was worse than before. An unknown illness, he said. She still has a fever and she shakes.” She turned her head back to Madame Giry and placed her warm hand atop the woman’s cold white one. “She whispers nonsense, Raoul.”

“Between your care and Doctor Randul, she will recover, Christine. It is common for people to rant feverishly.” He assured her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“I hope so. It has been difficult since Meg died and now that she too is so close to death…” Christine trailed off, tears springing to her eyes. “A sister and now a mother. Oh Raoul!” She buried her face in his shirt as she cried and he held her close.

Unknown to the grieving couple, Madame Giry’s eyes fluttered open and her pale face contorted in pain as she endeavoured to sit up.

“Meg?” she gasped, her blurry vision making it hard for her to make out who sat by her bed.

Christine turned at the sound of the weak voice.

“She’s awake, Raoul.” She smiled and picked up the woman’s hand, stroking it comfortingly. Madame Giry had been ill before her daughter had died and thus no one had dared tell her about the girl’s death. It would have been the push that sent her to her death.

“No, it’s Christine. Meg is away for now.” Christine whispered, glad when the woman nodded in understanding.

“Where am I?” Antoinette asked, trying once more to pull herself up in the bed. Christine gently pulled her arms down in a subtle attempt to stop the fragile woman from rising.

“You’re at our house, Madame.” Raoul stated, his voice softer than usual due to the stillness of the air.

“Where is Erik?”

Christine glanced worriedly at Raoul as the unknown name slipped past Madame Giry’s lips.

“Who is Erik?”

“He was here.” Madame Giry whispered, closing her eyes. “He spoke about killing Buquet.” Her soft voice trailed off and Christine was almost certain that she had fallen asleep.

“Was someone here, Raoul? Did you see anyone?” Christine pleaded, glancing around as though the mysterious man would attack at any given moment.

“No one was here. She is not thinking clearly.”

“The Phantom killed Joseph Bouchet. Is that who she means?” Raoul looked gravely about the room.

“Perhaps, but I don’t know Christine. She is ill and ill people imagine things.”

“You shouldn’t have killed for me.” Madame Giry cried suddenly, rising up from the mountain of pillows, she was reclining in. Both Christine and Raoul had not expected such an outburst and sat still, not knowing what to do. Then Christine carefully reached out and helped the woman lie down.

“Hush,” she murmured, trying to soothe her. “There’s no one here, but Raoul and me.” Antoinette closed her eyes and Christine sighed. “Why would she say things like this, Raoul? It makes no sense.”

“If she is thinking clearly, she believes the Phantom killed Bouchet for her.” Raoul reasoned. “Come there is something I should tell you.” He took her hand and led her from the room, shutting the bedroom door securely.

“What if she needs something?” Christine wondered, reaching to crack the door a bit.

“Let her rest, Christine.” Raoul requested. His wife nodded and allowed him to lead her down the hallway toward a long explanation of how much Madame Giry knew of the Opera Ghost.

Madame Giry heard him enter the room before she saw him and it frightened and calmed her at the same moment. Fear of what he might say or do; yet, at peace with the fact he could not hurt her worse than she already was hurting.

“How are you?” The Phantom asked, ironically stating an obvious question. The sick woman sighed and groaned as she laboured to sit up. Without warning, the phantom reached out and wrapped a strong arm around her quivering arms, keeping her at an angle but high enough to easily see him.

“I came to say good-bye, Antoinette.” He muttered, his eyes both glaring deep into her dazed eyes.

“Good bye, Erik.” She whispered, hoping he would do something other than stare at her. Erik paused a moment after speaking. Drawing a breath as though to pull his courage together, the Phantom leaned forward and pressed his lips against Antoinette’s lips. At first, she was puzzled by the kiss, and then gradually as he began to kiss her more fiercely and his hands began to grab her, she panicked.

Christine sat motionless as her husband finished telling her what Madame Giry had told him. She could not imagine how difficult it had been for Madame Giry to watch the Phantom grow evil all the while terrified of telling anyone, due to the fact that she had brought him to the Opera Populaire.

A scream brought Christine out of her thoughts. Raoul and her rushed to the bedroom door and pulled it open to reveal an empty room. The blanket appeared to have been hurriedly pulled back and to Christine’s horror, Madame Giry no longer occupied the bed. Raoul immediately went over to the window and pulled back the drapes. However, the phantom and his prize had vanished.

Antoinette felt hot tears run down her cheeks, but she did not dare open her eyes. Her memory of the night before was fuzzy, but she was certain that it had not been a dream. Finally, her eyes opened and she blinked. The phantom had taken her into his lair underneath the Opera Populaire.

Too weak to move from the swan shaped bed she had been placed in, Antoinette closed her eyes. Pure fear surged through her veins.

“Sleep well?” Erik asked, his voice startling the ill woman. As if in reply to his question, Antoinette’s stomach emptied itself. However, she was too exhausted to even roll over onto her side. The throw-up slowly dripped down her cheeks and neck and she began to choke as it built up in her throat. Two hands roughly seized her arms and lifted her up from the bed, just as she was beginning to worry about drowning.

“I am sorry.” Came an unexpected apology. The bruising hold on her arms waned and she found herself gently cradled in sturdy arms. Her vision blurred again and as the world became dark, she felt the phantom wrap a cloak around her.

It was very dark when Antoinette woke and her head hurt so badly that she could not have cared less about where she was. Tears streamed down her chalky skin and her hands shook from an internal chill. She was vaguely aware of the edge of the bed being only centimetres from her back. A raspy cough forced her to move. Pain shot up her sides and head.

The sudden movement that followed her coughing fit brought her even closer to the edge of the bed. Almost in slow motion, she slipped off the bed, tangled in the thick velvet coverlet and sunk to the floor. The coverlet stopped her centimetres from the cold stone floor and so she dangled face down. Panic surged through her, as she could not move.

Feverish and scared, Antoinette drifted between the land of the living and the dead.

[Katheyrn Mae Wilson MD♥]

Oooh. That was good. I've never read any PotO stories ...

[mercifulheavens]

Should I continue it...? I posted it on FF.net, but only received one review. Not even a kind review. Just a bash on how I misspelled someone's name... It was most depressing...

[mercifulheavens]

Chapter two

Christine paced between the window of the room and the door; hoping her husband would return soon with word of Madame Giry. Already he had been gone an hour and two inspectors had finished their inspection of the house. They had been less than helpful.

"Madame Viscountess, there is no evidence of any intruder on the premises. We have concluded that the woman must have left at her own feel will." Christine sighed as the rather foolish inspector waited for her response.

"Monsieur, she is very sick. She cannot roll over; much less leave the house. He did take her." Just as she was beginning to worry about the inspector's reaction to her statement, Raoul entered the room. He gently wrapped an arm around her waist and began to explain everything to the needless to say confused inspector.

*_____*

Madame Giry awoke to find her body floating in mid-air. She was wrapped tightly in thick blankets and minutes away from suffocation. Claustrophobia mixed oddly with fear, despair and pain as she remembered falling off the bed a few hours earlier. With her arms pinned at her side by the tightness of the blankets and the weakened state of her body, Antoinette struggled gently against the blankets.

Perhaps she could at least loosen the tight embrace of cloth. Slowly the constricting sling lowered her to the floor as the blanket slid loose and she rolled out of the blankets to lay gasping for breath on her back.

Her hair was tangled and damp from her fever and captivity. Soon she knew the phantom would return and she did not want to be anywhere near the bed when he did. Almost unfounded her fear of what he would do to her gripped her heart and her breath became more hurried. Would he rape her? Murder her? Neither option held any hope of impossibility in it.

Forcing all her strength into her arms, she rolled over onto her belly. She was vaguely aware of the fact that the vomit she was expelled sometime still was wet on her nightgown front and she slid slightly as the material met with the floor and her elbow. The short but nonetheless helpful slide allowed Madame Giry to grasp the candle holder that sat imbedded in the floor. Using the thick metal to hoist her shaking body upwards, she finally found herself leaning heavily against the wall.

"I can do this." she muttered. Her body began to shake violently as her body protested the upright position and she unwillingly sunk back down to the floor. Tears leaked from her eyes as the dire circumstances of her captivity overwhelmed her. The logic of the situation of lost to her as try as she may, no reason for the phantom's sudden interest in her came to mind.

Soon she would loose consciousness again and he would return. Awake or asleep she was powerless to save herself from him. Only death could save her from him and it nefariously eluded her.

*_____*

Raoul soon explained all that needed to be explained to the dunce-head of an inspector and soothed his wife by assuring her that he would find Madame Giry. Then he left his home once more in search of someone who would help him.

He had thought about allowing the inspectors to accompany him to the labyrinth under the Ruins of the Opera Populaire; but they had quickly convinced him that they did not have the courage or the brains to be of any assistance to him. His list of possible helpers was quickly diminished.

Who been down into the phantom's lair? Christine, himself, Madame Giry, Meg, a handful of nameless actors and possibly Buquet. All save himself and Christine were dead or lost. HIs thoughts were not optimistic. It came to mind then that although they had not been down into the phantom's lair; two people he had forgotten could help him.

It took very little convincing on his part to get Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur Andre to accompany him into the Opera Populaire. They were both angry at the phantom for ruining their opera house and for dashing into pieces their fortunes in the process. Plus, they had both admired Madame Giry and were happy to help rescue her.

Raoul took a deep breath as he grasped the torch and prepared to descend into the complete dark of the former hell of his wife. If he got his hands on the phantom he would kill him this time. No mercy; no pity. He had been training and preparing in case the phantom dared bother he or his family again. Although Madame Giry was not a member of that said family, he was willing to include her because of Christine and his own growing love of her. She was a kind woman, although strict at times and he hated even the thought of the phantom hurting her in any way.

"How far down in the phantom's... home?" Monsieur Andre asked, his hands shaking from fear. They had not yet begun the dark descend and Raoul wondered if the two men would have the courage to actually accompany him. He had his love for Christine to keep him safe; the two men before him had nothing that would help them combat their fear. At least nothing that he knew of.

"It is far down." What else was he to say? If you were to go any deeper you would reach Hades? That would not help him convince the shaking man. Andre shook his head.
"I cannot go down. I shall guard the way from up here." So he had lost one, Raoul thought. He then turned to Monsieur Firmin. He said nothing.

"Shall we go?" Raoul asked, stepping down onto the first step. To his great surprise and relief, Firmin followed. As they silently made their way down into the depths of the earth, Raoul was strangely reminded of the last time he had come down, only Madame Giry had been leading him and he had been much more afraid then than he was now.

They hurried along, easily avoiding several traps that the torch showed them were present in the stone. Raoul knew from past experience that caution could not be replaced by speed or it could prove lethal.
Firmin said nothing about the traps, the mice, the odd things they happened upon or even the threat of the phantom as they hurried along, each step taking them nearer and nearer to the phantom's hidden chambers.

Finally they reached where the phantom's boat was tied. Not wanting to arouse suspicion by taking the boat across the water, Raoul and Richard Firmin lowered themselves carefully into the water and as silently as possible waded across. The heavy gate was thankfully not lowered and they were able to continue wading into the chambers. The candle holders in the water were unlit and the light from the torch was the only light seen.

Cautious, for fear that the phantom might surprise them by leaping out from behind something, the two men made their way out of the water. They began to search for the captured woman almost immediately.


Raoul sought about in one of the broken mirrors that appeared to lead into a hallway. He went down it a ways, realizing that the phantom must have escaped through it as he did so. There was no sign of Madame Giry and he turned back to help Firmin search the rest of the lair.




Meanwhile, Richard Firmin gripped his own torch carefully and went up the short staircase that appeared to led into another room. Treading carefully across the many scattered papers on the floor, he entered the room and was astounded to see a lovely swan shaped bed with a black canopy hanging above it. Hie gaze soon was torn from the bed, however, as it followed the covers to find them all but tossed over the side of the canopy bed. They trailed out across the floor almost like fingers pointing to something.

He hurried forward as his eyes fell on the shaking woman crumpled against the wall. Gently, he lifted her back up from the floor and cushioned it against his arm. Her eyes were closed as if in sleep, but her hands and body shook from the cold about her. Pulling his glove from his hand, Richard felt her forehead. Anger surged through him as he found it almost burning to touch. Her decent nightgown was stained down the front by something that smelled oddly akin to vomit. The same partially dried liquid stained her neck, face and hair.

Sympathy, worry and fear all passed through the kneeling man at once as he tried to figure out what to do with her. It was obvious that she needed to be warm and so he laid her back on the cold stone floor to remove his cloak from his back. It soon enveloped her trembling body and he gathered her in his arms once more. Carefully positioning her head against his arm, so that it would not hang limply, Richard hurried to find the Vicounte. The sooner they left the lair, the sooner they would all be safe.

But as he rushed for the stair, Richard came face to face with the phantom.