Her Savior
Chapter 12: Intentions Revealed
Raoul's POV
After an hour-long ride of what was composed of near utter silence, Erik slowed his horse and I followed suit, spotting a small cottage that looked as though it had seen better days mere feet away. I had asked Erik where he meant for us to go, but he had only responded with a frustrating, "Somewhere." He slid off his horse, telling me to do the same with a small nod of his head.
"What exactly is this place?" I asked, patting my horse and trying to keep the contempt out of my voice.
"It belonged to Madame Giry's husband," Erik answered in a clipped tone. "She hasn't used it for years, but offered it to me until I saw fit to leave the country. We'll tie the horses behind the cottage in the yard…we don't want them easily seen."
Without another word he turned, black cape swishing in the wind, to tie the horses up. I surveyed the area around me, noting just how remote it was; there must have been a village somewhere nearby judging by the gravel path that had been carved out, but no sounds of life aside from chirping birds could be heard. Plant life had taken over the area surrounding the cottage, covering part of the roof and crawling down the sides of the whitewashed building. The windows were all intact, but covered in what was certainly many years' worth of dirt and pollen. The whole place had a wild, untamed sort of look, as though Erik's very presence affected it. I shook my head, still unable to believe the predicament I'd found myself in, my hand traveling to rest on the hilt of Phillipe's sword, which was strapped to my belt. I felt my stomach twist farther into its already existing knot, sending what felt like acid up my throat, burning.
"Well don't just stand there!" Erik exclaimed, startling me. "Come inside. The whole point of this venture is so you don't get arrested, boy."
"Thank you so much for pointing out the obvious," I countered, spinning to face him, at my wit's end. "And if you don't mind, I'd appreciate being called by my name."
"Fine," Erik spat back. "Get inside, de Chagny."
"No," I argued. "If I have to call you by your first name, you have to call me by mine."
".Inside," he said, acid flooding his tone. "Raoul." Sarcasm mixed with the acid, and I wondered what on earth I'd been thinking when I'd agreed to go along with this insane scheme. I vowed to sleep with one eye open if I slept at all, not wanting to feel the burning, choking sensation of the Punjab lasso ever again. I followed him inside, hearing him slam the door behind us in his frustration.
The inside of the cottage looked better than the outside, as though Erik had been working on it since he'd arrived. It was odd to imagine a man who had once had the entire opera as his home, as his playground, living in a small cottage such as this. The whole place was meticulously clean, though it obviously hadn't been painted in years, the light blue paint peeling off the walls. A scrubbed wooden table and four chairs sat in the center of the tiny kitchen, and two armchairs rested in the adjoining sitting area. I spied what I assumed was a doorway to the bedroom off to the left, but I didn't venture inside, my eyes training themselves on Erik who was fiddling with a kettle on the stove.
"Do you deign to drink tea, de Ch…" he stopped himself, a grudge in his voice. "Raoul?"
"As long as it's not poisoned," I stated, sitting down at the table. My muscles thanked me after the breakneck ride. I finally realized how exhausted I was; I'd hardly slept for days, and I knew I'd inadvertently kept Christine up as well. Her face flashed across my mind and a small bit of warmth flooded through the chill that had set in ever since they'd accused me of Phillipe's murder. The fact that I was sitting in the same room with the man indirectly responsible for his death didn't pass me by.
"It isn't poisoned," he said, putting a steaming cup down in front of me and sitting down in the chair the farthest distance from me and looking me straight in the eye. "Unfortunately."
A veil of silence covered us for several minutes, the sun starting to fall below the trees, casting sheaths of red light across the oaken floor. I took a tentative first sip of the tea, a hint of raspberry flooding my taste buds. I chanced a glance up at Erik, who was focused on his own tea.
"How did you find out the police were coming for me?" I asked, daring to break the tension. "What did you hear?"
The man I'd once only known as "Phantom" narrowed his eyes at me as though I were an annoying insect that happened to have flown into his lair, yet I was mildly relieved that the hatred in his eyes was a fraction less than usual.
"I went and waited at the station in the village near your chateau," Erik began, pointedly looking away from me now. "The Prefect from Paris was ordering the police here to come and arrest you, despite the local chief's protests that there was absolutely no evidence. I'm positive someone is greasing his palms…no one looks that smug without a reason."
I shook my head, my mind racing. "I can't think of anyone but Chevalier…but I don't understand why he would go this far because I kicked him out of the party…he insulted Christine."
Erik snorted in disbelief.
"What?" I questioned, my temper flaring.
"It's obviously not just that, moron," he said, sipping his tea as though we were having a normal conversation. "There has to be something else. That was just the trigger. Is there some kind of petty old grudge? Something foolish an aristocrat would get angry over?"
I knew he was baiting me, but I hardly had the mental energy to fight with him so I just answered the question.
"There was, but I don't know all the details," I answered. "I know it had something to do with my father's refusal to betroth me to the Marquis' daughter, but the irreparable rift between them implied it was more than just that. But My aunt and uncle wouldn't talk about it, not even to Phillipe and especially not to me."
Erik responded with a soft "humph," and said nothing more for several minutes. I surveyed him, finding him much easier to read than he had ever been during our altercations at the Opera Populaire; instead of the cold, calculating expression I'd grown used to, his emotions registered in his eyes, bubbling barely beneath the surface. The trouble was, I still couldn't quite identify what those emotions were.
"How did he insult Christine?" he asked, a flash of familiar anger in his dark grey eyes. The sun was no longer peeking through the windows, the room lit up by candlelight alone, causing an eerie glow throughout the room.
"He…" I hesitated, unsure of whether or not what I was about to say would cause him to become as unhinged as he had during our swordfight in the cemetery, the swing of his blade wild with rage. The night in the lair had been different; he had been clear-headed albeit cruel in his intentions, but he had thought out every move. I remembered Christine practically begging me to trust him, begging me to allow him to help me. "He criticized her social standing…accused her of…being a hoar."
"My hoar, you mean," Erik finished, calmer than I'd expected.
"Yes," I responded, draining the last of my tea just to find something to do with my hands. "He just…insulted her character, her whole person, as well as me. He slandered her, implied she slept with you in return for voice lessons, implied she only married me for my money, he…" I knew I was rambling but hardly knew how to stop myself. "Why are you doing this, Erik? Why are you helping me?"
"I told you already," he answered stiffly, rising from his chair. "I won't let my sacrifice be ruined because of some worthless Marquis' petty vendetta."
"But you despise me, could have killed me if you wanted to," I argued. "Could have taken Christine like you always wanted. I just…I don't understand." I felt my heart racing, the stress of all that had happened, everything that had happened at the opera, Phillipe's death, being accused of his murder when I had a new wife and a child on the way, being forced to go on the run with a man I had considered my enemy, the threat of jail or even death on the horizon, taking its toll and making me lose any sense of rationality.
"She doesn't want me!" he shouted, losing control of his temper and rounding on me. "Even if you were dead, she still wouldn't love me in the same way I love her. She cares about me yes, but that's different. I gave up my own happiness so she could have hers, because she showed me how selfless she was when she was willing to give up her freedom to save you." He was pacing now, confessing his thoughts to me in a way I would have never expected. "Losing her broke me, but her actions also gave me back my humanity. She was kind to me even after all I'd done."
"Are you doing this to…repay her?" I asked, my voice a whisper.
"Yes, you idiot," he answered, the momentary softness in his expression disappearing. "And allowing you to die wouldn't exactly go along with that. You make her happy."
Some of the things Christine had seen in her former teacher despite her fear and anger toward him were becoming clear to me now, but something happened before I could question him further, before I could thank him.
"What…" I began.
"Hush," Erik cut me off, moving without noise toward the window. "There's someone here. "Have your weapons ready."
And then it what was very similar to a nightmarish vision, the door swung open with a violent kick, revealing none other than the Marquis de Chevalier accompanied by no less than five thuggish servants.
"Ah, Raoul, there you are," Chevalier said, hand on his sword. "What a bother it was, having to chase you like this, although you really should have been better about covering your trail." His eyes flickered over to Erik, whose eyes were mere slits. "Throwing your lot in with your wife's mad lover, I see. Interesting tactic."
"Mark my words," I said, pulling out Phillipe's pistol and pointing it in Chevalier's direction. "I won't kill you honorably. I'll shoot you right here."
"No you won't," Chevalier said, gesturing to his men to come inside the small cottage. "You'll be charged with another murder that way, won't you? And no one to prove your self-defense plea but a wanted man. There's also the fact that the moment you make a move I'll send one of my men here to alert the men I've got stationed at your chateau to set it on fire, killing everyone inside, that pretty little wife of yours included."
"You bastard," Erik cut in, striding over and standing next to me. "You'll kill an innocent family to get some kind of revenge?"
Chevalier raised his eyebrows at Erik, an amused half-smile creeping onto his features. "But you know something about killing innocent people to suit your own ends, don't you Phantom?"
Erik didn't answer, and Chevalier turned back toward me. "Drop the pistol, Raoul. Give into your fate."
"No," I said, moving closer. "I won't." Flashes of my home on fire, my family, Christine and my unborn child burned in the flames ran wild through my mind. Before I realized what was happening, before I could pull the trigger, I felt a sword slice into my left arm, cutting open the finally healed wound Erik had inflicted back in the graveyard. In shock my right hand dropped the gun, my arm feeling like it was on fire, and I found Chevalier pushing me to the ground, hands pressing on my bleeding arm.
"You're not the only one who's seen battle in the navy, fool," he said, pulling my own sword out of its sheath and holding it to my throat. He looked up at Erik, who was ready to pull out his own weapon, although I was surprised to see it was his sword and not his Punjab lasso. "One wrong move, opera ghost, and my men will shoot you dead. Drop the sword."
Surprisingly Erik did as he was told, and I knew it was entirely because of the threat to Christine's life. The five men grabbed him by the arms and bound him to one of the kitchen chairs we'd been sitting in, although I could see the cogs turning behind his eyes, trying to form a plan. Chevalier grabbed me by my injured arm and dragged me across the small room, sword still at my throat. He tried to throw me against the wall, but I kicked the sword out of his hand and stood up, grabbing the front of his jacket.
"If you want to play this way," he said, looking nonplussed. He snapped his fingers. "Jean, ride to the de Chagny chateau and tell them to carry out the plan."
"No!" I exclaimed. "You won't!"
"I will," Chevalier said. "Unless you sit down and obey my every order."
I nodded, feeling sick as his fist met my solar plexus, forcing me to the floor. "Why?" I asked, voice hoarse from having the breath knocked out of me. "Because of some disagreement between you and my father?"
"You don't know the whole story, boy," he hissed. "But let me regale you. I wanted your ass of a father to betroth you to my daughter, and he denied me, saying he wouldn't betroth you when you were only a child, that he wasn't yet sure what he wanted for you. But you see, my family fortune was quickly dwindling away because of my late father's gambling problem that had left me in debt, and marrying into your family would ensure my financial and social security. But because your father denied me, we've been slipping into ruin and obscurity, a mere mockery of the family we once were, and your family just kept rising. I've been looking for years for a way to take the de Changy's down, and your foolish behavior at the opera and Phillipe's subsequent death gave me the perfect opportunity. "
"You're doing this because of a denied marriage proposal?" I asked, incredulous, acutely aware of how closely he held my own sword to my cheek. "You could have married your daughter to any of the aristocratic families in Paris!"
"We were already becoming a laughingstock, and your family was the most respected, the most financially stable," Chevalier stated, grazing the cool blade up and down my skin. "And I thought that as my friend your father would understand that. But he wasn't willing to sacrifice his precious youngest son's choices, said his older son was already locked in to taking over the family responsibilities, and he wanted you to have more freedom. He was always overprotective of you. I never understood why, since you were responsible for the death of his beloved wife."
"Don't you dare!" I shouted, feeling myself start to shake, flashes of my father sitting in his study, gazing at his favorite portrait of my mother overcoming my memory. "Don't!"
"You do look like her," Chevalier said, pushing the blade, Phillipe's blade, against my cheek just hard enough to drawn blood, and I winced against the sting. "I never got the chance to take revenge on your father, but you'll do just fine."
My eyes flitted over to Erik, whose eyes were trained intensely on something that Chevalier was pulling out of his pocket, his eyes widening slightly.
"I have something for you, Raoul," he continued, putting a vile of something in front of my nose. "It's quite popular these days, actually: Laudanum. Now open up for me," he said, uncapping the vial.
"No," I said, scooting away from him. "That substance is highly addictive, especially in large doses like that. What are you playing at?"
"That's for me to know and you to find out," he whispered. "But either you drink this and become an embarrassment to your family, or be responsible for all of them perishing in a fire. Your choice."
He was trying to get me addicted to the drug, and God only knew how many days he would keep me here to achieve that goal, but I couldn't see a way out. The chateau was barely an hour away, and there was no one to intercept his messengers.
"I'll drink it," I said, hardly knowing how any of this would end, hardly believing there was a light at the end of this horrific tunnel.
"Don't," Erik said, his voice harsh and grating, not a man to be argued with. "If he has his way you'll get addicted to it, and you have no idea how difficult it is to defeat that. And this one doesn't seem very intelligent…he might give you an overdose."
"Quiet!" Chevalier shouted, eyes looking bloodshot. "You have no business interfering, Opera Ghost, although you do make my plan work even better than I'd planned. When the police find out Raoul has thrown in his lot with you…"
"I can't let them kill my family," I said, meeting Erik's eye. "I can't let them kill Christine and the baby. I can't."
With that he pushed his thumbs into my cheeks, forcing my mouth open, the liquid flowing down my throat and burning all the way like a strong brandy. In a matter of moments I felt outside of myself, a strange euphoria overcoming me, my hands feeling clammy. Christine's face passed before my eyes, her blue eyes sparkling with happiness on our wedding day, her dark curls loose around her shoulders. I saw Adelaide and Cossette smiling from their pew, Aunt Claire crying tears of joy and Uncle George looking proud. Finally, I saw Phillipe as I'd last seen him the night of the opera, face drawn with worry as he watched Christine perform Erik's opera. Then, all went blissfully black.
Christine's POV
I didn't know how much time had passed since Raoul had escaped with Erik, but Aunt Claire had led me to the parlor and I found myself sitting on the couch, Lucien and Aunt Claire in the chairs nearby while Uncle George was upstairs explaining the situation to Adelaide and Cossette. He'd taken the news solemnly, but I'd seen the terror written across his face. The playful laughter of Raoul's nieces and nephews echoed from the nursery down the hall.
"Christine…"
"I have to go after them!" I shouted suddenly, cold sweat running down my face. "I have to save him! He saved me and now I have to save him!"
"It won't help, Christine, do you hear me?" Lucien said, taking both of my hands with great care. "Following them won't help. I will summon my police contacts both here and in Paris immediately and we will figure it out. We will find Chevalier's whereabouts." Tears spilled from his own eyes when I looked up. I buried my face in his shoulder, sobbing and gasping for air.
I felt another warm body sit next to me on the couch, and Aunt Claire's familiar wrinkled hand on my face, as Lucien rubbed my back.
"Christine, my heart," she said, scooting closer. "I know it is extremely difficult, but you must find a way to start to calm. Extreme stress can sometimes cause harm to the baby, and I know you don't want that.
I sat up, tears still rolling down my cheeks, sandwiched between Lucien and Aunt Claire. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a brief second, my hand resting on my stomach, which had not quite started to show.
"He's been through too much," I whispered, hands grasping the fabric of her dress. "Too much…he lost his mother, his father, his brother, he almost lost his life…and now…"
"You both have," she said, pulling me to her chest. "It isn't fair. I know it isn't."
"We just want to live in peace," I said, feeling my heart attempting to slow its pace. "To love each other and start our family…we just want… to be young again." The memory of Raoul taking the ribbon from my hair, allowing my curls to fall free, speaking the same words, flashed in my mind.
A/N: I'm seriously sorry for the delay in updating, but luckily I just finished up my semester, so I'll have more free time. Grad school is time consuming, so I'm looking forward to summer. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!
