Greetings! Welcome to chapter four! I realize this has been a long time in coming, but I finally managed to sit my ass down and finish what I had started back in February. See? This story really does run on your reviews... Anyhow, this was meant to be a one-shot, but I didn't have the wherewithal to post it in one chapter. Hence...this. Hope you all are enjoying it and I'll look forward to seeing your reviews!
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Christine fell back against the opposite side of the revolving wall, finally allowing herself to breathe.
Who on earth is that man?! Her conscience cried, desperately searching as many of her past memories of her father as she could. She was sure she would remember a man such as he!
Overwhelmed by the whole strange affair, she shuffled over to the bed again – the large, beautiful swan bed – easing herself down into its luxuriousness. Had she ever seen such a bed?
What did that tell her about her father's business partner? Could he really be trusted?
She couldn't even begin to think of how she'd come here, or where this was. She could be in a different country and not even know it!
Sighing, she crept back underneath the inviting coverlet, deciding that it was probably best to think when she was well rested, and she felt she hadn't slept very well these past few days…
As she drifted off to sleep, a pair of golden eyes glinted from behind the grandiose two-way, full-length mirror on the other side of the room. Turning the mechanism hidden in the wall, he expertly opened the mirror into her room, stepping out of its gilded frame.
He could never have hoped it to go so well. Our first conversation! He thought, his chest swelling with elation.
Crossing over to the illustrious swan bed – one of the many things he had made for her in the event of her arrival – he paused, making sure she was asleep.
"Oh, Christine," he whispered, ever so softly as he reached out to brush aside a few wavy tendrils of flaxen hair, reverently caressing the soft silky strands with his gloved fingertips.
Had he ever known such joy?
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Meg and Raoul were waiting at the police precinct, both of them wondering if they had been completely forgotten.
"Just like on tv," Raoul muttered blandly as he took another swig of stale coffee. They had searched for Christine all over town, checking all of her known hangouts.
Unfortunately, they knew that they were Christine's only friends. Not to say that she was unlikable – she was well liked by most of her professors and fellow music majors at the conservatory – but she had a painful past that kept others at a distance.
"Oh, Raoul," Meg scoffed, "they are doing their best. Just as we have been doing our best in trying to find Christine. It's just…" Meg trailed off for a moment, seemingly to contemplate something, "You know how she can be – especially around this time of year-,"
"Oh, don't remind me," Raoul interrupted, like an irate child, "I know they're doing their best. I just don't see why everyone, everyone chooses to think Christine would do something – something like this," he enunciated, his arms gesticulating wildly to demonstrate his frustrations.
"I know," Meg replied solemnly, "she'd never even leave her house without some sort of notice." Sighing dejectedly, Meg turned to Raoul, a serious expression shadowing her naturally sunny disposition, "While we are sitting around here, she could be stuck somewhere with some crazy lunatic!" She hissed, proving her own agitation.
"Yeah," Raoul agreed, tears starting to cloud his vision. The longer they waited here, the longer Christine would be somewhere out there, with whoever was with her and that was not a comforting thought.
"Hey," Meg reached over, gently squeezing his hand, "we are going to find her. No matter what."
"Okay, so what now? Do we wait around for these guys to give a shit or should we take matters into our own hands?"
Raoul's sarcasm wasn't lost one bit on Meg Giry and she couldn't help but grin at him, happy that her friend's resolve had returned.
"You bet your ass we do!"
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She had never heard a man's voice sing like that, an angel's voice. One that called to her, pulling her inexplicably towards him like a magnet, as if his soul were crying out for hers, begging to be reunited with his own!
It looked like she was in a cellar – not a dank, dark hole in the ground, but an underground house. Who'd have thought! The hallway was well lit by candelabras fixed to the walls by protruding sculpted arms flecked with gold. Seeing as she was in her bare feet and dressed in what she recognized as a late nineteenth century corset and dressing gown – courtesy of watching too many period dramas on BBC – she carefully moved towards the voice.
As she reached the end of the hall the voice stopped. Ever so quietly she tip toed over the threshold into what looked to be a sitting room. A glorious fire crackled and sputtered in a grand fireplace, one seemingly familiar…
As a matter of fact, everything had a sense of familiarity about it! What on earth was going on?
Her thoughts were abruptly halted when she saw him, sitting at his organ. A wondrous sight to see! She somehow knew he was aware of her presence, yet he did nothing to show it. Instead she went to him, that same feeling of being drawn to him making her shuffle her feet without thinking.
As she came closer she realized he was composing. The sounds from the organ seemed to blur in her ears, forming incoherent phrases that equally blurred her thoughts. Before she knew what was happening, she leaned forward and embraced him as if it were the most natural thing to do…
She felt his breath leave him the moment she touched him, but he did not move, seeming to relish her proximity. For a moment she felt truly whole for the first time since her father died. A rush of contentment rippled through her as she felt deep within her that she had finally found her Angel of Music – in the flesh!
Unbeknownst to her, her hands mutinously crept up towards her angel's face and the mask. Fingers cruelly prying the mask off her angel's face – and she couldn't stop it! In a whir of motion the man whipped around so fast he knocked her to the ground, blocking her view of his twisted features as he snarled and snapped vehemently at her.
What had she done?!
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Christine woke with a start, her body drenched in a feverish sweat, her chest heaving as she fought for breath.
She had seen him!
He was not the angel she had thought him to be, but something told her he was also not the devil he looked. If he were just a mortal man, how would that change him in her eyes?
She glanced over to the ornate nightstand beside the bed and hurriedly turned on the lamp, willing the last remnants of her dream back into her subconscious.
Rising from the bed, she went for the door to what she hoped to be the bathroom. She breathed a sigh of relief as she opened the door to prove herself correct. And what a lovely bathroom it was! A vintage claw footed tub seemed to sprout out of the polished granite floor, its fixtures and exposed piping made of brass.
The room was furnished with several shelves of towels, soaps and accoutrements befitting a five star penthouse suite! Not that she had ever actually stayed in one, but she knew from Raoul's descriptions of his holiday retreats with his elder brother Phillipe and his girlfriend, the prima ballerina La Sorelli, as she was called.
Christine had never imagined such wealth for herself, when all she was used to were Motel 6's and the occasional Day's Inn. Her father had often traveled from city to city when she was a young girl in search of casino gigs or a symphony audition. Most times he ended up busking on the street in order to pay their bills…
A knock on her bedroom door jarred her out of her thoughts as she hurried over to the door.
"Christine," came the man's voice – the man from earlier, "may I come in?"
"I'm coming," she said, instantly disliking the idea of him in her room as she unlocked and opened the door.
He was standing patiently in the hallway, the dim lamplight illuminating him from behind, casting his masked face in an eerie light. Christine took a step back into her room, unsettled by the man that knew so much about her.
Deftly sidestepping her into the room, he walked about examining it as if he hadn't seen it before, marveling at its decadent opulence.
Not having moved from the doorway, she stared at him in disbelief at his complete lack of propriety. Surely he should know not to actually enter her room without her verbal permission? No man but her father had ever been inside her bedroom – not even Raoul!
"Forgive my intrusion," he said with a slight hint of impertinence, "I have come to bid you supper is ready." His eyes met hers, seemingly searching for something there and being disappointed not to find it. "If you will follow me," he said, acknowledging her brief nod as approval and walked past her out the door again.
Following him silently, her eyes bore into his back, watching the sinewy movement of his muscles underneath his black dress shirt. It fits him well, she thought, blushing as she realized she was just checking him out!
Upon arrival to the dining room she gasped at the inordinate splendor before her. If she had thought the previous display was fit for royalty, then this must be intended for an emperor or – a sultan! Her mind trying to wrap itself around just how this man could possibly afford to entertain just one guest in this fashion was completely beyond her wildest imaginings.
Frozen in place by the doorway, Erik turned back to see her wide eyes and aghast expression, a small smirk lifting the edge of his paper-thin lips in approval.
"Come child, your dinner awaits," he proffered his bare hand; a test to see just how far the girl had fallen under his spell. She looked down at his hand, at the stark whiteness and thinness of it, wondering if he ever ate at all. Hesitating for a moment, she slowly reached out her hand and barely touched his fingertips.
They were shockingly cold! Almost as if… as if he were a corpse! Christine bit her tongue in order to keep herself from jerking her hand away or saying something impolite. He felt her shudder ripple through him, but he was pleased that she did not let go of his hand. Instead, she made an exemplary effort of not letting her discomfort show. Leading her over to her chair, he drew her chair out for her as any gentleman would, and helped to push her in to the table, effectively trapping her.
As he sat down at his place at the head of the table, he gazed at her admiringly, noting with certain pleasure how she timidly cut bits of food into tiny portions. As she lifted one meager forkful to her mouth, he stared hungrily at how she would – every so often – lick her lips in anticipation of a particularly appetizing bite.
He had to try very hard to keep himself from salivation over her.
"Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?"
Christine paused to look towards her dinner companion for the first time that evening. Was it evening? She could only assume… Noticing that once again he was not eating with her, merely taking sips from his wine glass every now and again, she couldn't help but ask.
"Mm, yes, it's lovely, thank you. But, are you not eating this time as well?" And then she remembered the most odd thing: she did not even know this man's name! Blushing profusely, ashamed at herself for not having the single inclination to know his name. She altogether stopped eating at that point, focusing herself entirely on him, attempting to look as apologetic as possible.
"Forgive me, I have only now just realized how appallingly rude I have been," she uttered shamefully, her eyes fighting to keep themselves locked onto his. They were just so… strange in color that they unnerved her. Yet again, she was not giving this man the respect he deserved!
Erik sat in rapt attention, loving how her expression was nearly begging him to kiss her. He nodded for her to continue.
"I haven't asked your name – although you already know mine – and I'm terribly sorry that I haven't asked until now!" She couldn't bear the weight of her foolishness, and so she hastily rose from her chair, the plates and silverware rattling in her awkward clumsiness. Her head hung in embarrassment; she couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye.
Amused at her genuine display of repentance, he also rose from his chair and calmly went over to where she stood. Taking her face in his hands, he forced her to look at him. He relished in the instinctive shudder at the touch of his cold hands and the tears forming in her eyes. It would be normal for her to be a bit… emotional after the events of the last twenty-four hours. Wiping away tears that had yet to even fall, he gazed into the depths of her gem-like eyes and gave as much of a smile as could be afforded him.
"Dearest child, it is only a name. And of that I have been called many. But for you, my darling Christine, I shall only be your Erik."
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Dun dun DUN! Honestly, Christine needs to get herself together before Erik completely gets away with not only abducting her, but possibly even seducing her without her even realizing it. What do you think? Will she be able to withstand Erik's blatant come-ons or is she to be left entirely to his...mercy...?
Review!