Thank God, it's over! So so sorry to keep everyone waiting, but being the finale, this had to (pardon my French) kick serious ass. I kicked my own in the process, but I survived!
And once again, a million thanks to xxInspireMexx for her amazing job as beta. We both know I could never have done this on my own! Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!
And now, on with the show!
Christine
My consciousness was like a swirling fog, gathering and receding in moments of clarity and moments of disorientation. I knew I needed to rest and regain my strength, but I felt lost, like a ship at sea in the midst of a hurricane. There was no lightning, no rain, and no waves, but I had no sense of direction and was left to cling to my desire like a compass.
Dreams and distortions passed through my mind, both memories and nightmares intermingling in a parade that made me heartsick and horrorstruck in turns. I was a little girl again, playing games with my father and listening to his violin; all the ghosts and goblins from the fears of my childhood rose up in accord and chased me through the dark; I was making my debut onstage as Marguerite; a face like death reanimated, a face crafted by Satan, leered at me and laughed maliciously as I sought and escape I knew I'd never find. They roiled and twisted and spun themselves into a web of delight and terror, never settling in one place for very long…
There was a room, lit by candles that gave off a pale, ghostly light. Hazy shapes all around me began to take on greater definition, some larger and some smaller but all with distinct form, all covered with stained, dirty canvas…
I slowly walked to the nearest one, gliding forward as if pulled along by a chain. I raised my hand to the canvas, its texture rough and grimy against my skin, and pulled it aside, watching a cloud of dust swirl into the air as the fabric floated to the floor.
A glass stood before me, a window into a room like the one I stood in. I could see a woman standing on the other side, wearing a white bridal gown and carrying a bouquet of red roses. A long lace veil covered her face like a mask, fluttering slightly as if caught in a breeze. I raised my hand to touch the glass, and she did too. I drew away again, and she copied the movement.
Not a window…a mirror, like the one in my dressing room. The woman dressed as a bride was me.
I caught the lower edge of the veil and threw it back over my head.
A scream tore from my throat, horrified at what I saw. It wasn't my face, but that of a corpse, half the flesh rotting away, the teeth bared and gnarled in an exposed jaw, and the eyes bulging from bare sockets. Maggots gnawed on the hand clutching the roses, roses that were now blackened and withered. The veil was torn and shredded, little more than ragged threads on top of my head. And the dress, so pristinely white, was now crimson with blood, spreading like a flower over the bodice and dripping steadily from the hem.
The roses fell from my dead fingers, shriveled petals scattering at my feet. I reached out to another canvas and tugged, exposing only another mirror and another monster. One by one I uncovered them all until I felt as though I was in a vast cavern filled with these cadaverous horrors, reflections of a mutilated, diseased soul—
I drew myself out of the vision, using all the strength I possessed. Terror still clouded my mind and the sight of that creature ate away at my thoughts until I thought I'd lose my senses with it. That was what I was. That was what he had made me. Walking death, like him…and death was what he would find. He had created that thing I'd seen in the mirror, and I would make certain he paid for his crime.
My will to live was made of iron, unbendable and unbreakable. I wouldn't succumb to my injuries. They hadn't killed me when I intended them to, and I wouldn't let them now that I was set on survival. In defiance of death, I would live and deliver it to my captor in full measure. I bided my time, marshaling my strength and fantasizing the moment when I rose up and attacked. His desire had overpowered me before; well, now mine would overpower him. For any lesser motive I would never have a hope of success, but I'd gone mad with hate and the need for justice. I could sense it pulsing through me, lending me determination and mania I would use to fuel my rage. It was all I held to, the force of it at once frightening and exhilarating, and I surrendered to it, embracing it as passionately as a lover. Justice, revenge…revenge, justice…it was impossible to tell where one left off and the other began.
I could feel my strength returning, slowly but enough to send a thrill through my mind. I awoke to consciousness in small doses but feigned my comatose state every time, my periods of alertness lengthening little by little. I longed to strike, but I must be patient and wait until I was ready, in body as well as spirit. He stayed near me; I could sense him when I slept and could hear his movements when I was awake. Soon, I promised myself, soon…
There was no thought for the future beyond what was imminent. At the moment, I didn't have a care for what came after, be it my escape or my death. I was walking a narrow tunnel with only my desired end in mind, and everything else could happen as it would. For the time being, there was no future. There was only vengeance.
Vengeance. I would live for nothing less.
Erik
Morality had been thrust upon me too late. I knew what I should do, but I was already in too deep. I should let her go, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Even if I worked up the strength of will to set her free, I knew I would end by doing everything in my power to get her back. I had stolen my claim on her, but I still had more right to her than anyone else, and even the thought of her belonging to no one at all was repugnant. I knew how disgusting this need to have her was, but it was all I had left. There was no chance at love, only possession and an insatiable need to consume.
All I could do was stand there and stare at her, wondering where this crossroads would lead. I wasn't fool enough to think it would carry on as it had, but I kept the veil of ignorance over my eyes. I served an even crueler master than she did. She had fought my power and it had brought her to this, but the strength of my obsession would turn on me before long. Sooner or later, she would destroy me.
I waited and waited for her to wake up and wondered if she ever would. I wanted to speak to her and had no idea what I wanted to say. It remained a crippling, maddening truth, just as I feared from the beginning: This destruction was wrought by me and through my own actions, my own free will. I couldn't even begin to heal the damage to her fractured soul, but still, I needed to tell her. I needed to let her know that it would never let me go, this iron fist around my heart that reminded me of the atrocities I had committed and the monstrous wrongs I had done her. I would have an eternity to serve in Hell as payment, and it was a just wage.
I wished I could free us both somehow from our torment and the demons that shadowed us, but we were at a standstill. I could neither correct the harm nor release her, condemned to spend a lifetime seeing the consequences of my villainy before me and still incapable of granting her the freedom that should be hers. It was a circle that would never end and a chain that would never break, forged in my own evil.
Sleep came as I kept my vigil, but there truly is no rest for the wicked. I saw my crimes replayed before my eyes as though I was a spectator, knowing where it all would lead and incapable of influencing some kind of change. I watched as she wasted away in agony and perished at last, a price too high and paid too late. I was there as the monster who had done so much to hurt her laid her in a cold, damp grave miles away from the sun, where no grass would grow and not even a headstone would acknowledge that she had lived and died. It was crystal clear when the monster finally broke, giving into the insanity that was his reward in life then falling into the fires that awaited him in death. I saw it all as though it had already happened and knew beyond doubt it would come to pass after all.
I awoke with a start just as she was beginning to stir. My heart faltered for a moment, watching her and hardly daring to hope, but she finally opened her eyes. She slowly glanced around the room, her expression frozen and dead, until finally she came to fix her blue-eyed gaze upon me.
Words seemed to die in my throat. The desire to speak was tempered by the absence of something to say. What was there I could say? Sorry? What was the use of that? I'm no better than an animal, if not the Devil himself? We both knew that already. She was free to leave if she wasn't too badly injured? Never. Even after what I had already put her through, I would see us dead before I let her walk away.
So what, then?
"You're awake."
She didn't say anything, but continued to stare at me.
I paused again, then said, "No doubt you intended otherwise, but I'm sure you'll recover in time."
Still she was silent, and there was something in her eyes that I had no idea how to interpret, troubling me more than I cared to let her know.
The silence held the weight of worlds, at once static and intense, as though we sat in the eye of a storm waiting for the calm to pass us by and unleash hell once again. I knew the responsibility was upon me to say something, something futile and meaningless, but something.
"Christine," I said, "I—I want to say—" Say what? There was nothing I could say. "I can't make excuses anymore. Maybe this is no more than I deserve, but you…I did you wrong by bringing you here."
Slowly, she raised herself up on her arms and sat up. "Is this supposed to be an apology?" she asked, her voice flat and unyielding. "It's just one more lie out of all you've already told me."
"It's no lie," I assured her, but I knew she would never believe me. "I'm sorry for what you have suffered. For what you have become. "
"But not for what you've done," she cut in. "I don't care, Erik. Your words mean nothing and your apology is worthless. I already told you, there is nothing you could say or do to change how I hate you."
I looked away from her at last. "Please, just listen to me—"
"No, you listen. I hate you, Erik, and an eternity in Hell is too good for you after what you've done to me. You destroyed me. I begged you to end my misery, and you laughed in my face. I tried to run away from you, and you stole me back to torture me again. I did what I could to end my own pain, and you refused to just let me die. You couldn't stand the thought of losing your control over me." Something in her eyes shifted, something I had never seen there before that made anger look like the most tender caress and held still more disaster in its fingers. "I hate you, and the word alone is nowhere near strong enough to say just how much."
"I know, Christine." The words were hardly even a murmur. "I know. I just wish I could set you free, but I can't let you go. I just can't. I'm sorry."
"Too little, too late." I felt a backbone of steel and the bite of venom in her speech. That look in her eyes grew, spreading across her face until I could barely recognize her. This truly was a wild animal before me, backed into a corner and ready to fight to the death to defend itself. "You can't give back what you've already taken from me, and a sorry won't fix it. We both know you wouldn't let me go if it meant death. You know it as well as I do."
I sighed heavily. "Yes," I agreed. "I know. But Christine—I just can't help myself…not when it comes to you…I knew all along what I was doing, but…it didn't matter, not when the alternative meant releasing you."
Tears began to pool in her eyes, whether of sadness or rage it was impossible to tell. "Why me?" she asked, two words delivered with the blunt force of a lance. "Why did you have to choose me?"
For several long, tense minutes I didn't know how to answer her. I searched myself for an explanation, seeking to make it clear to her and myself as well. When I spoke at last, it was at once like driving a knife into my chest and slowly drawing it out again. "You had a voice I could shape to make the world listen. With your voice, they would love my music, and finally love me too. And you were alone; you had no one to protect you and tell you not to listen to heavenly voices whispering in your ear."
The tears fell and I watched their slow descent, unable to tear my eyes away though I thought I'd go mad with it. I wanted to let her go, if only so I would never have to see those tears again, but I just…I just couldn't do it. I had made my choice long ago, and even now I wouldn't take it back. So much wickedness had already been done, but I would see it through to the bitter end.
She got to her feet unsteadily, nearly falling. I went to catch her, but she twisted out of my grasp with an agonized despair and a glance so filled with white-hot hatred that it caught me by surprise at first, but then I felt an upsurge of resentment. I had only been trying to help her after all I had done to hurt her. She continued to stand, wobbling precariously as she tried to maintain her balance, and I said, "Sit down, Christine."
Stubbornly, she held onto the bedpost to stay upright and took one shaky step forward.
"What do you think you're doing? Get back in bed, now!"
She ignored me and walked to the marble-topped dresser, staring hard at the bloodstains on the wall and floor. My eyes fell on the Persian dagger, lying where I had placed it atop the dresser well within her reach. I tensed, ready to spring if she should move to pick it up. "Christine, you're already injured enough." I warned her. "If I have to make you sit, I will."
"Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing," she recited in a faraway voice. "Her hair was as golden as the sun's rays and her soul as clear and blue as her eyes. She wheedled her mother, was kind to her doll, took great care of her frock and her little red shoes and her fiddle…" Her voice shook and trembled, growing fainter and softer as she went on. "…but most of all loved, when she went to sleep, to hear the Angel of Music…"
My heart sank as I remembered the first deception, the first blow to the soul no longer clear and pure. The child was gone, and the woman never had a chance to exist.
Oh, Christine…
Christine
The dagger that had spilled my blood was within my grasp. All I had to do was take it, and he would rush to stop me, never dreaming I had no intention of turning it against myself. My heart began to pound in anticipation, eager and excited now that the moment had arrived at last.
My father's story rose in my mind and the words fell from me, recalling the joy and happiness that once was and cursing the origin of the nightmare that was my reality. Only a story, meant to comfort a child left alone…no, it was more than that. It had twisted itself around to bring about this darkness. It was just a story…just a child's fantasy. The Angel of Music was a lie, perpetrated first by the man who should have done more to protect me instead of filling my head with fables and then by the one who had poisoned what had been so dear and shut out every last ray of light.
Damn you, Papa… He had started it all, and Erik had picked up the pieces, but I would finish it for good. My resolve hardened anew and my anger and hatred at them both killed everything else in one sweeping rush.
Moving with deliberate care, I picked up the knife and drew it from the sheath.
Erik
The naked blade flashed in her hand and I leaped to my feet to restrain her. "Christine, no!"
She turned around faster than I had thought possible with a scream of tortured rage, a demented light in her eyes that went beyond fury and hate. For one split second I didn't even know how to react, in awe and fear of this creature before me, then she lunged forward with the dagger quick as lightning.
She struck fast, but I was faster. I seized hold of her wrist and the blade stopped just short of my chest. She had thrown all of her strength into the attack and I almost couldn't stop her, but I only just managed to stay her hand, my fingers clenched in a death grip on her arm.
Her resolve was such I could feel her straining against me, still trying to push forward though I wouldn't let her move. We were deadlocked there; even when she raised her other hand to the knife and struggled with all her might she couldn't break my grip, and there was nothing more I could do to hold her back without letting go of her hand.
A desperate sob burst from her even as she still tried to drive the dagger into my body. I looked down at her, the wounds of her body barely healed and the wounds of her soul so plainly written in her eyes, wounds that no amount of time would ever heal. Our hands shook together as we grappled with each other, straining at each other's waning strength and still going nowhere, knowing what it would mean to give up. Then she began to sag against me, her knees buckling so she was nearly leaning on me to stay standing, her grip on the knife and my grip on her wrist the only thing holding her up. She began to cry helplessly, her body quivering and her head bowed, her sobs like the cries of a grievously injured animal in death throes.
I couldn't restrain my own tears as I watched her, her entire being focused on one goal and clinging to it with the last of her hope, yet still turned aside at the last. I saw her pain as if frozen in time, burning into my heart and razing it to ashes that were swept away as in a wind. I saw her, and it destroyed me.
"I just wanted someone to love me," I told her, the words broken and jagged and pleading.
She shook her head and looked me in the eye, saying, "I don't care. You don't know what it is to love."
"I know," I replied. A shroud settled over me and I looked long and hard at her, the madness and the agony all caught up in her hand held in mine. I could never let her leave me…I would die first…the angel I had exalted had been stolen down to Hell where she would be mine beyond the reaches of time…I'll see you again, my love…
And I let go of her hand.
Christine
The blade slid home as if it had found its true sheath at last. It went in all the way to the hilt, and I immediately felt the rush of warm blood on my skin. I drew back in shock, my eyes still locked with his, and I watched him sink to his knees, choking on his last breath. I watched his eyes settle on the flames in the fireplace, drawing on the air from the room and burning hotter as life sped from him. They crackled and snapped, devouring the logs in the grate like voracious animals, and I wondered briefly what it must be like to feel that slow bite consume flesh and bone. I saw an ironic, mocking smile cross his face, and he collapsed without another word, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and the hellfire light in his open and staring eyes finally extinguished forever.
And still I was uneasy. I was avenged, but not free yet. I was still trapped inside the house, and now I had to share it with the corpse of my captor. I was mesmerized with horror and disgust as I looked at him, blood still oozing from the wound and the dagger still protruding from his chest.
The end had come so abruptly I still couldn't quite believe it had come at all. All I kept thinking was how, if I'd seen him die only moments before, could he already look as if he'd been rotting in a dark crypt for ages? The one fact contradicted the other, and yet I knew the truth my stupefied brain was struggling to register. The man who had kidnapped and abused me, who would have killed me before too long, was dead. By my hand. I could still feel the blood, cracking off in a crust as it dried and I flexed my fingers agitatedly. Dead. I had killed him. Me. Killed. Christine Daaé, orphan, diva, prisoner, murderess.
I gave myself a shake and reminded myself of my situation. I had to finally find a way out of the house if I was to survive after all. It would be a hollow victory to claim my vengeance only to fall victim to starvation without having regained my freedom. But I hesitated, still watching him stare up at me without even seeing me…or could he?
It would be just like him to let me think I had won only to thrust defeat in my face; he had done it once already. Even while my mind told me he couldn't possibly be alive after having a dagger plunged through his heart, I still questioned if he even had a heart to be wounded and thus be killed. It was the most black-and-white of questions, and yet it held unspeakable terror: Could he still be alive?
I cautiously crept closer, taking timid and frightened steps around the body and the fresh blood. I was wide-eyed and tensed, ready to bolt at the slightest sign of life in him and petrified of the slightest misstep or movement. I didn't even trust myself to breathe, I was so convinced this was another trick and that if I let my guard down and accepted another deception, he would strike out like an angry viper and crush me.
With hands that shook and quivered, I reached out and put my fingers in front of his face, feeling no breath from his lungs and seeing no reaction to my approach. Just as uncertainly, I barely prodded his shoulder, and he didn't move. He didn't even blink. I pushed him again a bit more firmly, then again and again when he failed to stir until finally I was striking and beating his lifeless body, cursing his soul into the deepest corners of Hell and sobbing anew at what I had suffered at his hands. I wrenched the dagger out of his chest and stabbed him once, twice, thrice more, wanting to see more blood to be sure at last that he would never hurt me again and disappointed when there was none. There was no heartbeat to pump it from the wounds. He really and truly was dead.
At once it was like the world came crashing into my heart, forcing every last feeling of the blackest nature into my soul. What I felt went beyond the words used to describe the emotions: terror, anguish, pain, rage, despair, relief. I stabbed him one last time and threw the knife away, screaming out like a lunatic until I thought I would break apart into thousands of tarnished fragments. The sound echoed back to me like a choir of the damned, a haunted, tortured kind of music that drove me mad. Music! Music! I wanted no more of it! I wished I could destroy it for all time and never again remember it had lured me and deceived me!
I ran through the open door into the hall, racing like a woman possessed into the monster's bedroom. Grabbing the first stave of music I came to, I ripped it in half and half again, scattering the pieces into the air. Moving onto another handful of paper, all written in red with the Devil's own spells, I tore it all to shreds and threw the remains on the floor, trampling them under my feet. I didn't halt my tide of destruction, snatching his precious Don Juan Triumphant and tossing it onto the fire. I stood there in savage triumph as I watched his very soul burn to nothing before lifting the bench in a rush of insane strength and heaving it at the organ.
The noise of the wooden seat crashing onto the keys and into the pipes sounded like the gates of Hell bursting open with fury and brimstone. My eyes fell on the violin he had once played for me while I prayed at my father's grave, sending "The Resurrection of Lazarus" to draw me further under his control and further corrupting one of the few sweet memories left to me. I snatched it up and flung it across the room, seeking to break the remembrance as well as the instrument, and the ecstasy I felt when it smashed into splinters was sinful in its power. Erik was dead, and I had done my best to wipe away the last traces of his evil. But the wounds remained, memories that would sear and scar and torment me until time lost all meaning. No matter how I destroyed him or his music, he would linger in my soul for eternity, and I could never escape him.
I sank to the floor, my madness spent and suddenly exhausted. I needed to find a way out, but I had no idea where to even begin. My head spun with the hopelessness of it when I saw something lying in the wreckage of the violin. I crawled through the debris to retrieve it—it was a little brass key.
I turned it over and over in my hands, my heart now racing madly again. Could this be the way out? I had always known the secret hid somewhere just beyond my reach, but I had never imagined this cruelty. He had held my freedom within the source of his power in every way possible. It was like he could never do enough to hurt me, he always had to try harder. My love and longing for my dead father had entombed me, locking away hope and joy and twisting what had once been a symbol of life and happiness into the same wooden coffin the remains of my papa moldered in. It was the ultimate image of his power over me…but now his power was broken, and freedom was in my hands once more.
It was time to solve the riddle at last. Erik had bound and blindfolded me to lead me back to the Opera, so I had no concrete idea where the exit to the catacombs was, but I could recall every sound I'd heard, which could be enough to help me piece it together.
I thought back, mentally retracing my steps. He had approached me in my bedroom with the rope and the blindfold, and I remembered wondering what kind of perverted bondage game he wanted to play with me, but he only led me from the room and down the hall into his bedroom like a dog on a leash…What else had happened? I'd stood there disoriented with my hands tied and my eyes covered, and I had heard an odd clicking noise followed by a soft shuffling. What could that have been?
I looked down at the key in my hand, then flung myself at the walls, pressing and feeling for something like a door or a lock. I flew around the room as I had flown around mine not so long ago, faced with the prospect of further torture, and I slammed into the organ in my haste. The jolt brought a reprieve from my mania, and I paused to look closer at the instrument. It had been mostly lead pipes and ebony-and-ivory keys, but there was some brasswork here and there in the massive structure. The odds were against me, but it was a start.
I crossed to it and searched over every inch of it, trying to think in terms of Erik's stature and where the easiest places for modifications would be. I couldn't stop my trembling as I knelt at the back of the organ, staring at the wooden body, and raised my eyes to where I judged would be Erik's eye level. I scanned back and forth, back and forth, impatience and the frantic need to get out rising within me. I ran my hands along the wood, my fingers groping more and more desperately until I was digging my nails into the instrument and feeling splinters pierce my skin—
I was caught at a miniscule hole, edged in brass and the single most worn place on that part of the instrument. Hoping against hope, I fit the key into the hole and began to turn it.
There was that same mechanical clicking, like a clockwork toy being wound. It was certainly like winding a jack-in-the-box, my overwrought nerves stretched further with every ratchet and waiting for something to happen, the Phantom's equivalent to a spring-loaded doll. Finally, there was a nearly inaudible thumping sound and that soft shuffle, and I felt a sudden wave of cold air wash over me. I turned and saw a panel in the wall sliding open, revealing the darkness beyond, so solid and impenetrable it might have been another wall.
I stood, leaving the key in the hole and stepping warily to the doorway. I knew that damp, unhealthy smell that filled my lungs as I breathed in; the lake was just outside. The cellars were just outside. There was a new fear in my heart as I stared into that unending void, knowing I would have to enter it. The idea was nearly as terrible and horrifying as spending another moment in this place, or taking another breath in the presence of the cadaver waiting in my room. Why did it feel like walking from Hell into purgatory, as if one step into that darkness would swallow me forever and I would be trapped in limbo for the rest of my life? But I clung with all my strength to the one thing that could possibly help me face it: freedom. Freedom was outside. If I had to cross Dante's seven circles seven times over to reach salvation, then so be it.
I hurried back to my room, not sparing a glance for the corpse on the floor for fear of losing my nerve when my eyes met with death and decay and collecting a candle. Shielding the flame with my hand, I rushed back to the door and left the house without ever once looking back. Making my way slowly along the edge of the lake and into the passages, I heard the wall behind me slide into place again, the light from inside the house cut off and leaving me in near-perfect darkness.
I couldn't see anything beyond the tiny sphere of light from my candle. I walked cautiously, one hand extended forward and feeling through the darkness like a blind woman but meeting only empty air. I shivered in the cold feeling it bite into me with merciless fangs. I should have thought to bring some other clothing with me, something warmer, but I had been too distracted at finding the door to think about it, and if I had thought about it, I doubt I would have wanted to bring anything with me out of that place. The clothes on my back and the candle I carried were enough.
I looked at the hand holding the meager light. The bloodstains on my skin looked black, one final memento of my ordeal. As often as I looked away from it, I looked back at it, unable to push it from my mind. There was blood on my hands, both literally and figuratively. I had taken a life. I had killed a man.
No, that wasn't true. This was no man I was thinking of, this was a demon. I had slain one of Satan's children, proving to the Devil himself that his power was not infallible and that he could fall again and again to the sword of retribution. Vengeance would always be done upon him. But the memory assaulted me, plaguing my mind and filling me with toxicity and filth. Demon or not, I had killed. My hands were unclean.
The thought made my insides writhe and wriggle like serpents. Not only had I brought about the death of that stagehand I'd passed my note to, but I had been the one to wield the knife when Erik died. The sin there was mine, and no other's.
Justice, I argued, it was justice. He deserved to die after what he did to me, he deserved far worse than what he got. I only wish I could have done more. I wish I could have made him scream in agony, if a thing like him could feel something as human as pain. I wish I had twisted the knife in his chest and watched him gasp and choke and wait for death, knowing it wouldn't come so easily. I wish I could have made him suffer and beg for me to end his torment, then deny him the mercy. He didn't deserve something like mercy. I thought of the lies, the fear, the violence and the misery, and my sense of right strengthened. I had done no more than what should have been done, what was necessary to escape him at last. There was nothing else I could have done. If I had not done it, I wouldn't be here now.
But…where was "here," exactly? Was this freedom? I knew otherwise, the truth too harsh to ignore. I couldn't even have that simple happiness of knowing I had found my way out, merely passing from the inferno into smoke and ash, the obscure malice of a lonely oblivion.
I stumbled on the rocky path and nearly fell, scrambling to regain my balance and keep from dropping my candle. If I lost the light, I was doomed. As it was, it was halfway burned down. I only had a few more hours until I was sightless in the dark, only a few more hours to somehow find my way back to the upper world. If only it was so easy! The catacombs were vast, and I was lost. I could wander down here until I starved or froze to death. Even after making it this far, I could never make it out of here alive. I could still die down here, just like Erik.
Why should I care about that? I asked myself. He deserved it!
But still…I had killed. I had dreamed of revenge at any cost, and I was slowly beginning to realize the price I would have to pay. Erik had killed. Erik was a monster. I had killed…and thus become just like him. The admission was disgusting and perverse in its reality, and I had to fight to choke down the poisonous bile and push aside the nausea it brought on. I had become the very thing I had hated, what I had sought to destroy. The fact that it was a monster I'd killed and that I had a conscience to remind me of the act itself and feel guilt didn't matter. None of it mattered, because it didn't change a thing. I had murdered someone. I'd stood in deliberate judgment and decided to play God.
There is no God, I thought bitterly. I hated how foolish I had been to think a supreme being would be anything but indifferent, letting such evil in this world He created go unchallenged and seeping through every corner to steal away the ignorance of innocence and false hope. No, there is no God. I would never have been here if there was.
But, I reminded myself, Erik had said the exact same thing before he raped me…I could see his eyes glaring at me again, repugnant and violent, empty and yet full of evil. Hell's fire had been twisting within those eyes, scorching all they fell upon, and for a moment I was certain I would see them spring to life before me, burning a path to more destruction—
A rat scurried past my feet and I jumped in fright and surprise. It moved almost faster than I could follow it with my eyes, its scuffling and squeaking echoing away into the dark beyond my light. I considered going after it for a moment—after all, what creature could be counted on to find a means of escape and survival if not a rat? But it was already gone, and the thought slipped away as easily as it had come…
And I was left to realize how far I had sunk, reduced to relying on vermin to find my way. A bottom-feeding scavenger despised the world over. I had pinned my hopes on such a creature, so I was below even the rats. I was worse than scum. I would never belong anywhere now, not the broken and wasted animal I had become, not despoiled and defiled as I had been, and not as unbalanced and violent as I had proved to be. The world could no longer house and accept me. I was beyond marked; I was transfigured past all hope of recovery. Erik was not dead after all, not when I carried his darkness within my living heart.
I saw no point in denying the obvious. When worst had come to worst, I had learned truths about myself I would never have imagined in another lifetime. I was just as ruthless, just as conniving, and just as devious as the man I had hated more than I'd every loved anything. The reasons why didn't matter one whit because they could never vindicate me. I had killed someone; whether he was an innocent man or a guilty one, a saint or a demon, would never justify my actions. Death was death. Murder was murder.
I halted my footsteps and closed my eyes, feeling a tremendous weight settle onto my shoulders. I was just like him, using violence and force as a means to a chosen outcome. I recalled my nightmare of the dead woman in the bridal gown, and knew it held more truth than I could endure. We were a match, two monsters, soulless and empty. Would I see him when I looked in a mirror? When faced with my reflection, would I too despise the image in the glass? I was a murderer. What did motive matter? Was it truly justice, when I had been taught my entire childhood that revenge belonged to a Higher Power? If I sought and attained it for myself, didn't that make my justice simply another crime in a circle of iniquity?
My entire childhood was a lie. I was also taught that that same Higher Power would forever guard me and keep me safe, and He didn't. He's just a pack of nonsense drummed up to keep anyone foolish enough to believe in Him in line.
My hands and feet were numb with cold. I couldn't even feel the candle in my grip anymore, sure I still carried it only because I saw it clenched in my fingers with my very own eyes. My teeth had begun to chatter, and I could see the cloud of mist that was my every exhalation. It was worse than the winters of my younger years in Sweden…or was there just such a chill in my soul it only felt that way? I couldn't be sure, but if I did not find a way out of here it wouldn't make a difference. I would still freeze before long. It would be a slow, agonized death, as I'd dreaded. I couldn't bear the thought of it, one more torture endured at the hands of his spirit.
But as I moved the candle back and forth, as if shifting a compass to find north, there was nothing but the endless myriad of tunnels and caverns before me, all leading through an infinite maze where one wall blended seamlessly with another and one passage was indiscernible from the next. The darkness and silence pushed me further into madness, my only fragile hold on sanity being the tiny glowing orb of light from my candle. I didn't even know if any of these desolate corridors was the one I wanted. Bitter tears filled my eyes and I didn't have the heart to wipe them away. I was going to die down here after all, unable to escape what had been done to me and the man who'd done it. I had destroyed him as he'd destroyed me, but the last laugh was his. It was no wonder he had released me and allowed me to finish him, no wonder he had smiled. He could have stopped me, but he knew better than I had that there was no escape for me. My fate had been sealed the moment he'd taken me from my dressing room…the instant I heard his voice…the first time Papa ever spoke of the Angel of Music…
I hate you, Papa, I wept, but if I could only see you again…I didn't even have a hope of that. I was destined for the same Hell as Erik, committed to the very fires I had wished upon him. Rage and terror filled me at the thought of seeing him again, his distorted face made even more hideous against the backdrop of the flame and brimstone where he made his home with brethren demons. Not even in death would I escape him. And justice would finally be done. The monsters, punished.
Yet I couldn't bring myself to care. I was just so tired, yearning for some kind of finality and resigned to my exile. I had no place in the world anymore, so I might as well never rejoin it.
I wandered wearily up a passage and sighed…and felt a snag on my leg. I bent down to investigate, holding the candle so I could see my feet, but there was only a long, thin, nearly-invisible wire. There was a slight, sleek metallic sound, and I felt a gentle gust that puttered the candle and extinguished it.
I sobbed aloud at being stranded in the darkness to wait for death, feeling a stabbing pain of anguish, a pain so intense it was like a knife had been driven into my heart…I choked, unable to get my breath, and the candle slipped from my fingers. There was a cold, piercing pain in my chest, not just a sense of despair. My hands shook as I forced them to move, the joints stiff in the chill, and I groped at myself blindly. There was just enough sensation in the appendages that I could feel it, a thin steel rod rammed through my body.
My strength began to evaporate and I recalled rumors of traps in the cellars, set in place by the devil who haunted them to keep intruders away. People had gone into the catacombs and never come out again, and now I would join their number. I had killed Erik, and he had killed me. The circle had closed at last.
A quick, merciful death as I had longed for…so there is a Higher Power after all…With my last breath, I formed the words, "Forgive me, Father, for turning from You in darkness, and lead me into Your light once again…"
And I surrendered the remains of my soul into His hands, feeling every burden slip away as I transcended the darkness into the peace beyond.
Thank you for reading! It's been a pain in the behind, and I wouldn't do it again in a hurry, but it was worth it! :)
