The Promise
Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera, but Gaston leroux does. This story is an elaboration on a beautiful picture by RipperBlackStaff, on deviant Art. I'll be putting up a link in my profile for anyone interested to see.
Chapter Three: the Promise
Christine was there, once again, in his house; in his silent, cold, and wet grave. It was the same as when she left; spotless and tastefully furnished. It appeared as any other Parisian home, excluding the clammy air and echo of water dripping. Erik stood before her in booming health, maskless and crisp in one of his finest black suits.
"Ah, my Christine, you are so kind to me," the devil cooed as he poured her a glass of Tokay wine. "What did I do to deserve such a gleaming angel?"
She'd drained the contents in one painful gulp before he'd lifted his own to toast, as if there were anything to celebrate.
"Detectives Aston and Beauvais believe you are dead," she said stiffly.
Christine didn't spot the sickly twitch to Erik's decayed mouth.
"Raoul believes I'm here to bid you adieu."
He sat beside her on the couch with his wine glass. "The fool," he muttered. "He doesn't know the difference between his property and someone else's when he sees it."
"I'm no one's property, especially yours," she gritted through teeth.
"Oh, but what good would your promise serve if you did not belong to me?" he sneered.
"Erik!" Christine leapt from the couch. "I know what I promised, and it was never to stay here."
She had thought he was a changed man the last she saw of him, willing to sacrifice his grisly desires for her happiness and Raoul's safety. But here he was now, the same in his manipulative ways.
She teetered warily on her heels as he rose from the couch and came to tower over her with an unrelenting stare. "What difference does it make, Christine?" he whispered. "I've got you where I want you. The last time you may ever walk through that door is to break the engagement off with your handsome suitor."
"Why do torture me so?"
She didn't attempt to hide her tears. If there was any way to show the misery Erik caused her, she'd express it with unbridled glee.
"I torture you?" he snickered. "My dear, my lovely Christine--if this is what you call torture, I'll gladly show you what that other room is all about. I'll give you a test run, so to speak, with no charge!"
He gripped her shoulders and forced her towards the cruel room made of glass that whispered unspeakable deaths and anguish. Erik cackled as she beat his chest with tiny child hands, swatting his face like she would do a fly. "Erik! Erik, please!" she sobbed. "What would you have me do? Tell me, and I'll do it! I'll try as long as Raoul and I are left to peace!"
Erik grabbed her wrists and dragged her arms criss cross, like a straight jacket. She trembled with anger, sadness, and fear. How could she have come back? She only abided by his request to spare the authorities. As if they could capture him! He'd always find some way to escape, to find her again and pine for that life she refused to give. Christine had thought by misleading Detectives Aston and Beauvais, Erik could live in peace forever in his cellar, disturbing noone but himself.
"You know as well as I that the only way I'll grant your boy peace is to have you as my wife, and the gendarmes far from here," he said, eerily calm. "And I applaud you, Christine, for your magnificent talents as an actress. You have no idea what your loyalty means to your Erik."
Stupid, stupid Christine! She'd never felt as much of a used, tricked fool as she did then.
"How much time?" her voice cracked underneath the burden of this foul situation. "How much time would you permit me?"
"As much time as you need to make it as convincing as possible," he replied coolly. "Erik knows as well as anyone that you'll do what you need to accomplish the task accordingly."
Christine nodded half-heartedly, her eyes trained on the carpet and thoughts of Raoul's face flooding her mind. How was it that the people she loved most in this world were taken from her by cruel twists of fate and, in this case, a heartless extortionist? Was there any way to escape? She dodged Erik's presence and searched for her winter coat. Willing her bones and muscles to obey, she tackled the coat on as if it were for the first time, declining Erik's gesture for assistance.
"I expect you to contact noone, not your Mamma Valerius nor former Opera acquaintances. Wear your hair back, disguise your face with scarves and sash. Society has come to know your face, Christine, and anyone who recognizes you transforms into a goldmine for the authorities."
"Wouldn't you suppose people would suspect foul play at my sudden disappearance?" she countered. "Do you, honestly, believe anyone other than you to be ignorant enough to presume I just had cold feet, or was visiting relatives in Sweden?"
"Don't fret your pretty head, Christine," he soothed," I will take care of everything."
"What will you do, Erik," Christine's fear was steadfastly mounting.
"I have told you already; you do your part and Erik shall do his."
They stood in silence for a long time, Erik's gold eyes darting every which way upon Christine, an ever pressing smile on his face. In one giant motion, he swept down across the floor at her feet and kissed the hem of her dress, as he did on their first true meeting.
"Oh, Christine," he sighed, "you shall be the happiest of women. I shall not disappoint! But... oh! You have no idea how long I've waited for a wife of my own..."
He advanced closer, close enough to send Christine flailing against the couch pillows. And Erik came further, yet. He cupped her face with his moldy hands and stared into her wide, blue eyes.
"You have made Erik the happiest man alive!" he said, beaming.
"I think it's time for me to leave," Christine whispered, uncomfortable. "Raoul will wonder where I am."
She gathered some of her wits and Erik escorted her from the house by the lake. Before he let her leave to the brougham, he gripped her arm with an iron fist and said, "If you so much as disobey your Erik, he will come for you."
--000
Upon the grand tier in box five, Christine listened to the silence of the amphitheater. All other times of the day, attendees bustle in and out, actors pour their heart out in song, and the opera staff tidies up after the upper crust Parisian society. It's a fast, unrelenting day here at the Opera Garnier, but a place she longs to be.
That is, until a few mere moments ago.
Erik's words ground through her head mercilessly. There were plenty of holes to slip through to prevent the inevitable circumstances, but Erik would find them and know how to drag Christine right back through the way she came. Not only would Raoul lose his right to live, he would chain Christine like a disobedient dog to his side. No—she would do what she needed to earn Erik's unwavering trust, whether she was genuine or false.
What would she tell Raoul? Could she slip from the chateau one night, unbeknownst?
Disgusted, Christine shoved the idea from her mind. It would require such heartless fiends to betray the ones they loved, without so much a word or explanation.
But, either way, she'd be doing just that.
It seemed no matter what, there was no way for Christine to have her well deserved happiness. Erik was always there to be answered to.
Christine checked her watch and realized it was early enough for the opera house to waken from a cold, disrupted slumber. It was only a fortnight ago, but people remained in shambles over the murder of Count Philippe and disappearance of Mlle. Daae.
She left without a trace of her presence and sought out her brougham, stationed comfortably in the opera stables. She avoided eye contact with the old gentleman driver.
"I wasn't expecting you so soon, Mlle." He speculated. "Is everything alright?"
Her head bobbed like it had been all day. "Yes, just some minor business to tend to is all. I'd very much like to head home now."
"As you wish."
A/N: It's been a long time since updates, but the inspiration has has been kicking lately. For anyone who knows how to create a link, please message me with detailed instructions, please.
