A/N: A thousand and one apologies for making you wait so long! It seems that the visual arts have taken a stronger hold on my creativity than I thought they would. Luckily for you, a very time consuming contest entry has left me a bit burned out with regards to 3D art. I have taken the opportunity to whip you up another chapter. I don't know how long this burn out will last, but I will try my hardest to finish this. Pinky promise. ;-)
Disclaimer: ...Really?
Ch. 8 Midnight Shadows
Raoul de Chagny was positively glowing with excitement. It had been six months since that awful suicide during Il Muto, and things were certainly much brighter. With no sign of the supposed Opera Ghost, the young Vicomte had renewed his advances towards Christine, and she, surprisingly enough, had accepted them. Oh, the two of them had had a grand time doing the things young couples do. There was hardly a Friday when Christine did not rush to her dressing room after ballet practice or rehearsals so she would be ready to go when Raoul arrived, ignoring the giggling ballerinas and Madame Giry's stern gaze. Raoul recollected one such evening not even a week past as he prepared himself for bed. He had taken Christine to a quiet candlelight dinner on the banks of the Seine and, afterwards, on a leisurely carriage ride along the Strand. It was then that the young noble had taken the young actress' hand and left something inside. Christine's face, which had seemed more drawn and weary than normal these past few months, brightened with curiosity. Lifting her hand to the open window, Christine had opened her palm only to find a glittering diamond ring, its many facets catching the glow from the passing streetlamps. A giddy smile spread itself over Raoul's face as her remembered her reaction. While he had managed to keep his composure, Christine had not. After staring blankly at the engagement ring for a few seconds, she had thrown her arms around Raoul, laughing and crying in turns. When at last she had calmed down, Raoul held her by the shoulders facing him and, with mock seriousness, had asked, "So what is your answer mademoiselle? Will you take this star-struck fool to be your husband?"
Choking back another sob, Christine gazed teary-eyed into his. "Of course I will!" she had replied, but then her eyes grew wide in alarm. "But we must keep it secret! If word got out who knows what would happen. If he finds out he'll-"
"All right, Christine. All right!" Raoul gave her arms a squeeze. "We'll keep it a secret. No one will know, not the managers, not Mdme. Giry, not Carlotta, not even the gossiping ballerinas, and especially not him. We'll be fine, you'll see. Besides, he hasn't been seen or heard from in months. For all we know he's gone for good. You haven't seen him, have you?"
Raoul had spoken reassuringly, but real worry hid behind his blue eyes. Christine did not reply, instead she dropped her gaze, hands plucking nervously at the seams of her gloves. Raoul frowned and took her hands in his own. "Did you see him?"
Christine, her eyes now closed tightly, shook her head, sending her brown locks bouncing in the dim light. "No," she whispered. Gripping his hands she looked into his eyes and repeated the word more fervently, as if to convince herself as well as Raoul. "No. No, nothing. Not one whisper in the dark."
The Vicomte had smiled warmly and hugged his new fiancé close. "Don't worry, Little Lotte, I'll take care of everything. We're together, and that's all that matters."
That had been days ago. Any misgivings Raoul might have felt were now overpowered by a nearly insuppressible glee. Not telling people he was engaged was easy enough; not showing it was becoming impossible. But here, alone is his bedroom, Raoul was safe from the scrutiny of the public eye. Crawling between the sheets, he let a wide, reckless grin spread across his handsome features. As the young noble reached to turn off the bedside lamp he declared to the room, "She said yes! Can you believe it? She chose me. Me! She cho-"
Raoul froze, the smile gone and a cold sweat breaking out all over him. There, at the foot of his bed, two smoldering points of light had emerged in the gloom. Propped up on an elbow, Raoul stared at the lights in an uncomprehending stupor. Slowly his shocked brain came back to life. "Why," he whispered with a nervous chuckle, "they look just like eyes."
EYES?!
Trembling, Raoul groped about for some matches and lit a candle. The eyes disappeared. He laughed nervously again. It's just your imagination you fool, he thought, just a cat or some other creature. Christine's worrying has you seeing phantoms.
Chiding himself for his paranoia, Raoul blew out the candle. The eyes reappeared. This time he bolted right out of the sheets, standing stock straight by the bed, knees and fists shaking. His eyes glow in the dark. That's what she said. He's there, out on the balcony, watching me. Why?
Mustering his courage, the Vicomte shouted, "Is that you, Erik? Man, genius, or ghost, is it you? Come out and face me like a man! I am not afraid!"
That's a bald faced lie, he thought.
With no movement from the eyes, not even a blink, Raoul slowly reached behind him and opened the top drawer of his bedside table. Inside laid his revolver. Closing his fingers around the familiar ivory grip, Raoul thought, I only have one shot at this. It must be perfect.
Without warning, Raoul de Chagny whipped the pistol around, leveling it between and a little above the glowing eyes. No more secrets, Phantom. It's time the world knew your face!
The gunshot was like a crack of thunder inside Dracula's skull. Oh how he hated the sound! Hissing like a feral beast, the vampire crossed to the edge of the balcony and climbed deftly up the gutter spout lest he be discovered by that fool of a boy or his servants. It wasn't until he reached the roof that Dracula realized that he had, in fact, been hit by the Vicomte's bullet. There was a new tear in his coat and, upon inspection, in his flesh as well. Licking the blood from his fingers, Dracula peered over the edge of the roof to where Raoul and his staff were milling about on the balcony. His still ringing ears caught snippets of frantic conversation. Most notably was "eyes" and "blood." Dracula scowled at this. Indeed, the scent of his blood wafted up from the commotion bellow. That pompous brat has spilled my blood! It is mine to give, mine alone!
If not for his usefulness in distracting the Phantom, Dracula would have swooped down and felled the boy where he stood. Instead Dracula transformed into a bat and flitted away, content with the fact that he could easily find something else to vent his anger on. Besides, the taste of his own blood had whetted the vampire's apatite.
Morning arrived all too soon, and Dracula turned his steps towards his tomb. Animalistic urges sated, he was now able to think logically about the night's events. That stupid blue blood! he thought with contempt. He has gone and engaged himself to Christine! I had had a mind to let him live because of his unwitting usefulness, but this cannot be allowed to come to fruition. I shall just have to kill him if he gets in my way; he certainly deserves it for shooting me.
This brought a strange smile to the vampire's lips. Ah, but he bought it, didn't he? He was so sure I was this Phantom that he tried to kill me! The boy may prove useful yet, why, he even supplied me with my rival's name: Erik!
"Erik..."
Dracula tried the name, rolling it on his tongue like a taste of wine. It was a strange, simple yet distinct name. The ancient creature had never heard of it before. Odd, since he had been so many places.
By now Dracula had reached the entrance to the graveyard. Standing by his stone tomb was the dutiful Jaques, ever eager to serve his master. As he approached the diminutive man, the Prince of Darkness shrugged off his torn frock coat and handed it over. Seeing the crimson stain spread over the white fabric of Dracula's shirt, Jaques' eyes grew wide. "Master, are you hurt?"
Dracula puffed a breath out of his nose, sending faint tendrils of mist drifting on the frigid morning air. "It's of no consequence. Just have my coat repaired by this evening."
"Yes, master."
The vampire opened the gate to the tomb, but stopped halfway in. "Oh, and get me a rose," he added.
"A rose, master?"
"Yes, the blackest one you can find, and tie it with a red ribbon. Tomorrow I will be visiting a very special lady, and I wish to leave a proper gift."
Jaques nodded his understanding as Dracula shut and locked the gate. Draping the large coat over a shoulder, he set off down the street just as the first light broke over the treetops.
A/N: Once again, I am sooo sorry for the wait. If anyone is still reading this, please review. I'd like to know where I stand audience wise after all this time. ,
