A Phantom's Claim
Chapter Ten
The gun shot was loud. It echoed through the silent forest, with a resonating bang. Everything seemed to freeze then, no one dared to move. It was as if time stood still.
Christine's wide blue eyes were glazed with hot tears, and her cold, pale face grew whiter still. She stared at the massacre before her, her eyes stuck on the gruesome face of the man, the monster, who had spilt the blood.
Erik returned her gaze, but unlike hers, he was strong and arrogant. Yet what Christine missed was that Erik trembled just as much as she did, only he could control it a lot better.
Their eyes were locked as Christine's small, childlike hands dropped the dangerous weapon. It fell onto the forest floor with a muffled thud. Its shiny, black exterior stood out amongst the leaves and dirt, even in the lingering darkness.
"I-I," Christine stuttered, breaking the silence.
She doubled over, covering her face with her hands, and she cried into them, sobbing loud and hard. What had she done?
Erik was silent but Christine could feel his eyes burning into her, watching inquisitively.
"I-I…couldn't," Christine whispered again, in disbelief.
She felt more lost and helpless than ever before. She knew she could not shoot him, and that sudden smile Erik wore told her he had known this all along. Despite how she hated him for what he had done, she was his and she knew it.
Her soul belonged to him.
Christine had watched with wide eyes as bullet she shot zipped past Erik, planting itself in a nearby tree. Its sap began to ooze out, coating the tree's bark. But Erik was unharmed.
"I couldn't do it!" Christine wailed in distress. "I am as guilty as you are."
She reached out with a trembling hand, slowly reaching for the gun again. If Christine could not take his life, she would take her own. Then in her eyes justice would be done.
Erik swiftly stalked forward, kicking the gun out of her reach. Before Christine could react, Erik removed his cape and threw it over her. She let out a startled cry, as she writhed wildly, but her attempt to escape her husband was futile, and easily dashed.
Erik gathered her failing limbs together, using his cape as his net. He threw her effortlessly over his shoulder once again and carried her back to the cabin and by the time Erik reached the bedroom Christine had grown still. She didn't want to waste her energy; she would need it later.
Gently, Erik placed her down onto the bed, where she curled up into a quivering ball and turned away from him. She couldn't bear to look at him.
He watched her carefully, still without any expression in his unmasked face. He was silent as listened to her choke and wheeze. Finally he gave a loud sigh.
"Breathe," he ordered gently. "Christine, breathe deeply."
Christine's wet blue eyes flickered open, looking up at Erik in surprise; she did not expect to hear his voice. But she did as she was told. She knew if she did not calm down soon, she may never catch her breath again, and join her lover.
Erik smiled, satisfied as her breathing slowly returned to normal.
"Stay here and rest, my child," he said softly.
Christine watched him from the bed, still trembling, but feeling improved. She could breathe now and her heart had calmed into a gentle drumming. Yet she could still feel her hands grasping the gun, she could still see the blood of her lover, drenching the leaves of the dark forest. Even in the darkness his blood seemed to glisten in the moonlight.
She would never forget.
She couldn't forget.
Erik pulled the covers carefully over Christine and gently tucked her in, placing a light kiss upon her forehead. Christine wondered if he could feel her shaking.
"I will be right back after I have dealt with, some business," he said vaguely. But Christine knew he was going to clean up his mess, his murder.
Before Erik left her alone, he paused, giving her a strange look Christine was all too familiar with. A look of longing, of blatant lust. But Erik did nothing more than look. Soon he had disappeared from her sight and all Christine could do was listen as the door was locked behind him with a quick click.
Christine's eyes widened, for a moment her heart seemed to stop. All the trust, all the love between them was forsworn. She was married to a madman, a murderer. Yet, she couldn't do it, even if she knew what Erik was going to do to Raoul, she could not do it.
She was just as guilty as him.
She turned over and closed her eyes tight. Erik would be back soon, with blood on his hands. He would want to claim her as he did any other night, and as her husband he would have every right to. She was his, legally and in the eyes of God.
She could not refuse him, even after everything he had done. He was her husband, and this sickened Christine to her core.
Suddenly the fairy-tale she had built around herself had shattered. All illusions of Erik being her loving prince were destroyed. Christine knew he could never change; he would always be the wrathful, vengeful Opera Ghost, and he would never let her go, not willingly.
Christine decided then, for the sake of herself and her immortal soul, she had to leave him.
A loud bang jerked Christine from her sleep. She jolted up, looking around the room frantically, but no one was there.
Morning was breaking and the gentle light was peeking through the slit in the curtains. But where was Erik?
Christine carefully climbed down from the bed and silently shuffled her way to the door, to discover it was still locked. She frowned deeply, feeling like a prisoner once again.
Suddenly the door clicked open, and before Christine could move backwards, Erik appeared. He towered above her like a tall, looming shadow.
A chill ran through Christine's frail body, causing her to shiver. She jumped backwards, almost falling over her own feet.
Erik moved swiftly, catching her in his arms. He led her to the bed and gently encouraged her to sit down.
"What was that noise?" Christine demanded under her breath.
Erik's face visibly paled.
"Were you not sleeping, my dear?" he asked casually. "Perhaps you dreamt it."
Christine moved to her right slowly. Erik angled himself to face her, his narrowed eyes seeking hers. He gazed into her blue pools deeply, as if trying to draw her into a trance.
"I thought we could start our lessons today," he told her with a forced smile. "After breakfast we can start straight away with a new aria."
Christine was naïve, after all, she has followed Erik down into his domain blindly and let herself succumb to the Opera Ghost's spell. But Christine was not stupid. She could see Erik was hiding something.
"What was the noise, Erik?" she said, louder this time.
Erik's eyes burned feverishly, daring her to try anything more.
"My dear," he began, his golden tones laced with contempt. "Breakfast is on the table, now."
He moved away from the door, giving Christine her opportunity. She was swift and dashed past him, quickly making her way down the hall, then stairs.
Erik stood by the bedroom door still, watching her with a smirk, but Christine was too busy running to see.
Christine passed the dining room, where the food was ready on the table. She could hear Erik making his way down the stairs, and panic rung through her. She ran as fast as she could manage, bolting for the front door, holding her heavy skirts up so she couldn't trip.
Her pale hands grasped the handle of the front door and she twisted it frantically, with no success.
The door was locked.
Erik appeared behind her, and with all the power and malice of the Opera Ghost he spoke directly into her ear. "You are very predictable, my Christine," he almost purred, his voice was twisted with a sick sort of amusement.
Christine cringed and tried to pull away, but Erik was fast. He lunged forward, throwing his arms around her waist, and tightened.
Christine yelped as she was pulled back into him, but as much as she tried to escape she couldn't fight Erik.
"Come now, my darling wife!" Erik laughed madly.
He moved forward towards the window by the door, which overlooked the porch outside. "Come and see what your curiosity has led you to!"
Erik stood her in front of the window, holding her tight as she looked out at the scene. Christine could tell he revelled in her reaction, savouring the small gasp she took as her eyes grew wide. Suddenly her fragile body became limp in his arms and Christine's world fell dark.
Erik hadn't expected Christine to faint when she saw the two full, bloody sacks outside on the porch. One was big, the other was small.
Erik had anticipated a struggle and tears, cries of hate and pleas for help. But instead the house was filled with an eerie silence, as Erik carried Christine to the bedroom and lay her quaking body out on the bed before him.
"Now there is no one to interfere," Erik growled to his sleeping wife. He stared down at her pale face, watching her closed eyes for any movement. "We're all alone now, Christine. How does that feel? To be abandoned by the world, by your God? And left at the mercy your husband? The bloodthirsty, Opera Ghost?"
But Christine was silent.
Erik's frustrations slowly grew with each soundless second. He wanted her to make noise, to fill the house with her cries. He wanted to shout! He needed to show her that she had to obey him, that she belonged to him. But without her awake to aggravate him, all Erik could do was ramble to himself.
"Even if you could scream, no one would hear you," he hissed into her ear.
His eyes flashed as her eyelids flickered slightly.
"Ah, my Christine," he smirked. "Come back to me, my dear. Come and see the mess, my child, which you have gotten yourself into!"
Christine groaned quietly.
"Christine," Erik cooed. A wicked grain crawled across his face as he leaned over her, his forehead touching hers.
Christine woke with a fright and tried to push him away. But Erik moved swiftly, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the bed, using his own body to straddle her.
"Christine, my love," Erik chuckled. "It seems you neglected your wifely duties last night."
"Get off of me!" Christine screamed hatefully. "You murderer! You killed that child! That poor boy!"
Erik's eyes were full of intent as she struggled below him, forever lashing out and squirming, but never getting anywhere. Christine's scuffle grew when he leant down and stole a rough kiss from her quivering lips.
"Yes Christine," Erik admitted bluntly. He looked her in the eye, smiling as tears began to roll down her cheeks. Christine couldn't hold them back anymore.
"I shot the boy while he slept in his bed. I killed the child in cold blood," her husband said as he grinned down at her.
Christine sobbed loudly, turning her face away from him. She closed her eyes tight, wishing she had found the courage earlier to shoot him. Now the boy's blood was on her hands too.
"And now, I'll have you, my Christine," Erik hissed. "I'll make love to you with blood on my hands!"
"No!" she refused. But Erik did not listen to her pleas.
He quickly shuffled down her body, pressing himself onto Christine's legs. She tried to kick out but Erik held her in place while he fulfilled his urge.
Christine watched in horror as Erik grabbed her skirts and threw them up over her waist. Within seconds Erik had grabbed her pantaloons and was sliding them eagerly down her long slender legs. Christine looked up, watching his face as she surrendered to his desire. He wore a wide ravenous grin on his bare face, showing the true extent of his madness.
He looked uglier than ever before.
The husband she had grown to love was gone.
Erik left her skirts the way there were, not caring at all if Christine was uncomfortable or how she looked. He only wanted one thing and Christine knew that he would take it willingly or not.
Erik moved onto himself, quickly working away at his leather belt before stripping off his trousers and undergarments. All he was left with was the blood-stained white shirt that had once been so pristine and elegant.
He laid on top of her, pressing his warm, hard flesh against hers. Then Christine could feel his swollen, throbbing manhood pressing against her. She felt him push himself toward her, teasing her wetness.
"You may hate me, for what I have done," Erik growled.
His eyes blazed into hers, stealing her breath. Christine couldn't move.
"But you still want me," Erik mocked. "You're still soaking wet for your husband."
"N-no," Christine whined.
"That's it Christine, be true to your character, my dear," Erik laughed madly. "Cry and beg for mercy, when really you enjoy every moment of it."
"Erik, this isn't right," Christine protested softly. "Please, not now."
Erik paused and for a moment Christine's hopes rose. However with one thrust all hope drained from Christine's tear stained face.
Erik dove into her without warning. He began to move fast, seeking his own release selfishly. This was not what Christine was accustomed to, and she didn't like it. She cried out in distress, in pain, but Erik continued with loud groans echoing from his lips.
Christine tried to struggle, tried to slip out from under him, but her movements only made things worse and a sudden pain jolted through her lower abdomen.
"Please!" She cried desperately. "It hurts!"
Erik grunted in reply.
Tears streamed down Christine's face and she closed her eyes tight. She wished it would all be over, prayed that he would see good and stop. But Christine's cries went unheard by her God, for Erik did not stop until he at last cried out and his body shuddered with joy, falling stiffly onto Christine.
It was over.
As Erik rolled to the side, Christine was free. She let out a quiet sob, her hands moved down to her stomach, clutching where the pain throbbed deep within her.
She had been raped by her own husband, raped by the Opera Ghost.
Christine lay still, feeling sore and violated. It wasn't until Erik stirred again she began to feel fear again.
"No," she whimpered, closing her legs tightly together. "Please, no more," she begged with a throaty cry.
Christine watched helplessly as Erik's cold eyes skimmed down her body, falling onto her closed legs. But that was when his look changed completely. The frost melted away, replaced by warm tears, which seemed to come as abruptly as Erik's rage.
"Oh," he murmured softly. "Oh my Christine,"
Erik moved towards her, but Christine flinched, covering her face. She could not see the look Erik gave her. He frowned deeply, shaking his head lightly, but Christine was too busy sobbing silent tears to care for Erik's sudden softness.
He collected her in his arms, cradling her there on the bed. Christine didn't dare to move or reject his touch. All she could think of was the pain, emotional and physical.
Was this what her life was to be? Would she live under the shadow of Erik, fearing her husband?
As he embraced her Erik sang a soft familiar song into her ear, trying to soothe her. Christine listened, keeping her eyes shut as he gently rocked her. She began to feel tired and was slowly drifting away from the cold world she knew, until Erik's soft words brought her back again.
"You won't run from me again, my Angel," he purred, his golden tones sweetly menacing. "You are mine, till death do we part."
Christine's eyes fluttered open and she stared up at him, seeing the tell-tale signs of tears on Erik's face.
Their eyes locked, but Christine's gaze was no longer filled with the pain she felt, but the hate she wielded like a blade.
"I would happily welcome death, rather than your touch." She whispered, surprising her husband.
She met his gaze still, watching with satisfaction as Erik became speechless. He looked down upon her, his mouth dangling open slightly. He was shocked.
But the Opera Ghost quickly composed himself and managed a dark smile.
"You longed for my touch before, my darling," he said in a low voice. "And you'll yearn for it again."
Christine turned away, the thoughts of Raoul and the boy flooded into her head, bringing tears forth once more. Erik was wrong, she thought to herself firmly. After what he had done, she would never love him, never hunger after his affection. She loathed him and would never again take pleasure from his touch.
But Erik was determined to disprove her…