Hey everyone! Thanks so much for all your reviews! I hope I didn't keep you in suspense too long... you know how much I love cliffhangers, hehe.
Okay... first, a note about the last chapter, since someone mentioned they found it a little confusing. Stefan sending Christine off to be a prostitute is not necessarily to do with the money she will hopefullybring in. In this case, it was meant to be more a punishment for trying to (unintentionally) keep money from him. He knows how much she hates the idea... so he forces her into it as a way of re-establishing his power over her. Not a very nice man, but you all knew that anyway, lol. I hope that makes sense to anyone who wasn't sure what was going on... I might rewrite that part later to make it clearer.
Now... on with the next chapter. Enjoy!
Chapter 6
The Slums – Night
Erik walked through the slums, hood up, eyes on the lookout, though, for the moment, he was not really looking for anything, or anyone. His pace was quick… a reflection of his impatient mood. In the pocket of his coat, his fingers twitched constantly, twisting around the coil of rope hidden there. Every time someone passed, he had to resist the frustrated urge to garrotte them right in the middle of the dark street, regardless of who saw. Every time he just managed to resist… but it only inflamed his anger further.
Last night, in troubled dreams, Christine's face and voice had continued to prick at his already frayed nerves. In fact, there had been very few moments in the past few days when she had not been in his thoughts. The memory of her voice was all but haunting him. Erik had begun to wish he had just let the girl take the damn watch that night. At least then he could have avoided this whole disastrous situation… this ridiculous attitude that did not make sense to him in the least.
But he couldn't help but wonder about her. The spirited, if ill-advised, way she had stated that she would go to audition at the Opera Populaire… it had both annoyed and impressed him at the same time. He wondered if she had followed through on her reckless declaration… whether she had really gone up to the Opera House. No doubt, if she had, she would be snivelling in some doorway on the streets, hiding her humiliation after being turned away.
Why wouldn't she listen to sensible advice?
He sighed… it was a pity really.
He stopped and felt the sudden urge to punch himself.
A pity? A pity? What was a pity? It was hardly his fault, let alone his concern, if the girl was too idiotic and too obstinate to listen and act reasonably. He could not be held responsible if the girl took his words the wrong way.
He had only been trying to help.
His fists clenched. What was wrong with him recently?
"Excuse me, sir?"
Erik was too busy fuming to notice that he was being addressed by a scruffy, snaggle-toothed little man with a dirty brown hood pulled down to hide his own face. However, Erik did notice when the man reached out and placed a hand on his arm. Already on edge, the unwanted contact prompted a violent reaction from Erik. Whoever the man was, he quickly found himself splayed against the nearest wall, one arm twisted painfully behind his back and his face pressed ruthlessly against the stone.
"That," Erik snarled, "was not a wise move."
The man wheezed. Apparently the wind had been knocked out of him. He struggled to speak, but Erik was in no mood to waste time listening.
"I hope, for your sake, I never see you around here again," Erik went on before hurling the man violently to the ground. He was just about to storm away when the man, somewhat breathlessly, called out:
"You're… the Angel of Death."
That caught his attention and Erik paused. Turning his head to look over his shoulder at the man, he narrowed his eyes warily. "And if I am?"
Struggling to get to his feet, the man coughed as he tried to get his breath back, rubbing his arm and trying to straighten his clothes out. "I have a business proposition for you."
Now Erik turned to face him properly and was interested to see that he recognised the man, whose hood had fallen down in the struggle. He worked for the owner of another brothel some distance from the Hanging Judge. The owner was a well-known rival of Stefan's… they had been at each other's throats for years. Their enmity consisted of frequently stealing employees and clients from each other, having brawls in the taverns and pubs and, just occasionally, trying to get members of the opposing gang killed. This man had obviously been sent to Erik with a commission.
Well… it should provide an interesting distraction at least, Erik thought to himself. Anything that would keep his mind occupied was something of a relief at this time.
"Very well… what can I do for you?"
Coughing again, the man reached into his coat and produced a scrap of paper, upon which was written the name of the intended target. Erik was not surprised to see he recognised the name. It was one of Stefan's gang.
"You'll probably find him in the pleasure district," he heard the man say. "He goes there most nights."
"I see… and what about my pay? Half now… half when the job is done."
"And how'll we know he's dead?"
Erik narrowed his eyes again, and saw the man cringe back a little. "If my word is not enough for you… I will send you some token of proof."
The man went a little pale, and seemed to take the hint, for which Erik was glad. The last time someone had doubted him enough to ask for proof he had grown angry and gone a little over the top with the request. It had only added to his infamy, and very few people asked him for evidence anymore. Quickly saying that this was not necessary, the man produced a few grubby notes. Erik took them out of his hands and, having counted them, stowed them away in a pocket. Without needing to say or do anything more, Erik turned and left, immediately heading for the pleasure district. This was what he needed… a killing. To block out all these distracting thoughts he had been having.
To block out Christine.
He finally reached the edge of that area of the city. Here, the lights were dimmer, to allow the prostitutes and their patrons a little anonymity. He never came here, except on business, disliking the casual way men and women flung themselves around, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He despised them for it, and tried not to make eye contact with anyone as he walked, just sweeping the faces of the people there, looking for the man he was going to kill.
He glanced at one couple, a man accosting a young lady who seemed more than a little reluctant. He was not the man Erik was searching for, and he almost passed by when, as his eyes briefly swept over the profile of the young woman with him, he found himself stopping dead as he realised he knew her.
It was Christine!
The Pleasure District
Once she had worked up the nerve to enter the pleasure district it had not taken long for Christine to find herself being approached by one of the men wandering the decadent streets. Suddenly she had been caught, like a rabbit in a snare… or a weak lamb cornered by a wolf. No doubt the man had noted her trembling, frightened demeanour and put two and two together.
When it came to prostitution in this city, men fell into two categories. Generally, they went after the experienced ones, who could do exactly what they required, no questions asked. Men who only cared about satisfying their primal instincts were more than happy with this arrangement. But, unfortunately, there were also those who prized newcomers to the profession… those who were untouched and pure. Perhaps they took some kind of sick pleasure in robbing a girl of her innocence… tainting them.
The idea made Christine feel ill.
And now, this man was trying to coax her into coming along with him. He was well-dressed and quite well-spoken, but his manner completely belied these things. His smile, she could only describe it as lascivious. She could feel herself shrinking away and kept trying to step around him so she could be on her way. He, however, was determined to take her somewhere, and was offering to pay handsomely for the pleasure.
But the higher the amount he offered, the more frightened Christine felt… and ashamed. She didn't know if she could give in to this… not even for Mama's sake. It was just too much to bear.
"Come on, my dear. I'm being more than generous."
She shook her head hastily, clasping her hands tightly together. "I'm sorry, sir… I… I can't…"
"This is what you do, isn't it?" he said, his face displaying his irritation at her continuing refusal. She could see how close he was to using force and swallowed painfully. "I'm paying you, aren't I?" he went on, making her feel even more ashamed. "It's not for you to pick and choose your clients, so you'd better – "
"Is there some problem?"
Christine jumped as a hand fell upon her shoulder. She couldn't turn her head far enough to see, but the voice was familiar enough.
It was him… Erik.
She watched as the man who had attempted to buy her company took a step back, his face expressing both fear and confusion. She felt much the same… wondering what on earth the masked man was doing here, and why he had chosen to intervene. Her entire body was rigid, every muscle flooded with tension as she stood, trapped between these two men.
Once the man before her recovered from the shock of seeing this strange newcomer, he frowned in annoyance t the interruption.
"Yes… as a matter of fact. I was just having a talk with this charming young lady and – "
"This charming young lady is no longer your concern. I suggest you take your business elsewhere."
Christine was shocked to hear Erik say this. She twisted her head to try and see him… to catch his eye. She wanted to ask what he thought he was doing, though a part of her dreaded the answer. She could feel his long, thin fingers on her shoulder and shivered suddenly and she realised she could feel no warmth through the leather gloves he wore.
The man was taken aback by the tone of Erik's voice, and began to press his suit again, even reaching out to grab Christine's arm, as if he intended to pull her away from Erik… drag her off by force. As concerned as she was about Erik's motivations, he was the lesser of two evils in her mind, and she flinched away from the man, feeling her back accidentally press against Erik's chest. She felt him stiffen, but the contact did not last long, as Erik took a step back and away from her, though his hand remained almost possessively on her shoulder.
He spoke again, and this time it was his voice that made her shiver.
"Leave… now."
God, the sound of his voice… she could feel the weight of his words, the unquestionable authority in his tone. Before she had been surprised by its beauty… now it was the menace lurking there which made her quake. How could something so beautiful be so dangerous? There could be no disobeying of that voice, and, as she watched, the man backed away from them and finally turned and ran down the street, vanishing from sight.
The hand left her shoulder, and she was finally able to turn, which she did, slowly and warily. There was Erik, as before, with the black mask covering his face, and his yellow eyes faintly glowing beneath, watching her with his head tilted to one side.
"Well, Christine," he said with cold politeness, addressing her by name for the first time. "I must say I did not expect to see you here, of all places. Did you lose your way?"
She folded her arms around herself defensively, lowering her eyes as she felt the shamed blush colouring her cheeks. She did not relish the prospect of telling him why she was there in the pleasure district, but she was too long in coming up with a convincing lie to tell him. She could practically hear the puzzle pieces slotting together in his brain.
"You are here on business then?"
The sick feeling in her stomach intensified and a bitter lump came to her throat.
"Unwillingly, I presume."
She risked looking up at him and wished, in that moment, that she could know his expression behind the mask. Somehow, she didn't feel like she was being mocked, but neither was she certain he was being sympathetic. He did not seem the type of man who would feel sorry for anyone, and his voice betrayed absolutely nothing of his feelings.
She found herself nodding slowly in answer.
"Might I ask how?"
Oh, god… did she really have to tell him? Why couldn't the ground just open up and swallow her? Did she really have to endure this humiliation… on top of everything else? But she felt his yellow eyes watching her and, gulping down the lump in her throat, she gave in and told him, the words coming out in a rush. "Stefan… he found out about me singing at the tavern. He was angry because I didn't give him the money so… he took it."
"That was rather foolish of you."
She pressed her lips together, not liking his bluntness, even though she knew it was true.
"I wasn't thinking," she admitted quietly. "And then… he sent me here. I… I didn't have any other choice."
There was a silence between the two and Christine shivered as a cold breeze blew down the street and swirled around them. She hugged herself tightly, aware of being watched intently by her unusual companion.
"I will take you somewhere warm."
The statement was devoid of any emotion, and Christine felt the fear that had briefly subsided return, even more potent than before. He was going to take her somewhere? Did he mean that…?
"Come with me." She stared at him, her lips parted in horror. He stared back impassively with those golden eyes. "You really do not have much choice."
How desperately she wished this were not true. She wanted to turn and run back home… forget this awful day had ever happened. But she couldn't. Stefan's threat came storming into her memory, and she bit her lip at the thought of what might happen to her and Mama Valerius if she refused. Once again, she found herself cornered, left with no choice and no way out… except with Erik.
She nodded slowly, and they began to walk, side by side. There was a substantial gap between them, but she could feel his presence beside her and it made her even more nervous than she already felt. They did not speak for some time and, although Christine did not particularly feel like making conversation, the silence was infinitely worse, as it left her to contemplate her situation. Shamed, unbidden thoughts threatened to cloud her mind and bring her to tears, so she spoke… about the only other topic that sprang to mind.
"I suppose you'll be glad to know you were right."
Her voice was laced with bitter anger. At this point, she would rather feel angry than miserable and frightened, so she didn't care that her statement sounded rude. Even though she refused to raise her eyes from the dirty street, she could feel that he had glanced down at her.
"I went to the Opera House this afternoon." She gave a rather embittered smile and a shrug. "You were right… they wouldn't even listen to me sing."
"I did warn you."
Her feeling of acrimony increased dramatically at his words. How could he be so blunt? Surely there was some nicer way he could make his point… without being so gauche about it. Obviously, this Erik was not a man willing to spare a girl's feelings when it came to his opinion of her. Of course, she had learned that the other day.
The fact that he was right only made it worse.
"Yes… and I was too stupid to listen," she admitted, feeling herself descend into mocking self-hatred. "Too determined to prove I was actually worth something. And now…" she looked at her surroundings. "Now I'm even more worthless than ever."
He didn't say anything in reply to this, and, truth be told, she would have appreciated some kind of advice from him, however blunt it was. Having learnt her lesson from last time she would probably listen more carefully now. But he remained silent, though she had the feeling that he was thinking deeply about something. As much as she wanted to know what he was contemplating, she didn't have the courage to ask him. They were quiet again, and reality began to close in, thick and heavy.
"This will do."
She looked at him, and realised he had stopped, and was looking up at an inn they had passed. It was reasonably small and not as prominent as the Hanging Judge, for which Christine supposed she must be grateful. The noise from inside was quiet and subdued but this made it seem all the more ominous as she followed Erik reluctantly inside. She watched silently as he caught the attention of the man who owned the place and handed over money for the room. He turned to her.
"After you."
Christine went on up the stairs, and took advantage of Erik being unable to see her face to let her mask of control slip a little. She heard his footsteps behind her and she wanted desperately to run, hide… but she knew such a thing would be pointless. They reached the room, and Erik unlocked it with the key the landlord had given him. Before allowing her through, he handed her several notes. It was a generous amount, but she felt like it was burning her hand. She would have done anything to be able to hand it back and be allowed to go free.
Opening the door, Erik gestured for her to go inside.
"Does this suit you?" Erik inquired, his voice still emotionless. Christine did not even bother to look around the modest little room. She kept her back to the door and Erik, eyes shut to fight her tears. She could barely even nod in reply to his question and, finally, she couldn't bear it anymore.
"I'm frightened."
A long pause followed her declaration. The atmosphere around her felt thick and suffocating. "You needn't be," came Erik's voice. She could have sworn there was a tension in his voice that had not been there before. She heard the door shut, and then the sound of the key turning in the lock.
A sob escaped Christine's throat.
"Please… don't make me do this."
There was no reply. Behind her there was complete silence and, when she finally risked turning around, she saw that the key had been pushed under the door. There was nothing else there.
Erik was gone.
The Pleasure District
Erik stormed through the streets, looking at nothing and no one. There was a thick veil of redness over his eyes that refused to be shaken. It wasn't exactly anger, it was a mixture of confusion and other emotions he simply could not understand, or did not wish to.
He had had no intention of staying with her in that room; although he knew that this was what Christine had believed would happen. But it was not just this that made his chest tighten up and left his breathing ragged. It was the fact that, when she entered that room, and he had stolen a brief moment to look at her when she didn't know… allowed himself to take in her delicate shape standing there… he had actually wanted to. Yes… some deep and primal part of him had wanted to lock himself on the other side of the door with her. To hell with his resolve to distance himself… to never give in to such things.
And then those two words…
I'm frightened.
It was such an obvious little thing to admit. And how could he blame her for feeling that way? Hearing her confess her fear had erased the brief, carnal desire that had welled up, and replaced it with something he found even harder to understand.
He had seen her shoulders shaking… heard the suppressed sob in her words and suddenly felt the urge… the need… to protect her.
He laughed. He stopped walking, leaning against a nearby building and began to laugh, loudly and bitterly, sending several of the people wandering the streets running away in fear. He paid no attention… the irony was too much to ignore.
Protect her? What an absurd notion. In that instant… the only thing she had needed protection from was him in his moment of weakness, when his emotionless personality had slipped just for an instant, revealing him as being no better than the man who had tried to buy her on the street. In all truthfulness, he had been fighting to remain emotionless from the moment he had seen her. Why… why had he suddenly decided to help her? Why had he stepped in to send that other man running away, and given her money when he had no intention of asking anything in return?
He told himself it was not for any personal reason. He had done it because he knew that if she descended to the level of a prostitute… reduced to selling her body on the streets, then no amount of talent would get her into the Opera company. They would not even have allowed her into the building. He had merely wished to help her… so she did not ruin her chances of a career. Her voice was too precious to be wasted. She had said she was worthless… and it had taken every bit of self-control he possessed not to scream in outrage… as if she didn't appreciate the beautiful gift she had been given, and had lost all hope of ever using it to its full potential.
Worthless? No… she was far from that. He knew that, given the chance, her 'worth' would be immeasurable.
But this still begged the question… why did he even care? He didn't care about anything. So why suddenly did he have delusions of assisting a pretty young girl who was as different from him as a dove is from a vulture. Why had he, for a brief instant, considered offering to help her with her music?
The idea, absurd though it was, had occurred to him as they walked and she recounted the horrible way she had been cast aside by the managers. He had come so close to offering… but had caught himself just in time; hardly daring to contemplate why he would wish to give lessons to this girl, regardless of how much he loved music… and regardless of how beautiful she would surely sound, if under his guidance.
And why in hell's name would she want him to help her anyway? He was a cold and brutal killer… the Angel of Death. He was certainly no teacher… no guardian angel.
With a sigh, he passed a hand over the mask.
Never mind angel… he was barely human.
He leant his full weight against the stone wall, trying to get his thoughts in some semblance of order. Taking deep breaths, he concentrated, focused his mind. But no matter how hard he tried, nothing could bring him back to that cold and heartless way of thinking. It had seemed so easy to be that way before.
But ever since he had met Christine…
What was it about this girl? What was this strange effect she had on him? Was it her voice? That spark of spirit within her? The complete contrast in their looks and personality? She was so many things he was not. Gentle, pure… beautiful. Perhaps he would have been more like her, had fate not been so cruel to him.
He laughed again, softly this time. Thinking like this would change nothing… he had told himself that many times in the past. What good was melancholic yearnings going to be now? Hell… he had thought himself beyond all of this long ago. He was 32, damn it. He should be able to control himself after so many years. Why was it suddenly so difficult?
He tried to hate her. He tried to hate her for doing this to him… for playing with his mind and complicating his life.
But he couldn't.
So he turned his hate elsewhere.
He sought out the man he had been paid to kill. The man knew what Erik had come to do, and had led him to somewhere quiet, where he thought they could battle it out… as if he imagined he stood a chance of winning.
Erik had planned to draw it out… to let himself go and get rid of all his frustrated, confused emotions as he utterly destroyed the man before him… to take his life slowly and feel it ebb and die like a cat playing with a baby bird before biting down into its tiny, helpless body.
But he couldn't do this either. Instead he snapped the man's neck, thankful that at least he could do that without his conscience plaguing him, and then retreated into the sewers, to his home… unable, for the moment, to face the world above. He sat at the organ and sent angry notes thundering through the pipes, despising his weakness… despising the world… and wishing feverishly that he could despise Christine too. It was so infuriating. He was filled with hate… he brimmed over with it. It was the one emotion he did not suppress…
So why could he not bring himself to hate her?
A/N: Ah, Erik... the knight in dark armour, lol. He gets trickier as I go along... hopefully I'm keeping him in check so far. So, I hope you enjoyed! Keep the reviews coming and I'll se you all next time!
