A shorter chapter for you as we go into the more POTO-themed part of the story. I'm estimating that the total story will have about 30 chapters, so we're about to the midway climax. So glad you're enjoying the darker parts.
Enjoy! Read and Review!
"As you suggested, I finally…took my medicine. I did it all for you, Christine. And everything can finally be as it should be."
"Your m-medicine?" she stuttered, her gaze trailing up and down him as her mind tried to comprehend the situation. "I don't understand. I thought you couldn't be helped. You said doctors couldn't help you."
"There have been healthcare reforms," he dry replied. Then his voice softened, and a gloved hand reached out slightly, beckoning her. "Do not be frightened, my dear. It is still me. Except highly improved. I can play music for hours upon hours. Nothing will interrupt us now."
"What were you sick with? How did you get better?"
"You are not pleased?" He sounded genuinely upset.
"No. I mean, yes, I'm pleased. I'm happy you're not in pain." And she was. But...Christine slowly looked over him again, the air pulsating around her. "Erik, how old are you?"
"About four decades, I suppose. Still half a lifetime left, which seemed nearly unbearable. But now it does not, Christine."
She swallowed; her mouth was dry. Forty wasn't seventy. And her entire perception of him changed in a way that she wasn't prepared for. And that feeling around her, the dark humming and the coldness and the general sensation of something so very wrong. Something dangerous. All of it was dizzying.
"Will you sing with the violin tonight?" he asked, bending forward slightly. "I have greatly missed your voice."
"Why didn't you come after my performance?" Her shoulder blades brushed against the wall.
"You had enough company, didn't you?" There was something about the way he said it that made her very uncomfortable. "But that is unimportant right now. We are alone. And it will stay that way. Now will you sing with me? Music will quickly put everything into place."
"Y-yes. We can do that." She said it to appease him, all the while thinking over the layout of the building in case she needed an escape route. But then he began to play the violin, and everything else disappeared. If she thought his previous playing was fantastic, then this was unbelievable.
And so, when Erik commanded, "Sing!"- she obeyed without question. Christine sang with even more intensity than she had at her performance. The invisible energy seemed to throb with the music. She nearly lost herself in it all, her voice entwining itself with the violin to where she lacked control. The cold and heat swirled around her, and she barely noticed the flickering lights or the darker presence wrapped around her neck. When he stopped playing, she fell back against the wall as though the music had been holding her up. She felt like a powerless puppet.
He whispered, "Yes. This is perfection. I knew it would be. Did you hear that? Did you, Christine?! This is how it is supposed to be. This is how we are supposed to be!"
"That was - Oh." She panted as her voice and the violin continued to echo in her ears. He didn't seem to be tired in the slightest. With the music gone, the fear and confusion returned. Reaching out to the side, Christine flipped on all the lights she could reach with her palm. Erik tilted his head but didn't reprimand her. The brightness didn't bring the clarity she'd hoped for. "Why do you still wear a mask?" she asked. "If you're better? What are you hiding?"
"I am not entirely healed," he explained, glancing downward. "I may never be. The medicine that is necessary to fix all of me is quite expensive. But that will depend on you."
"On me?"
"Yes. What you can tolerate as far as my appearance is concerned."
"Tolerate?" She shook her head. "Erik, I just wanted you to feel better. I didn't care how you looked."
"Of course you did. How could you not? It was utterly repugnant, and I stank of rot."
Indeed, she noted that the smell was gone. Only that frigid, vibrating energy remained. And she frankly preferred the smell of cold soil to whatever was in that room with them.
"You know, Erik, I-I need to go now," she whispered. "I need to go home. It's getting late."
"It is growing later," he agreed. Erik studied her. "But you are still frightened. Why?"
"I'm not." Lying was not one of her strengths.
"You are trembling."
"That's because I'm cold. I'm cold and tired…and confused."
"Why?"
"Because everything's changed. And I don't understand why."
"You are upset that I am no longer ill?" he asked.
"No. It's not that. It's—"
"I can play endlessly for you. I am no longer a pathetic invalid. And you are unhappy?"
"No. Yes, I'm happy you're better. I'm happy for you. But-" But how did she tell him that he felt differently without sounding crazy? Because that was the problem.
He looked less like Death. But he felt more like it.
She swore she felt something brush against her hair. And then the softest whisper brushed her ear—"So delicate."
Christine flinched and gasped, shaking her head back and forth. Was she losing her mind?
"Christine, my dear." Erik took two slow steps toward her. "You do not need to be scared. Everything is the same. Do not be frightened of me."
"Can I go?" she shakily asked, unable to take any more steps backward. "I want to go and think about all this."
"To where? To that boy?"
"What?" Her heart jumped as the yellow eyes narrowed.
"I saw you with him afterwards. After you sang. I saw you with him. You kissed him."
"He's my boyfriend! What does that have to do with anything? I don't understand what's happening!" Her heart beat frantically now as a rush of adrenaline prepared her to fly forward.
"Everything can change now. As much as you want it to. Balance. We will find balance."
She scooted along the plaster wall toward the door. "I need to go now, Erik. I need to go."
"Christine—"
But she turned, opened the door to the room, and jogged down the empty corridor. Her footsteps echoed hollowly against the linoleum tiles, and her breath was audible in her ears. "Christine." The voice called after her, its entrancing beauty nearly making her want to obey. She made it to the double doors at the end of the corridor and practically threw herself at them. The metal doors didn't budge; they were locked. Her heart skipped a terrified beat.
"No," she whispered. "Come on. No." They had never been locked from the inside before. She put her shoulder against them. Christine frantically glanced behind her and saw Erik approaching. Not running, only smoothly striding forward.
"Why are you frightened of me?" he asked when he was about ten yards away.
"Why won't the door open?"
"Why are you scared of Erik?"
"Because…. Please. Please just let me go home." The coldness slithered over her body once more as shadows danced along the walls like marionettes.
With a sob of frustration, she finally gave up on the corridor doors. Christine darted to the side and toward the door of a lecture hall, hoping that room would have another exit. Erik only stood in the middle of the hallway, arms at his sides as he studied her. To her horror, the door to the lecture hall wouldn't open either, no matter how hard she pulled on and twisted the metal knob. She ran down the corridor and tried almost every single door, pulling and pushing and grunting and struggling. She even tried the music room they had just been in. All were now locked.
Eyes blurry with tears of fear, Christine again glanced at Erik. He was standing still, watching her. "I want to go!" she cried.
"Why are you afraid of me?" he again questioned.
"Because you won't let me leave!"
"I am doing nothing to stop you."
She didn't believe him despite the visual evidence. Christine momentarily buried her face in her hands and tried not to have a complete meltdown. Keeping a constant eye on him, she dug in her purse for her phone. Finding it, she stared down at the glowing numbers. Raoul? Meg? 9-11? Before she could decide, the phone flew from her fingertips.
She didn't drop it. She didn't throw it. An invisible hand grabbed the phone and ripped it from her grasp. It landed with a clatter on the floor several yards away from her.
She vaguely thought she heard Erik say, "Do not do that. It is unnecessary." But Christine didn't think he was speaking to her.
Terrified and helpless, Christine slid down the wall and to the cool tiles. She put her knees up to her chest and hugged them, resting her chin on the pointed tops as tears ran down her cheeks. Her entire body was shaking.
Erik slowly approached. She flinched as he knelt beside her, just as she had done with him weeks ago. When everything had been so very different.
"Do not be afraid," he said, softly. "As I said, nothing has really changed. I am still Erik. Your friend, Erik. And I care for you so dearly."
"I just want to go home," she whispered, her gaze on the floor.
"It will simply take time to adjust. And we have time now." He offered her a gloved hand. After a moment, she reached out. Instead of taking his hand, though, she gently tugged on the index finger of the leather glove, pulling it off to expose his skin. Smooth, pale flesh awaited her. There were no scars or hints of damage. All was healed.
It was like…magic.
"See?" he asked, hopefully. "See, Christine? Much less repulsive, right?"
"Erik?" She slowly looked from his hand to his yellow eyes. She studied him.
"Yes, my dear?"
"What-what are you?"
His fingers curled. "Just Erik," he whispered. "I am just Erik. Please let me show you how much better it will be now. Please Christine…."
With his icy, unscarred fingers, he reached out and stroked her cheek.
A shadow flew in front of her vision. Without eyes or a nose, the black shade grinned at her, revealing pointed white teeth. She hadn't seen anything like it since she was fourteen.
Fourteen and crazy.
"Please, Christine," Erik begged.
"So soft and lovely," the Other whispered.
She eagerly escaped insanity and embraced nothingness.
"I thought your finals were over."
"It's a special music one."
There'd been an abruptness to her tone. So Raoul had dropped the topic.
Still, Christine had been on his mind throughout Friday afternoon and evening. Really, she'd lingered in his thoughts throughout the entire semester. Starting with the weirdness at the beginning of the autumn, she had seemed different. A little more distant and lost in thought. A few more shadows beneath her eyes. A furrowed brow.
Raoul had been busy that semester, too, and so maybe he hadn't asked as many questions as he should have. Between grad school and his father's constant criticism, it was nice to have a girlfriend who didn't call him every five minutes with demands or accusations. But then having an aloof girlfriend wasn't so fun either. He hoped that the winter holiday gave them time to rekindle things a little. Raoul still thought of her as the girl he was going to eventually settle down with.
He recalled the conversation between two guys behind him as they all handed in their final marketing projects.
"So damned glad to be done with this crap. Time to get completely wasted," said the younger guy.
The middle-aged man laughed and said, "I would, but I don't think my wife would appreciate it."
"Heh. I couldn't take that yet. Too much field to play."
Raoul had noticed that a lot of younger guys weren't ready to settle down. In fact, he was heading in that direction a little faster than he'd expected. But - he didn't really think he'd meet many more girls like Christine. She was warm and gentle. Quiet unless you got to know her and then she had a quirky sense of humor that he'd quickly learned to appreciate. Sometimes she seemed a little lost or overly anxious, but Raoul didn't mind that so much. It was better than the "my way or the highway" attitude that some modern women gave out. Not that he was all that old-fashioned, certainly not like his father, but Raoul liked that she cared about what other people wanted. Genuine compassion was sometimes hard to come by these days.
Now that he had time to think about it, Raoul realized that her explanation for Friday night was kind of weird. She had a special music final? Still, he let it go that night and only sent her a text that said, "Let's celebrate the end of the semester tomorrow night. Fine dining and wine?" After an action movie, he fell into his unmade bed around eleven.
She hadn't sent him a return message by Saturday morning. Raoul called her, thinking that she'd be up by ten. "Hello. You have reached the voice mail box of Christine Daae. Please leave a—"
Maybe she wasn't up. When he couldn't get a hold of her by that afternoon, Raoul became a little worried. She wasn't angry, was she? Had he forgotten an important date? Said something offensive? Christine wasn't usually the type to overreact, but….
He eventually hopped in his car and made the short drive to her apartment. Raoul parked to the side of the gravely road, walked up to her unit, and knocked. No one answered. He tried again. Snow lingered on the part of her wooden porch that was in the shade, and he saw her small footsteps heading back and forth from the door.
His stomach turned nervously.
A nearby door squeaked open, and her scruffy neighbor stepped outside for a cigarette. Raoul waved and asked, "Hey. Have you seen the girl who lives here today?"
The guy shook his head and grunted, blowing smoke into the cold air.
"Did you see her yesterday?"
"Yeah. In the morning."
"Thanks," Raoul muttered. He knocked again. No answer. Maybe she was out or still working on something for school. Maybe she'd forgotten to recharge her phone battery. He left.
As late afternoon approached, Raoul distracted himself with a video game and college football. He talked to his mom on the phone about California travel plans. Should he and Christine fly down there separately? Because being stuck with his father on a plane for several hours was not Raoul's idea of a holiday. He tried her two more times, and the call always went directly to her voice mail. He checked his e-mail for any messages from her. When the sun began to set, he phoned Meg. "Have you heard from Christine today?" he asked.
"Nope. Why?"
"When was the last time you heard from her?"
"Um. Probably Thursday. Yeah, we talked for a little while about going to the ballet in January."
"But not yesterday or today?"
"No. Why?" Meg's voice went up a pitch.
"I haven't been able to get a hold of her for a while. Maybe she's mad at me for some reason. Or avoiding me. Could you give her a call? Please?"
"Yeah. Sure. I'll call you right back. Unless I decide to be mad at you, too." She giggled.
"Thanks, Meg."
Chill out. Everything is fine.
His phone rang two minutes later. "Hi," Meg greeted. "I couldn't get a hold of her either. I tried twice and then sent her a text."
"What the heck?" muttered Raoul. "I went over to her place earlier, and she didn't answer the door."
"Okay. Hm." Meg paused. "Maybe she was really tired and didn't hear you knock. I don't know. Does she have relatives around here? Uh. Oh! Her job! Maybe she's working."
"Now? All right. Worth a shot. Regina gave me her number. I'll try her."
"I'll call the library," said Meg.
Raoul quickly dialed Christine's boss. "Hello?" answered an older woman.
"Hey. Regina? This is Raoul. Christine's boyfriend."
"Oh, hello, dear. How are you?" Regina sounded a little stressed.
"Good. I was wondering if you'd heard from Christine today or yesterday. Was she working?"
"No. She wasn't scheduled to work. We're having shorter hours during the break."
"Oh." Raoul could no longer mask the disappointment in his voice. "Thanks anyway. If you hear from her, could you let me know?"
"Sure. Is everything okay?"
"Yeah." He wasn't quite ready to sound the official alarm. "Thanks again."
Raoul already knew that Meg would have no good news. "They weren't open right now," she said when he answered. "So…hm."
"She said she had something to do last night. Some special music final. But I haven't heard from her since she told me that."
"That sounds a little weird."
An uncomfortable pause passed between them.
"I'll meet you at her apartment," said Meg.
"I already tried there."
"Let's try again. I have a spare key."
Darkness and cold settled around him. Raoul arrived a minute earlier and ran up to her door, using porch lights to find his way. He tried knocking again to no avail. In the night, it was clear that no lights were on inside. Meg appeared and ran over to his side, silver ballet flats sinking through the snow. "Any luck?"
"Nope."
"Christine!" Meg shouted, pounding her fist against the door. "Wake up in there! Christine! If you don't get out here, I'll steal your boyfriend. I mean it. I have him right here." Her hand dropped to the side. "All right. I'm going in. We just won't get mud on her floor or anything. Not that she cleans much. I hope you can clean because she can't."
Taking out a key, Meg unlocked the door with a click. Slowly, she opened it and poked her head into the apartment. Scents of food met them, burned popcorn and microwavable dinners. And silence. Meg flipped on the kitchen and living room lights, and Raoul ran to her bedroom. The bed was unmade and empty. He checked the bathroom and the closet. There were no wet spots near the shower or any other sign that someone had been there recently.
They finally stood in the middle of her cluttered living room. Meg wrung her hands. "Maybe she wanted some time to herself or something? Like 'me' time?"
"And not even let one of us know? Not answer our calls just to tell us she's okay?" Running a hand through his short hair, Raoul started to head back to the front door, and Meg slowly followed. She locked the door behind them.
Meg sighed. "I don't know. You're right; that doesn't seem like her. So when do we start getting really worried?"
"I am really worried," Raoul admitted.
"Worried enough to get the police? I guess it's technically been twenty-four hours since we've seen any sign of her."
A cold breeze brushed their cheeks and made the snow swish like sand around their feet. Meg's dark hair blew around her face as she adjusted her purple scarf over her mouth and nose. Raoul sickly recalled that three mysterious homicides had occurred mere miles from Christine's apartment. Why the hell hadn't he offered to drive her wherever she'd needed to go Friday night? Even escorted her inside or something? Pushing the horrible thoughts away, he turned back toward a plan of action. "Let's look around campus a little more. And then, yeah, let's find someone to help. Something's not right."
So they browsed the nearby streets and searched near the buildings where she'd had her classes. Meg identified all her favorite cafes and casual restaurants where Christine would go to read or study or just unwind. But most places were dark and closed. People were heading home for the holidays, and campus would be quiet for the next several weeks. As the hour became later, a feeling of dread settled at the pit of his stomach. Raoul sighed and rubbed both hands over his face. "So do we go to the police? Do we know anything to tell them? Maybe they could trace her phone? Unless it's off." He softly cursed.
"Yeah," said Meg. She bit her bottom lip and looked at the ground. "Oh, God. I hope…."
"You hope what?" The fear in her dark eyes disturbed him.
"I wasn't supposed to tell anyone. I promised her."
"Tell what, Meg?" He turned to face her.
She hesitated. "I do know something else. But she said he was harmless. She said he was elderly. She said—"
"Who?" Raoul nearly snapped.
"Her voice teacher," Meg whispered.
"Ian? What does he have to do with—"
"No. This other one…."
"What? Wait, yeah." He recalled their conversation on Halloween night. "She mentioned some musician. She wanted to help him, said he was sick and old."
"And homeless," Meg added. "I didn't know she told you about him."
"Homeless?"
"I guess she didn't tell you everything. Anyway, that probably has nothing to do with this."
"But we don't have anything else right now," said Raoul, thrusting out his palms "This is starting to sound weird. She wouldn't completely disappear without telling one of us. Do you know anything else about this guy?"
Meg swallowed. "Just his first name."
