Part XIII: The Devil's not so Black as He is Painted
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She had kissed him! She had kissed Erik!
And Erik, he had kissed her back!
"Come here, my Christine." he had breathed. And that was the only warning she got before he drew her in his arms and proceeded to take her breath away.
She had never been kissed like that before!
Raoul's kisses were gentle, reverent things. She was used to gentle, reverent things.
She was not used to feeling the trembling fire, the…wanting that came when she felt the measure of Erik's kiss, his…desire for her.
He broke away and clutched her to him.
Christine could only limply hang on, her blood still humming, her pulse pounding timpani in her ears. She inhaled his scent, and if anything this excited her more.
Frightened more of herself than of him, she pulled slightly away and looked up at him—wide-eyed.
He studied her carefully, "But Erik has surprised his Christine. She must speak so that Erik knows she is alright."
She felt her kiss-swollen lips with a trembling hand, "I—I'm good. …I think." She nodded to herself, assessing. "Ye—yes, I'm more than good." And she reached for him again, curious to see if the lightening, the thunder she had felt would strike once more.
He stopped her just shy of his lips, pulling back slightly. "Come, Erik's little Pandora. We had best not get carried away, hmm."
"Oh, but—"
He placed a finger gently on her lips; his eyes laughing in their joy. And then he was smiling!
Christine saw him smile fully; had she ever seen him smile?! It was oddly boyish in its charm.
He tapped her lips, "This can lead us only so far, my dear, before we must see it through… and Erik does not think Christine is ready to make that choice right at this time…" he mumbled sotto voce, "—even if this is the place." He grinned that roguish grin once more, and she looked at him curiously, uncomprehending.
He kissed her forehead, and gently moving her away from him, he rose. "Do you need assistance dressing, Christine? It is time the world reclaimed its light."
Biting her kiss-swollen lip, she shook her head.
His eyes softened, and making his way once more back to her, he kissed her again—in the more familiar way she was used to— and mumbled against her lips, "Get dressed. Erik will meet you downstairs."
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"—situation is progressing at an alarming rate, Erik. If you do not want her involved, then we need to leave—tonight!"
Christine froze from her position above the stairs, straining to hear. But try as she might, she couldn't understand Erik's next words.
The Persian man spoke, "This is good, and I am happy for you, my friend. But it will do nothing to remedy the immediate situation."
Again, she could hear nothing in response.
"And what , Erik, will I tell mademoiselle when she asks?"
She heard footsteps, and quickly she moved back, holding her breath so that they wouldn't hear her.
"You may tell her, daroga, that Erik has been called away and will return… soon."
She watched as the front door closed and then there was silence.
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"Come, Mademoiselle. You're breakfast is growing cold."
Christine had paused in her entrance to the kitchen. This was the first time she had set foot downstairs, and she was very much unsure in her surroundings. Everywhere was openness and light—sunshine and greenery.
This was certainly not a place she would have ever envisioned Erik living.
"Come, Mademoiselle Daae. Erik is away at present, but I am hopeful he will return soon. Please, have a seat."
She nodded toward the Persian man and sat in one of the two chairs at the breakfast table. Surreptitiously, she studied him.
Of a medium build and height, he wore a rather short and furry hat perched on his head. His hair was dark as was his skin, and yet, the most peculiar aspect of his appearance was his eyes.
They were the color of jade.
The Persian man poured her tea. "I do not believe that we have been introduced properly. My name, mademoiselle, is Nadir Khan, but you may do like a mutual acquaintance of ours and address me as daroga if you like."
"Monsieur Daroga…?" she stated uncertainly.
The man smiled a toothy, white grin, "Just daroga, mademoiselle. It means police-chief where I am from."
Her eyes narrowing, she looked at him curiously. "Police-chief? But you know Erik. And you both are friends—?"
He took a sip of his juice and nodded, "Erik and I have a long and sordid history, mademoiselle. As do, you are sure to find, many a former acquaintance of Erik's that are still living."
Christine didn't know why, but the Persian man's—the daroga's words struck her as terribly ominous.
He gestured that she eat, and she began to, but curiosity won out. "Have you known Erik long?"
He wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin, finishing chewing the morsel he was eating. He swallowed, "I have known Erik for many years, but not so many as to know him, mademoiselle."
She nodded, liking the foreign man immensely; he was thoughtful in his speech and careful in his words. "Christine." she decided, "Please, you must call me Christine… Monsieur Khan."
He smiled and nodded, sipping a bit of tea. "Have you yet questioned Erik about his past, Christine?"
She bit her lip and looked guiltily down at her plate. She murmured, "I don't believe he would appreciate prying, and the last thing I want to do is make him angry again! Especially after everything he's done for me. After everything you've both—"
"And so you would seek your information from me?"
She looked up.
His voice was kind, but she couldn't help but feel wrong-footed. She pursed her lips, folding her fork in a sign of completion on her mostly untouched plate. "I just—I need to know… that night, the night the opera house burned. You were there. You saw what he did to me…what he did to Raoul. He almost killed us all! And I—"
Putting down his knife and fork, Christine watched as the daroga sat back from the table; it seemed their breakfast was fated to be uneaten.
He picked up his tea and in quiet contemplation, they sat.
At length, he stated, "Mademoiselle Daae, I have known Erik for many years, and that night… that night was the culmination of the tragedy that is Erik's life.
"I need not relate to you how talented the man is. His music is an aspect of which I am only just becoming acquainted. In the years that Erik and I were together, mademoiselle…in those years, Erik was the advisor and court assassin to the Shah-in-Shah of Persia."
Christine's eyes grew wide.
He held up his hands entreating, "Now, before you judge him, you must understand the political climate of the day. The Shah-in-Shah was the definitive power in all of Persia, and whatever the Shah-in-Shah wanted, he received, or the balance would be paid in blood.
"And Christine, forgive me if I make an unfair comparison, but the drama that took place surrounding the events of the Populaire was child's play compared to the reality of that particular time and place." He shook his head, "Court standing and politics were everything. Gossip and intrigue the chief entertainment of the court, and if one lost his political standing, one lost his life."
The daroga shrugged, "For Erik, the choice was to kill or be killed. And Mademoiselle Daae, he killed. And he did so very creatively for the entertainment of the Shah."
Feeling ill, she rose abruptly from the table unwilling, unable to hear any more.
"Wait!" The Persian man followed her as she made her way back up the stairs. "Wait, please!"
She paused and turned mid-step, nausea warring with confusion.
"Mademoiselle," his voice implored her, "Can you not for one moment place yourself in Erik's circumstances and ask yourself why? Why would he go to such lengths to trespass in an opera house beneath the middle of Paris when he could—I assure you—afford to live in luxurious seclusion anywhere else in the world? Why would he befriend a little girl, train her, and then kidnap the woman she had become? Why would he then let that young woman go when he had created such elaborate plans to hold her captive?"
The Persian man sighed, and for a moment he looked impossibly sad. "None of the answers are simple, mademoiselle, but they are all worth taking the time to ponder and learn. That is, if you think you can accept all of the pieces of Erik there are: the wicked as well as the divine." He gave her a tight-lipped smile, and bowing slightly, turned and walked away.
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A/N: Unexpected snow day for the authoress = extra early posting for her readers. :D
Again, thank you all so much for gifting me with your kind words! And please note, if you don't sign in, I can't respond back.
However, I am going to take the time to respond to the anonymous pregnant woman confined to bed who left such a flattering review—thank you. Thank you very much! I am glad my little tale could help.
Also, this is my own neurosis showing through with not emphasizing the daroga's name—Susan Kay came up with the name Nadir Khan and Nadir Khan he will always be to me—However, I do not own the name Nadir Khan, and this fanfiction authoress must humbly beg the gods of copyrighting not to smite her for using it.
And so, dear readers, what did you think of the daroga's take on Erik's life? What will Christine decide to do next you think?
I await your response with baited breath.
DGM