The Phantom Diaries (16 page)

“Is she okay?” I felt frantic and responsible. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have left.”

“She fainted, but I think she’s okay. And don’t be ridiculous. You have nothing to do with this. You have every right to go home for a family problem. We all understand.”

A chorus of screams came from a distance.

“What is it now?” I asked.

“Hang on.”

Her heels again clippety-clipped their way to the source of the sound. “Oh, Annette.”

“What?”

“Oh, my God.”

“What?!”

“Damn.”

“Judy!” I screeched.

“Only Annette.” Her voice was strange.

“Huh?”

“It says, only Annette.”

I shook my head and walked to the edge of the terrace. She wasn’t making any sense. “Judy, please. Be more coherent or you’re going to drive me crazy.”

“Sweetie, the mirror in the dressing room; someone wrote on it in blood red lipstick.”

“Wrote what?”

“Only Annette.”

My head began spinning and I had to sit down. The Phantom didn’t like the other singers. I wasn’t too surprised by that considering what I’d witnessed with Marie. But he knew my name. He’d asked for me by name.

Despite the sun that beat down on me, my skin puckered with bumps as a chill ran through me.

“You still there?” Judy asked.

“Yeah,” I murmured.

“All the girls have left. And I have to admit, quite frankly, that I’m freaking out myself. This is weird stuff, even for the opera house.”

“The Phantom,” I said.

“Annette, I gotta go. I’m going to get out of here before anything else happens. I mean, what if the Phantom knows I’m on the phone with you?”

The line went dead before I could reply. It was just as well. There was nothing more to say.
 

The Phantom knew my name, wanted me to sing and was frightening everyone away.

My thoughts returned to Eric. My enigmatic Eric. From the very beginning his presence had been strange and unexpected. Dressed as though from another time. Even his pattern of speech had little place in modern day New York. His love of Kristine. His recognition of Aaron as an Aragon.

“My God,” I whispered. “Who are you Eric? What are you?”

The last weeks streamed through my head as I tried to put it all together. All the time I’d spent with him. All the strange emotions he managed to conjure up in me. He’d lured me in so easily. And despite his darkness and his propensity towards remaining elusive, he was the one, above Chace and above Aaron, I wanted to be with.

I sat on the bench that looked out onto the massive live oak in the backyard and stared at the eerie limbs that seemed to call out to me. Curling up on the bench, I remembered how, as a child, I’d been so fearful of that tree, of how the slightest breeze seemed to bring it to life.

Now, that same fear filled me and the thought of returning to New York left me feeling anxious and stressed.

Chapter 18

December 22
^nd
, 2009

Dear Diary,

My return to the Met resembled my very first day in New York. The cab pulled up to the Met and I was once again impressed by the immensity of it all. However, this time, I knew exactly how to get where I wanted. I headed straight to the cast entrance and made my way backstage. The place was deserted, adding to the notion that the place was haunted by this mysterious phantom.

The chandelier still lay broken across the stage, sheets of music and lyrics were scattered everywhere and a shoe still stood center stage where last someone had tried to take my place.

Determined to make peace with this Phantom, with Eric, I walked to the edge of the stage and stared out and up to the last balcony.

I knew I wasn’t alone. Though every seat was vacant, though the lights that glared clearly showed an empty house, I knew I wasn’t alone. Whoever or whatever was out there filled the air with tension and animosity.

“I’m back. I’m Annette.” My voice came back to me loud and clear. “You can stop harassing my friends now.”

The chill in the room intensified and I knew the presence there had heard me. I could hear it, feel it and thought that if I tried hard enough, I’d be able to see it. Aside from the air getting colder still, I saw nothing. It came closer and my breath caught.

“Eric?” I said in a small, feeble voice. While I knew I had nothing to fear from him, I felt apprehensive and ready to run. Perhaps he’d respond to me better in my dressing room.

“Annette.”

I turned with a start at the sound of my name being hushed directly into my ear. My body tightened up and the blood drained from my face leaving me feeling lightheaded and in need of air.

The voice hadn’t been Eric’s; not at all.
 
It had been that of a woman. I rushed off stage and headed to my dressing room. I was being choked, suffocated and I reached for my ruby cross to bring my breathing back to normal. I stumbled to the room, losing my balance and bumping off the doorjamb as I pushed the door open.

Macabre laughter followed me and I began to wonder if I was to suffer the same fate as Marie and Caroline. Was I mistaken in coming back to the Met? Was I going nuts?

Clutching my ruby cross in shaky fingers, I glanced back into the hallway, hoping to see the source of the loud steps I heard nipping at my heels. Nothing. No one. I was alone. The footsteps stopped and for a moment everything went silent. I held up my cross assuring it was visible and in plain sight. The air became damp and permeated with an odor of rot.

The cackling began anew and my dressing room door slammed in my face. Panic was building up and I knew that another minute of this would throw me over the edge.

Again the female voice, vile and dripping with century old hatred, whispered in my ear. “Annette.”

My senses left me as I turned to run. Blinded by fear I followed the way to the piano room where I’d first met Eric, running on automatic. Without thinking, my legs led me there, though I’d not consciously decided to go that way.

Breathing became difficult as the air thickened and cooled. The corridor was dimly lit and while the cackling continued to follow me, I felt a sense of cautiousness in the distance it maintained behind me. For whatever reason, it seemed no longer willing to remain at my side.

The piano room was only a few paces ahead and the air became notably warmer.

Just when I thought I’d perhaps shaken the vile laughter of the female phantom off me, I ran head long and hard, into something big and solid.
 
My breath was pounded out of me by the blow and I barely managed a painful shriek of horror.

As I struggled to back away and get my footing, two large hands grabbed my arms and held me steady. I opened my mouth to scream.

“Annette.”

There was no mistaking his voice and looking up at him in the dim light I could just barely make out his features. The beautiful features I’d missed so terribly these past days. His strong jaw, sure and confident. The gleam in his eye, reassuring and with a touch of concern. Eric; my Eric.

I fell apart and began to weep. “Eric.” My breath shuddered through my chest as tears trickled down my face. I leaned into him, heavily relying on his hold to keep me up.

Effortlessly, he swept me off my feet and I buried my face in the crook of his arm. The panic and fear of the last few moments still controlled my breathing, but my body was slowly warming up to the sensations of Eric’s arms wrapped securely around me.

His footsteps resounded in the cavernous corridors as he made his way to his abode. As I clung to his jacket, I glimpse his visage in the passing light and was awed by the determination in his eyes.

Everything would be alright. Kristine. Aaron. The murder plot. Rupert. Then. Now. The Phantom. The revenge. None of that mattered now that I was with Eric.

We arrived at the elevator and just as the doors were about to close on the dark corridors, I heard a loud screech of anguish.

Eric seemed unmoved by the feminine wail and I wondered if he’d heard it at all.

Candles made the room glow with serenity and peace.

He made his way to the bedchamber and set me down on his bed. His fingers moved slowly as he opened my leather jacket and pulled it off my shoulders. I stared at him, watching the concentration in his eyes as he then reached for the hem of my sweater and slowly pulled it over my head.

I should have felt vulnerable and shy. Where were my scruples?

Vanished, I realized as I was overcome with a powerful sense of well being.

“Eric,” I whispered. I placed my hand on his cheek. “Are you really here? Are you just a ghost or are you really here?”

He stood to tear off his coat and peel off his shirt, then savagely reached for my hand and pressed it to his chest. Beneath the soft skin, the powerful muscles, I could feel it. His heart pounded against my hands. His entire body was the response to my question. He sat beside me, pressed his lips to mine and gently guided me down onto the bed, his body covering mine. My lips parted, eager to taste him, while my body felt a chaos of sensations.

When he placed his hand to my bare back, I gasped, the sensation was so raw, so intense.

“I’m real,” he whispered between kisses. The groan, from the depth of his soul, reverberated with passion and urgency. “I’m as real as any man you’ve ever seen, my sweet Annette.”

He pulled away and gazed into my eyes. My lips were aflame and my body raged.
Don’t stop now, Eric.
 
Don’t pull away from me now. I couldn’t bear it.

“I shall satisfy you like no man you’ve ever met.” He brought his fingers to my temple and tenderly pushed a strand of hair back. “You’ve no comprehension of the torture these past days have been; how black my days have become without you.”

“I’ve had to live my own torture,” I said. I barely recognized the sad voice that emanated from me. Until this moment I’d not realized, or had refused to accept just how empty my life had become without him.

He brought his mouth to my neck, and his lips and tongue began an intoxicating dance over my skin. I thrilled at the sensation, never wanting him to stop. My hands took on a journey over his shoulders, his back, his arms and up through his hair. I marveled at his strength, the pure masculinity of him.

And for all his strength, for all the power that raged through his solid arms and shoulders, his lips remained tender and soft as they made their way to the valley between my breasts.

My mind reeled. Don’t ever leave me, Eric, I silently begged. I knew I couldn’t bear to lose him again.

Chapter 19

Secure in Eric’s arm, I let go and completely relaxed. I knew no harm would come to me so long as he was at my side. As we lay together, our arms and legs intertwined, I caught the look of concern in his eyes.

“What had you running in such a panic? I’ve never seen you so frightened.”

I was embarrassed to say it. Had it all been in my head? Was I just fatigued and hallucinating? No, it couldn’t just be my head. The chandelier, the lipstick on the mirror; everyone had seen those. They were real.

“Strange things have been happening at the opera house. At first I thought it was you, unhappy that I’d returned to New Orleans. You’d cut the line to drop the chandelier on the stage and wrote my name in lipstick on the dressing room mirror. I was horrified at the thought that you could do such dreadful things.”

He frowned. “Those do indeed sound like what once happened, years ago at the Paris house. I used the very same tactics… But it wasn’t me.”

“The Paris house? You?”

His lips tightened. He’d said too much. But now that it was out, I wasn’t about to let him stop now.

“You’re the Phantom of the Opera; the one who created havoc one hundred years ago?”

He said nothing.

“Eric, please. I have a ghost on my back and all these horrible things keep happening. This isn’t the time to hide what’s really going on. How can you be here, young and beautiful if you haunted the Paris house of the 1800s?”

“Kristine, despite her beauty and for all her talent, was one of the ugliest women I’ve ever met. Her greed and blackened heart have done much to ruin the lives of the people around her, including my own.”

A heavy chill filled the air and I realized how painful it was for him to speak of Kristine.