The Prisoner (A Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction)

Chapter 18

Renee's POV:

"May I?" I asked.

He hesitated a moment, but nodded as if that was what he really meant to show me. I was truly curious. The room was dark, lots of blacks and maroons, and obviously chaotic, but I had yet to see a bed. It would only make sense that that was what was behind the curtain, right? But he seemed so hesitant, for him anyways. I pulled open the curtain and couldn't help but gasp. This was why he was so hesitant.

In front of me laid a coffin.

With a pillow in it.

That looked slept on.

I turned to him, not really ready to jump to conclusions. "You... You sleep in there?"

"Yes."

My heart broke for the man in the mask. I thought it was bad that he was deformed, which forced him to hide in dirty old catacombs, but this was so much worse. "Why? Why would you sleep in a coffin?"

"It is a constant reminder that death could come at any moment."

That angered me slightly. Well, not angered really. I just wanted to show him he was wrong. "But shouldn't you also recognize you are living? Rejoice in it while you can?"

"If you knew of my life, you would not want to rejoice it, either."

"Then prove me wrong. Show me that your life has been worth forgetting."

He walked up close to me, but it wasn't intimidating. If anything, it was sympathetic.

"I will not scare you like that."

"I've been scared quite a lot lately."

"Precisely. You don't need to be scared any more than you already are. Don't pretend like you're not looking over your shoulder for Christopher every other minute."

I grinded my teeth. "Listen. It's not up to you to decide how scared I should be. You know every little damned thing about me, and it's time you tell me something. Anything. You forced me to tell you about the sadist, now I'm going to force you to tell me about you."

"That would be very ambitious of you." He said with a smirk.

I glared at him. "Tell me."

His face fell. "It will probably give you nightmares."

"Good. A different nightmare, for a change."

I could see him chuckle. "Go sit in that chair, and I'll tell you."

I did as he instructed, and he remained on the far end of the room.

"When I was born, my mother refused to look at me. My first piece of clothing was a mask. A piece of rag and some string, to be exact. My mother was violent, and as for my father, he was always off with some other woman, and eventually he stopped visiting home. Mother wouldd beat me and kick me. Eventually I ran away. I joined a caravan of gypsies, who displayed me as "Le Mort Vivant," the living dead. I was shown in a cage, and the people would laugh as a man named Javert whipped me mercilessly. You must remeber, I was only about 8 at the time. When I wasn't being shown off, I was set into the crowds to pick-pocket and steal. I was quite good at it, too. One day I just snapped. Javert was leering and laughing, as he always did. So I grabbed a piece of rope and strangled him."

I lightly brushed the bruises on my neck that were still slightly present from our first meeting.

"When I murdered him, we were in Persia. Obviously I ran after the murder, and I was taken in by the Shah. I was around 12. He noticed my extreme ability to create grotesque and murderous contraptions. He would then set convicts in the contraptions and watch them suffer as entertainment. There I also perfected the Punjab lasso and became a sort of political assassin. I was widely feared and respected. I would always tease my victims before I killed them with "Keep your hand at the level of your eye," and then snap their neck with one fluid motion. Eventually I was to be executed for knowing too much, but with the help of a Daroga, I fled and came here. I helped build the Opera, adding my passages and home secretly. I met your mother here, and, posing as her Angel of Music, perfected her voice. I... manipulated many people and groups to get your mother prime roles. However, she saw my face and fled from me to your father. I... I kidnapped her, and set your father in one of my torture devices. I threatened to blow up Paris if your mother did not marry me. She agreed, pleading that I would not kill your father. I spared him, but after seeing how unnecessarily unhappy she was, I let her go. I have been rotting down here ever since." The last sentence was bitter but regretful.

"How old are you?"

"I believe I am 33, although I do not know my exact birthdate."

I saw he looked scared, as if my reaction meant the world to him. But it couldn't, could it?

"I told you what you wished to know, have I not?"

"Why do you look so young?"

He chuckled darkly, and his features turned to stone. Honestly, it reminded me of many of the villains in classic operas, like the devil in Faust. "I sold my soul to the devil, child! I sold my soul for immortality in punishment for my cursed life! I will rot forever in these cellars for my sins."

I bit my bottom lip. My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. He was a little scary, but I trusted him not to hurt me. I also understood how hard confiding in me must've been. I just wanted to help him. "I'm... I'm so sorry for what you had to go through."

"Your pity is useless." he growled.

I stood from my seat and stood so I was facing him. "Perhaps it can't change your past, but I hope you're not so dense that you don't recognize that... that..."

"That what?" His features softened, and he cocked his head while looking down at me.

"That I care."