Author's Note: Alrighty, I know y'all are anxious to have this underway, so I'll just run through a couple of things quickly. I'll just say this now, you're going to reeeeally hate me here in a bit. So...yeah. My apologies in advance. Have a cookie. :) Alrighty, that said as a general tidbit, yes, we're going to get into more of the action/melodrama here, and as this is something I'm fairly new to writing, I'm hoping for it to (as always) flow well and be realistic, so let me know if anything can be improved upon. Finally, the chapter titles is from the Death Cab for Cutie song of the same name. Welp, enough of my ramblings. Thank you a million times to everyone reading, following, and favoriting! R&R, and enjoy!
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Chapter 12 – Into the Dark
Christine
The following morning, it was my intention to sleep late into the day until the sun was high and its light strong, enjoying the serenity of waking up with Erik beside me. It was another story entirely to convince him that such luxury was acceptable. He grumbled in protest and I laughed at his efforts, but at length I was able to draw him back into my arms with the promise of my touch and the reminder that our journey that night would be taxing – we would appreciate the additional rest later, I was sure. He conceded to my logic and lay beside me once more without complaint – we talked long and lazily into the morning, planning and dreaming, newly dedicated lovers on our way to a future as yet unseen but eagerly anticipated. We put the worries of uncertainty aside and enjoyed the simplicity of our togetherness – there would be time to fuss over practical details of the future later.
We were only drawn from our serene domesticity some time later by the grudging acknowledgement that we still had responsibilities to tend to before our flight into the darkness and our eventual escape. When Erik eluded the dutiful lawmen and vicious mobs all those weeks ago, he took with him absolutely nothing – it was only through sheer luck that he found the abandoned house, and Madame Giry's dedication and generosity that he had what few possessions she could find returned to him. To gather them for the journey was a simple task – they hardly filled a satchel and a traveling case. It was making the house itself appear uninhabited and quite untouched as he had found it that occupied the remaining hours of daylight. It seemed wise to make Erik's presence there entirely forgotten; although many thought him long-gone, it seemed prudent to lower suspicions as much as humanly possible.
Every effort and resource to our avail that would make it as though he hadn't truly escaped was prudent. Some weeks ago, Madame Giry made a point to start up old rumors among those involved in the disaster at the opera; with thoughts of The Phantom of the Opera possibly still at large and very nearby, the people of the city reveled once more in the chase, the prospect that they would join forces yet again to take him down once and for all. When interest in the case was at its highest point, Madame Giry then imagined and composed a story to tantalize the press – somehow, the masked madman had met his end; rest assured it was certainly him, the article insisted. The ordeal was over, there was no longer a need to look over one's shoulder in search of him. The succinct article seemed to keep those involved quite appeased, and little else was said about Erik beyond that point.
I was expecting the article, of course, but the headline The Phantom is Dead still left a pang of unease in my heart, only worsened by the fact that people were truly delighted at the prospect of Erik's demise – a fate that I myself sought to prevent. To keep him from leaving this earth by his or anyone else's hand had been my utmost priority once I had been made aware of the anguish he fought against, and the reminder – however intentionally false – that he very nearly was lost to me was upsetting indeed. But I refused to let their misplaced merriment cause me unnecessary pain; some hearts could not be changed. In the end, faking Erik's death was a necessity, and a simple enough plan to execute – doing so ensured us the safest and easiest passage away from France and from our demons. It was our chance to start anew, and while how we would do so remained to be unseen aside from the very basic of plans, once we made the decision to go on together we knew we could conquer more than we once thought ourselves capable.
~~oOo~~
From within the house we watched the sunset with great anticipation; the hours ticked away to our departure, we only had to be patient until then. It was well past midnight when we chose to close up the house for good and make our way back to Madame Giry's apartment. Our stay there wouldn't be a long affair, only long enough to prepare for our trip to England. With a single candle, Erik walked around the house slowly, ensuring that everything was in its place and that any trace of us was long-gone.
"Are you ready to leave it behind?" I asked when he paused before the fireplace, now dark and devoid of ashes.
"If you're asking if I'll miss this house, I won't," he said seriously, then smiled, "Any enjoyment I felt here was with you. Until you arrived, it was miserable being alone all the way out here, and I fell to some of my lowest points. I was a lowly, drunken, angry person. I knew that man here, and I don't want to be him again. I'm ready to move on."
"Are you afraid?"
"Are you?"
"It's rude to answer a question with another question, Erik."
He sighed, "Fear is not necessarily the right word. I don't feel fear at this, I feel apprehension. I was never expecting to have to leave the opera house. To have to start over again is admittedly daunting."
"We'll be together. In the end, that's what matters the most."
"That's what makes this tolerable. It's right, it's what we fought for," he paused, "You never answered me. Are you afraid?"
"Not anymore. Where I once feared being with you, of having to leave and not know what to expect, that fear is gone," I responded honestly, "I'm no longer afraid of life."
He nodded, but gave no other response, for truly there was no more to say. Our deepening understanding of one another helped guide us through integral aspects of our shared being without feeling compelled to question each other's motives; no more pretense, no more blind fear. We were better off for our struggles. He held me for a moment before holding out his hand, beckoning me forward toward the front door and signifying that our departure was now at hand. He blew out the candle and plunged us into darkness. We walked determinedly out into the frigid, snowy night, our horses waiting for us, and as Erik closed the front door I realized it would be the last time he did so. It was final – it was time to move on.
Upon setting off, we had an easy ride. We allowed the horses to walk slowly – not wanting to push them unnecessarily and having little reason to do so regardless – and the steady pace was enjoyable. The moonlight cast a glow upon the landscape, all open space once the forest beyond thinned out, and while Erik worried about our dark figures against the starkly bright background, he admitted that it was far easier to see ahead of us, making the trip that much safer in terms of quick navigation. The air was cold around us, despite our winter coats, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. On the contrary, it made my senses come alive; I enjoyed the feeling of excitement that hung in the air around us. We talked easily, going over plans once more and reveling in our togetherness, knowing that ultimately we no longer had reason to fear separation by our own hands – our dedication to each other no longer remained unspoken, we had finally said everything we needed to in the time since our reunion.
He led the way, staying several steps ahead of me and looking back every so often to ensure my safety. He smiled at me each time he met my gaze; the gesture reminded me, not for the first time, that my decision to want us together stemmed in part from my absolute adoration for him and the smile that finally reached his eyes. What he felt for me was genuine, never would I doubt that, and I felt grateful in those moments that I had finally made the decision to return to him despite the tragedies we shared. There was a long, comfortable silence at length, interrupted only by the sounds of nature around us. It was the picture of serenity.
Without warning, that peace was shattered by a loud crack ringing through the air. Erik froze, held his hand out to halt my progress, and shifted his gaze in warring confusion and alarm. It wasn't until the second echoing sound came crashing through the darkness that we realized we were hearing gunshots. Everything happened very quickly, then.
"Where is that coming from?" Erik asked himself in a low voice.
He marched his horse slightly forward, urgently commanding me to remain in place. His head whipped around quickly as more shots rang out in the distance. The cluster of trees beyond our position seemed to be the source of the sound, but the reason for the disturbance remained a mystery.
Another shot split the air as Erik made the motion to turn back toward me. Before I fully comprehended what was happening, he cried out abruptly.
~~oOo~~
Erik
I knew immediately that I had been shot; the pain ripped through me so forcefully that I thought my body would shatter then and there – I was barely able to keep my horse from rearing in panic in my own agonized bewilderment. But while I was aware of the singular fact that I was shot, everything else came to my consciousness in a haze of chaos. Initially, I couldn't understand why there was suddenly a bullet in me, nor from where it came. I was clearly its target, but if a pursuer truly sought me I could not comprehend why. I made a mighty effort to collect my thoughts, distantly understanding that if I didn't, the outcome would be dire – whatever event was unfolding, I had to somehow bring us back to safety. Realizing this, I was able to pull myself back to solid reality. It was my right shoulder that was injured – I put my hand to it both to staunch the bleeding and to feebly attempt to lessen the pain. I succeeded in neither endeavor. I swore under my breath and continued my attempt to compose myself before realizing that Christine had been calling out to me.
"Erik, where are you hurt?"
I gestured to my shoulder before continuing, "I don't know who's out there. I don't understand this, no one knows we're here."
"You don't think it's the police, do you?"
"I'm supposed to be dead. There's no reason anyone should be after us."
"Could it have been an accident? A hunter or – "
"Why would anyone be out here this late?"
Another shot rang out in the distance, but I could not trace its exact origin. The forest was a large, pitch-black expanse of land with ample hiding places – anyone could be just beyond its borders and still go undetected. I saw no lanterns, no sign whatsoever that anyone was about, but I felt a deep dread at our situation. I began to realize that our carefully-executed hoax might not have worked after all. If anyone had even the slightest inkling that I was still alive and in hiding, surely they would seek me out in an attempt to capture me and bring me to justice, or worse. It was only because I turned away at the last moment that I wasn't shot in the heart, and I wasn't so naïve as to think that our being fired at was a coincidence. I looked at Christine and made my decision.
"You have to leave," I said gravely.
"What? No, I'm not leaving you here alone, you're hurt."
"It's not bad," I said with forced confidence, not knowing exactly the extent of my injury, "You have to go – "
"Erik, I won't – "
"– Listen to me," I snapped, feeling a panic and a desperate need to get through to her as quickly as possible, but softening my voice I continued, "I don't know what's going on, but if we're discovered, if it turns out that it is police or mobs or God knows who else coming for us, and if you're recognized with me, they won't be merciful with you. They'll see you as an accomplice. I won't let you be hurt because of me. You have to leave me here."
"I'll go back to the house," she said distantly, seemingly not wanting to accept my reasoning and remain as near to me as she could, "It's closer to here than Madame's."
"You can't, it's too isolated. If anything happens to me and they find you, you'll be cornered. Continue on to Paris, go as fast as you can."
"And then what, exactly?"
"Wait for me. Just wait. And if I cannot come back to you tonight, don't seek me out until the morning," another shot rang out, closer this time, and we both flinched, "I won't have you out here in the dark alone."
"I don't like this," she said, her voice shaking.
"Neither do I," I shook my head as I took the satchel from around my shoulders, wincing as the motion aggravated my injury, and handed it to her. From the holster around my chest, I took the gun and placed it in her hesitant hands, "Take this."
She gasped, "You can't be out here unarmed."
"If I am caught and I'm found with it, the implications will be much worse. I don't want a confrontation, I just need to throw them off, ensure that no one can follow us from this point. And I don't want you without protection while I do it."
"Erik – "
"Go now, please."
She looked at me with terror in her eyes, but she had no arguments left. She turned her horse away from me and bolted. I hated to see her go, hated to take the choice from her, but under the circumstances it was a matter of safety, not pride.
I had been truthful with Christine – I didn't plan to take down my attacker by hand; I needed to lure them out of hiding and distract them. I wanted to give her the time to put as much distance as possible between herself and the present danger. From there, all I had to do was keep them distracted and hope I was fortunate enough not to become the final resting place for more bullets. It would be a feat, but it was all I could do. If I succeeded, I could escape without being followed, our destination remaining a secret. I knew I had to be fast, to think sharply, but I suddenly realized with a start that I was losing more blood than I had first assumed, and quickly. I felt cold, the pain hanging on to me with a dull, persistent ache. I tried to ignore it and focus on the task at hand. The faster I could leave, the better.
I steered my horse back the direction from which we came, faced the trees, and called out, "Come to me, you cowards! Face me!"
My antagonizing worked; from a distance, I was finally able to see the glow of a lantern bobbing in my direction. I held my ground, remaining conscious of my surroundings and keeping my mind keen to any and every possible means of escape and to every action of the attacker; if he so much as appeared to be brandishing his weapon, I would be a step ahead, of that I was determined. I steeled myself. The figure steadily drew closer – a lone man on horseback came barreling toward me. When finally we came face to face, I was startled to realize that I knew him.
"Christ, Vito?"
Flashes of memory brought me back to my adolescence – the gypsy camp, the traveling fair, my shaking and broken form on display for mockery and abuse. I remembered the cage, every ounce of pain I endured. I recalled the agony of repeatedly fractured ribs, fingers, wrists, the burning slashes from knives and whips. The gypsies valued life fueled by family bonds, tradition, and the power of money – they were of a lively culture dependent upon community, but they saw me as less than human, an animal not worthy of their respect or camaraderie. They sought to maim and torture me, to beat me into submission and to keep me ever-aware of their fear and hatred of me. I saw my captors, sneering and shouting obscenities to my countenance, cursing my very existence and yet marveling at their good fortune at finding and displaying me as something evil and fearsome – further warping my mind, distancing me from society, and succeeding in increasing my loathing for the world around me.
A sign in blood-red lettering danced before my thoughts, The Devil's Child.
Javert was my keeper, and through the years of my captivity, he made entirely sure that I suffered every moment. Often he would brutally attack me, beat me within an inch of my life, but never had he dealt the final blow. He knew exactly what he was doing – to kill me would have been a mercy, and Javert was far from benevolent. His soul reeked of evil; some of my worst suffering was at his hands alone, and he was determined to have Vito –his only son and the pride of his life – follow in his footsteps. When after years of torture I finally learned to play his game, to protect myself as best as I could, I gained the upper hand. Only when his guard finally came down in my presence was I able to escape. I was fifteen years old, and I killed Javert without a second thought. But I was unable to take out Vito as well, and had no choice but to flee before he could avenge his father. When Madame Giry, so young then, witnessed the aftermath of my crime, she realized the necessity for it and helped me escape for good.
For so many years I thought that life was behind me – actively sought to put it out of mind by creating a kingdom of all that I saw as beautiful far below the Opera Populaire. To see the son of the man responsible for some of the most dehumanizing years of my life was an absolute shock.
"What is the meaning of this?" I demanded, trying to keep my voice even despite my pain, "Why are you here?"
He raised his gun to my head, and before I could make an escape, he made to pull the trigger. When nothing happened, he lowered the weapon with a flourish and said, "I've no more bullets."
I cursed myself then for leaving myself unarmed; had I known then that it was but one man that pursued me, a man that had himself become defenseless, I wouldn't have relinquished the gun. I could have blown him away and have been done with it. But a distant thought soon occurred to me that if somehow I failed in my efforts, Vito might very well have gone after Christine, and I knew she needed the protection more than I would have under those circumstances. Reminding myself of that much was just barely enough to keep me from actually screaming in frustration at my foolish snap-decision.
"What are you doing here, Vito?"
"I didn't believe what the papers were saying about your death. I was right."
"Well congratulations, you've found me," I sneered, "But how? Why after all these years did you have to choose to track me down?"
"You went into hiding the night you murdered my father – "
"– Spare me the dramatics. He deserved it, and I certainly wasn't hiding for guilt. I did the world a favor."
"You are the one deserving of that fate. I couldn't find you when that girl helped you escape the camp, but when you snapped, when you burnt down the opera house, I knew I could find you again. I joined the mobs, kept myself up on every rumor of your whereabouts. I want you dead."
I held out my gloved and bloody hand for him to see, "It appears you missed your mark. And you seem to have come out here wholly unprepared. Running out of bullets, that's laughable. If you came out here to kill me, you obviously weren't smart enough to think it through."
He struck out at me, but I flinched away before his fist could connect to my jaw. He was clearly growing more agitated by the second, and eager to be done with his task. I was aware of how imperative it was that I stay atop my horse; if I fell, there was little chance of me quickly and successfully clambering back up into the saddle – my worsening injury would make sure of that – and I knew there would be no way I could escape him on foot when the time came. I had to keep him distracted without further setting off his temper; I could not have him trying to attack me again, I had to work my way out of the situation. Keep him talking, my instincts whispered insistently, and I obliged. I knew buying myself that much more time would very well be what saved me.
"Who was the girl? The one you just parted from." he demanded once he regained his composure.
"No one," I said quickly, "Not someone I know. She was lost and afraid, I only meant to help her regain her bearings."
"You lie. I believe I've seen her out here before."
I blanched at that, "Just how often have you been out here, then?"
"Often enough to know that you've been out to see her as well, somewhere in Paris. Just the other night, in fact."
"If you saw me that night, why didn't you come after me?" I asked, desperate to evade the subject of Christine's connection to me at all costs, "You had plenty of opportunities."
"You're hiding something. I knew it. I had a feeling she meant something to you," he paused and gazed at me in intent consideration, "I want the girl."
"I told you, I don't know the woman you saw with me tonight," I nearly shouted, "She has nothing to do with this."
"She's your lover."
"Enough of this."
"Ah, now I understand. That was Christine Daae that you sent on ahead. Don't think I don't know what's been said around Paris. She is important to you."
"Of what importance is she to you?" I demanded, dreading the answer but knowing the information might be necessary to protect Christine.
"Would it pain you if she were hurt?"
My heart pounded and I narrowed my eyes, "You will leave her out of it. This is obviously between me and you."
"You care for her, she's clearly an important figure in your life. My father was an important figure in mine. And you took him from me."
"An eye for an eye," I murmured, then looked at him squarely, "You will not go near her."
"If it makes you suffer, then yes, I will."
He made to spook my horse, an action that would surely cause the animal to rear and for me to lose my balance. I evaded the action quickly, only to become suddenly aware of my heartbeat growing steadily quicker and more erratic. Blood loss and absolute terror for Christine and my own immediate wellbeing were beginning to cloud my thoughts. I couldn't keep Vito occupied any longer, not when he was ready to strike and carry on with his violent endeavor; I knew that if I continued to try, buying Christine still more time in the process, I might very well bleed to death out there. Everything we had fought for would have been for nothing. If I gave chase, I ran the risk of being captured. He could no longer gun me down, but he could easily incapacitate me as I continued to grow weaker. I was running out of options, and he was growing still more agitated the longer I stalled. He was heartless and cunning, and I needed to make my final move wisely.
Keeping him talking provided me both the knowledge of what I must do and the distraction for him that I needed to unquestionably end the exchange. He didn't see the subtle movements I made, the calculating stare I leveled at him while determining just the right moment to set in motion my own strike against him.
From my belt, I pulled out a riding crop and held it high above me. For but a fleeting second, Vito looked at me with an expression of mixed fear and taunting – it was as if he dared me to be foolish enough to cross him. Old habits die hard; he was once in a position of power over me, and that night he still felt that the cards were in his favor even after all the years that separated our lives. But he wasn't expecting me to have let go of my fears long before then. With the last bit of strength I could spare, I brought the crop down hard, first on his arms and face, stunning him to the point of complete immobility, and as he looked upon me in complete shock, I struck again.
With each blow I managed to knock him off balance even further as he frantically tried to fight me off and regain control of the situation, until finally I hit him hard enough to take his consciousness from him completely. As he fell from his mount, I turned the crop to the animal itself, guilty at having to cause it unnecessary pain but knowing that when Vito awoke, the horse had to be long-gone if I had any chance of a clear escape. There had to be no question of him catching up to me.
I turned my own horse around, returning to the trail that would lead into the city, and kicked him sharply enough to cause him to bolt. I held on as tightly as I was able. My breath came in sharp, painful gasps and I could feel the blood on my arm, hot and alarmingly profuse in amount. The pain was worse than ever, my exertion proving to be far too much for the injury. I could barely hold the reins, but forced the effort, knowing I had to push my horse to run as fast as he was capable. I still had many miles left before reaching even the outskirts of Paris, and time was not in my favor. Christine and I were so close to starting our life together, and such an unexpected attempt at my life was unappreciated, to say the least. I wasn't going to die out there simply because the demons of my past wouldn't rest. It was this determination that propelled me toward the city with a stubborn resolution to fight.
The city that I had once been so desperate to leave was now my only means of rescue. Despite myself, I actually laughed at the irony.
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Author's Note: Well, fuck. Please don't hurt me. I can fix this, I CAN FIX THIS!
