A/N: Time goes on… on… and out! I have no word to excuse this long, long, long delay. But, voilà, another chapter I hope you will like! Good reading and as always, I remain, dear reader, your obedient servant, Taedium Vitae…
~ Chapter 14 ~
– Retaliation –
Standing at the back of his boat, Erik carefully observed Christine whose behavior was somewhat unusual. Indeed, instead of dipping her fingers in the cool water, of lazing on the fluffy cushions, of letting her eyes wander on the arches of the cave or of offering him occasional shy and bright smiles, in short, to act in a natural and relaxed manner as she was accustomed to do so over the last weeks. Tonight, she was curled up on herself, her back turn to him, her head sloping down wearily and her arms crossed on her knees. Moreover, he had the uncomfortable feeling that if she could, she would have unhesitatingly hidden under the pillows. In a word, she seemed quite ill at ease and he could not help but blame himself for being the cause of her affliction.
After all, an hour earlier, when he had seen her leaving the Viscount cabriolet and heading towards the Opera with a light step, she seemed more radiant and happy than he had ever seen her, so he was taken aback by this sudden and dark reversal of her mood. No doubt she was just frustrated and disappointed to end this special day with her hideous and gruff professor rather than with the spirited and charming aristocrat. Suppressing a sullen growl, he concentrated on his oar and led them quickly to port in a bleak and oppressive atmosphere disturbed only by the lapping of the water.
As always, Erik took the girl's hand to help her get off the boat and drive her along the shore plunged in darkness to reach his home. When they crossed the threshold, he had the clear conviction to hear her sigh, but he couldn't tell if it was from discontent or relief. Definitely, something was wrong! Frustrated and annoyed, he walked into the living room and headed for the kitchen, but he was surprised to find that Christine was still clutching his hand and was following him obediently. Turning around to look at her, he finally noticed in the candlelight that she was a little pale and haggard, probably due to fatigue.
–"I'm going to serve the meal. In the meantime, you can take the opportunity to put you at ease and refresh you a bit. Be sure to take all the time you'll need," he proposed before tenderly kissing her gloved fingers.
When he was about to disappear in the next room, Christine caught him up with the speed of lightning and grabbed his wrist with a nimble movement.
–"I need a bath!" she demanded in an urgent tone.
–"Don't you prefer to eat something first? You must be hungry after this hard day."
–"No, I must have a bath at once," she insisted as if her fate depended on it.
Erik frowned, worried by the increasingly strange and nervous attitude of the girl. She was usually so quick to come to the table to tell him her day.
–"Um, yes… yes, of course, we will do as you desire. Well, in this case, I leave you to your ablutions. When you have finished, your meal will be waiting in the dining room," he announced, bowing gallantly over her hand.
–"Thank you, Erik, to give in to this little quirk."
–"Nothing makes me happier than to fulfill your wishes, my gentle swallow," he murmured silkily.
At these words, Christine sketched a bow to take leave and returned to her apartment quietly under Erik's concerned eyes.
Even after having soaped herself three times, Christine had always the feeling to smell the acrid and drunken scent of Buquet on her skin. There was almost half an hour she was immersed in the bath, and if she had not been expected by Erik for dinner, she would have gladly remained wading in the water for a long time. But it was hardly polite to keep her host hang around. Leaving the benefits of the scented bathwater, she dried herself with a cloth in which she swaddled, combed her hair as best she could and put on a housedress consisting of a beige blouse and a long skirt with elegant, but simple drape.
Without ceasing to wring her fingers nervously, she joined the dining room where Erik was installed, reading a newspaper. He rose quickly to greet her and helped her to sit before her plate. A delicious smell of roast chicken, bake potatoes and vegetables browned in butter tickled her nostrils who could not help but salivate. With all the savoir-faire of a gentleman, Erik served her a portion of each dish spread out in front of her, and then poured her a glass of champagne, of which she was surprised. This kind of vintage was usually reserved for special occasions.
–"Champagne?" she asked, puzzled.
–"Perfectly, Christine. Tonight we celebrate the great triumph that you have received in the cathedral. I just finished reading the evening papers and they are all unanimous. An authentic Seraph, coming straight from heaven, sang under the ancient Gothic arches of Notre Dame de Paris. I therefore propose that we raised our glasses to the glorious…"
–"Erik," she interrupted, laying his hand on his arm to get his attention.
Confused, he looked down at her, frowning.
–"I'm the only one who toasts and feasts! Don't you want to join me?" she dared to propose.
He remained speechless and openmouthed.
–"I'm tired of being alone at the table."
–"You are never alone," he replied.
–"Yes, it's true, but you never eat with me. Why?"
With an annoyed sigh, Erik put down the bottle he was still holding and walked to his seat at the other end of the table.
–"Your meal is cooling," he advised as he sat down.
–"Erik, please! Don't elude my request."
–"I have no desire to spoil your appetite by imposing you the vision of my disgusting person eating at your sides. You already have the kindness to tolerate me in the same room as you."
–"You don't disgust me in the least!" she exclaimed vehemently as if she was upset that he could think such an idea.
He looked her suspiciously, but her face revealed only sincerity and kindness.
–"I beg you, Erik. Without you, none of this would have been. This victory is also yours and I want to share with you," she explained.
However, this was not the only reason for her request. She dared not admit him that after the attack, she desperately needed his protection, his kindness, his strength, his affection and his closeness as if he were an invulnerable shield behind which she was hiding in safety.
–"Christine, eat before your meal is too cold," he insisted in an authoritative voice that admitted no refusal.
–"Non!" she persisted, stubborn, sinking back in her chair, her arms crossed over the chest with hostile pout. "I won't swallow a bite as long as you don't join me!"
He jumped up, striking the table with the flat of his hand, his narrowed eyes staring her with irritation and disappointment. Christine froze at the thought of having pushed him too far and Buquet's violence about her resistance came back to her mind. Would he dare to do the same? After all, she should not forget that he was the Phantom of the Opera and a dark reputation followed him despite the gentlemanly appearance that he showed her.
He walked toward her, fists clenched, jaw tense, staring her with his pale and intimidating look she managed to support at the cost of a colossal effort. He certainly hoped she would bend to his will in view of his wrath, but without knowing why, she refused to yield. A session of humiliation by evening was fairly enough! Thus, they gazed one another, each one fighting for his pride, during intense seconds.
–"Ah!" Erik cursed as he turned away and strode away.
He had yielded! Had she won? Had he just left? Would he come back? Incredulous, she remained alone for a few minutes, ogling at the door through which he had gone, still stunned by her victory. She had succeeded to get the Phantom to back down! By what miracle was it possible! Apparently she was not devoid of power and influence on him!
While she had lost hope to see him come back, he appeared in the doorway and he was wearing a different and simpler mask consisting of black satin fabric he could tie around his head. Fastened like this, the mask was hardly going to fall when he chewed his food. He then disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a plate, cutlery and cup he disposed on the clean tablecloth next to Christine.
Since his return, she observed him with perplexity, agape, eyes wide and her breath petrified. Settling into his seat, he used a food ration before extending his napkin on his lap and grabbing his fork. He took a first bite without even taking a look at Christine who stared him dumbfounded.
–"Is it not that what you wanted?" he growled as he finally turned his eyes toward her.
–"Yes… yes, excellent!" she stammered unable to contain the jubilant smile stretching her lips.
Erik's heart jumped and he was obliged to admit that of all the constraints he had endured, this one was the sweetest and the most enjoyable.
–"Right, so now, do me the pleasure of eating."
There was no need for him to repeat for her to catch a loaf of bread she munched greedily. They ate in complete silence, but for each of them, it was an agreeable moment that only reinforced their complicity. Erik was often bringing his hand discreetly to his mask to make sure it was still in place and Christine continued to smile warmly and to throw him caring glances.
When Erik pushed back his plate and wiped his mouth, Christine grabbed the bottle of champagne and filled their glasses with the last mouthfuls of the beverage.
–"Didn't you want to propose a toast earlier?" she smirked, her cheeks blushing and her fingers tweaking the rod of her glass flute.
With obvious confidence, he stood up beside her and raised his glass in her honor without taking away his mesmerizing pale green eyes from hers.
–"My dear Christine, I drink a toast in honor of the glorious triumph that you won today thanks to your immense talent, your discipline and your flawless will. The angels themselves must envy you and covet your magnificence. On this solemn day, you have earned the respect and admiration of your peers. Your glory took flight towards the firmament where you will shine forever among the immortal stars," he admired in a passionate voice that betrayed the vehemence, sincerity and excess of his feelings.
In that moment, she had the strange impression that his love was not dedicated to her mortal form, but rather her soul. She fidgeted in her seat racked with unspeakable embarrassment as she felt her face heat up. Erik gave her a look so piercing that she was convinced he read in the depths of her mind and her heart.
–"You forget an important player in this story?" she whispered after having cleared her throat knotted embarrassment. "You, Erik! Without your relentless teaching, your exceptional skill for music and your inflexible patience towards me, none of this could have been," she said when he was slow to respond.
Erik wanted to dismiss this remark with a careless wave of his hand, but Christine caught him unawares and grabbed his fingers to interrupt him. He shivered under this delicate touch and froze from head to foot when she enfolded his palm into hers. Despite their growing complicity and the few scarce episodes of physical closeness they had shared, he was still shaken and dumbfounded when they touched.
–"I know what I'm saying, Erik! I raise my glass to thank my talented teacher… my miraculous Angel of Music… my strange and unequaled friend!"
At these words full of audacity, she hastened to bring her cup to her lips and drank a long sip of the sugary and bubbly beverage. Erik bowed his head politely in gratitude before drinking as well. For several silent and uncomfortable seconds, they looked into each other's eyes, sipping their drinks.
–"Do you wish to have tea in the drawing room?" Erik finally inquired, placing his empty glass on the table.
–"Yes, with pleasure…"
–"Well, in that case, I'll let you take place at your ease and I'll join you in a moment," he explained ridding dirty dishes.
–"I can help you!"
She was about to take a plate when he grabbed her hand to stop her.
–"No, no, it will not be necessary. I would be saddened to spoil these soft hands with such unpleasant work," he admitted, lending a light kiss on her fingers.
Having no desire to upset the good mood of the young man, she chose to wisely obey and walked into the living room after offering him a small curtsy.
After several long minutes, Erik came into the room, loaded with a huge silver tray charged with the tea service and a flat white cardboard box. With a welcoming smile, Christine hastened to clear the coffee table near the sofa so he can deposit his burden on it.
–"Merci, ma chère, but please, sit down!" he invited taking seat in front of her, a mischievous look in his eyes.
She obeyed him, but could not help to glance at him suspiciously. He was up to something, there was no doubt. Erik served tea with the more placid nonchalance, without ceasing to watch the girl who was eyeing the packet. Her curiosity was obvious and visible in any of her miens as evidenced by the agitation of her fingers, the trepidation of her feet, or the subtle way she pinched her lip between her teeth.
–"I know your little weakness and I thought a petite indulgence would be welcome in this great day," he explained as he allowed Christine to open the box.
Faster than lightning, she lifted the lid to reveal a tasty chocolate cake covered of icing decorated with a marzipan rose. At this vision, she licked her lips hungrily. Erik would have almost dared to laugh to see her so juvenile and playful like a child receiving candies for the first time.
While Erik finished serving tea, Christine prepared two slices of this tantalizing pastry and surreptitiously stole a dropped piece of icing that she immediately brought to her mouth.
–"Mmmh, it's delicious!" she cooed as she felt the chocolate melt on her tongue. "But how do you know that chocolate is my little fondness?"
–"Even if you're fleeing the reproaches of Madame Giry by hiding in the dark recesses of the Opera to enjoy your favorite chocolates, a ghost is still able to see you from the darkness," he announced teasingly before giving her a cup of tea.
She blushed at the thought that she had been spied during these moments of weakness where she transgressed the strict regime imposed on dancers. But she relaxed when she noticed Erik gazed her with a tender and not a reproving look.
In a relaxed and distracting atmosphere, they savored their delicious dessert, Christine even dare to devour three parts of the cake while his teacher merely ate one. Intoxicated by the few glasses of champagne she had drunk, the young soprano never stopped babbling about everything and nothing, talking about the next dress she should wear or the last painting criticized in the newspapers of art. Erik watched her with fascination during her monologue, and after several minutes of silence and helped by the alcohol, he got caught up in the context and started for the first time a real discussion with the girl.
The evening ended with the reading of a book as they were accustomed to. Christine was curled up on the couch and listened quietly to Erik's voice whose deep tone reminded her of the wind rustling in the trees, or the murmur of a mountain stream. Thus lulled, she never longed to sleep, and that night, despite the ordeal she had endured, she fell asleep easily while listening to her Angel of Music.
Erik remained a long time gazing lovingly Christine's drowsy silhouette, the golden glow of the fire in the hearth drawing thousand glints on her angelic face. After being forced to observe throughout the afternoon the girl strolling along with the horrifying Vicomte, this wonderful evening alleviated his frustration and even surpassed his foolish hopes. They had shared an intimate and heartfelt moment like he dreamed to live with her until the end of time. The fame and recognition of his musical talents were quite minimal compared to the joy of being with the woman he loved with all his soul. For the first time in his life, he had felt what his life could be with Christine, the deep relationship that he could create with her.
It was not far from midnight when he decided to bring her back to her room. Putting one knee next to the couch, he touched her delicate pale cheek with his fingertips before sliding his hands under her frame to lift her. He barely had time to hold her in his arms that she awoke with a jerk and struggled violently with a cry of terror.
–"Leave me alone! Do not touch me, scoundrel!" she shouted.
Stunned and panicked by his gesticulations and frantic kicking, Erik released her immediately as if he was holding a hot poker, then he stepped back; stumbling up to the chimney without stopping to touch his mask to ensure that it was still in place. Christine fell hard on the couch in a tangle of pillows, hair and clothes she hastened to push away.
Now fully awake, she didn't dare to look at Erik to see the damage that her outburst of terror had caused him. After dismissing the hair that blinded her, she spotted him near the fire, immobile and stiff as a statue. The little she could see of his face was austere, cold and expressionless like his mask. The happy complicity they had created during the evening had been completely undermined by her stupid unconscious reaction. Still lost into sleep, she thought of a new attack and had defended herself, but she realized too late what was really happening. She stood up, smoothing the folds of her dress and walked over to Erik with hesitant and almost fearful step. When she was at his side, she placed a delicate hand on his arm that stiffened under her fingers.
–"Forgive me, Christine! I just wanted to bring you back to your room. I had no vile intention with regard to you," he apologized in a toneless voice.
With a courage and boldness she didn't know to possess, she swung the young man around so he stood in front of her before taking his inert hands in hers.
–"You have nothing to be forgiven for, Erik. The day was tiring, full of emotions and put my nerves to the test. I probably did a bad dream when you awake me and my tired mind will have all mixed up," she explained, not particularly convinced by her speech.
Erik was staring her with a stoic, if not suspicious look, as if he didn't believe her words.
–"In truth," she resumed after having cleared her throat, "it is I who should apologize to you for my absurd conduct. I should even thank you to watch over me with such fervor and generosity," she whispered, blushing.
Erik seemed to finally relax and answered his embrace, wrapping his fingers around hers.
–"Oh, my sweet Christine! You have a heart of gold!"
With these words, he brought her palm to his lips that brushed her skin with the lightness of a butterfly. She shuddered with pleasure at his touch and her heart sped up while his mouth lingered on her hand to venture on her wrist. A sigh of ecstasy, aroused by the romantic seduction of her angel, involuntarily escaped her throat. Erik's nimble fingers rolled up the sleeve of her dress as his warm and velvety lips wandered on her palm and wrist. The world reeled and vibrated around Christine, who preferred to close her eyelids to obscure it and focus on these new and exhilarating sensations. His silky mouth sprinkled dozens of feathery kisses on her skin, and for a brief moment, she even thought to perceive the wet and burning tip of his tongue.
Was their conduct decent and proper? This intimacy was wrong? Should she be offended by the actions of his companion and rebuffed him with a reprimand? She had never been courted in a so passionate and libertine way, therefore she didn't know what behavior decorum demanded. However, in truth, in this magical moment, she absolutely didn't care about decency and its outdated dogmas.
–"Erik…" she murmured in a lascivious breath, almost akin a moan.
The hot breath of the young man left her hand and Christine leaned instinctively toward him, convinced that he would take her in his arms and kiss her passionately. But instead of the desired kiss, she felt her fingers being crushed by Erik's grip.
–"Ouch," she cried with a start, opening her eyes.
He lifted their joined hands up to his face and examined gruffly the wide purplish bruise that encircled her slim wrist. Christine grew pale and the fine warmth that had invaded her vanished in a flash. She wanted to free herself from his grip, but he was faster and she grabbed her other arm he also exhibited.
–"Who did this to you?" he screeched in a murderous voice.
–"No one!" she panicked at the sight of the fury appearing in Erik's eyes.
With a skillful twist of the arm, she managed to free her wrists, but the Phantom had far from finished with her.
–"Speak! Who is it?" he growled as he advanced on her and forced her to retreat, his height and broad shoulders becoming an ominous shadow in the room that seemed suddenly cramped.
–"No one!"
With a swift and brutal motion, he grabbed her arms at the elbows, his rude fist crushing her fragile flesh as in a vise. A cold sweat ran down her livid face, her wide eyes riveted on the impressive and terrifying figure of the Phantom.
–"Answer me!" he screamed without stopping to corner her until her legs hit the couch. "Tell me the name of this rogue, that I punish him as he deserves!"
–"I just tell you! It's nobody's fault!"
–"You think I'm an idiot!"
–"It was an accident! He was not in his normal state and he didn't do it intentionally."
–"Who do you want to protect with this lie? The managers? Carlotta? The Viscount?" he spat contemptuously shaking Christine violently to make her come to her senses.
–"You!" she cried, almost in tears.
Erik started at these words and remained silent. His return to reality was brutal and painful as he fathomed with dread his horrendous acts. He was terrorizing and threatening with his own hands his poor and sweet Christine who he had sworn to protect and cherish. He was no better than the man who had dared to raise his hands on her. As if waking from a daydream, his fingers released their grip in a fraction of a second and the girl fell limply on the couch like a disjointed and inert puppet.
–"If I tell you who is the culprit, you will rush to exert your retaliation on that person, which will only create more violence and hatred! I don't want to see my protector turn into an Angel of Death!" she sobbed.
–"You're too late for that, Christine! Death has already marked me with its seal!" he sneered wickedly.
Since forever, he had only been a ghost living in a grave dug in the depths of Hades.
–"No matter that you tell me his name, I will find this bastard and he will regret the day he dared to lay a hand on you!" he threatened, his hands clenching in two fists as if he was holding the neck of his victim.
Without one more look for the girl, he spun and strode hurriedly into his room. Christine hastened on his steps to try to reason him.
–"Erik, no! I beg you! Don't do this madness!" she cried, beating her fists against the door he had closed on her. "Please, Erik, let me in!"
She struggled several minutes with the handle of the door in the vain hope that it would yield. But it didn't move an inch! Completely exhausted and her burning eyes with tears, she sank to the floor and curled up on the doorstep like a frightened child.
–"Erik, come back! This man is not worth you sully your hands!" she murmured in a prayer heard only by silence.
X X X X
After the catastrophic events of the evening, Madame Giry had immense difficulties to fall asleep. And when she finally managed to sleep, bad dreams began to surface and allowed her no rest. In the middle of a nightmare with very realistic illusions, she awoke with a jump and found herself face-to-face with a black mask leaning over her bed. It took her a second to distinguish dream and reality before understanding who was in her room.
–"Erik!" she cried, sitting up on her bed and bringing the blanket over her barely dressed figure.
–"What has happened?" he asked bluntly in a sinister voice.
–"What? What are you saying? What time is it?"
Desperately trying to emerge from her torpor and understand the Phantom's statements, she cast a glance at the clock before passing a weary hand over her eyes.
–"Sweet Jesus, Erik, it is midnight! Some people need some sleep unlike you!"
–"Spare me your sermons and answer my question! What has happened?" he insisted with a black look that intimidated Antoinette.
On many occasions, she had seen him in the grip of the darkest anger, but this time, the cruel and cold fury gleaming in his eyes surpassed everything she had witnessed. For the first time since she knew him, she really was afraid that he would assault her.
This rage could have only one origin! He had discovered that Christine had been assailed.
–"What are you talking about?" she tried in vain to evade.
–"My patience is at its peak, Antoinette!" he roared, grabbing her sturdily by the shoulders to put her on feet. "Christine was molested and there is no doubt she required your help at one time or another ! So you know what has happened!"
–"I… I-I'm…"
–"Tell me!" he yelled, shaking Antoinette he held by the arms in a merciless grip.
–"Buquet!" she replied in a voice choked with fear.
Immediately, Erik let her go and she fell suddenly on the bed.
–"I came upon Buquet who was assaulting Christine at the corner of a hallway. I intervened to save her. That's all I can tell you," she explained, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
–"It will be absolutely enough…"
Without further word, he vanished into the darkness as silently as he had appeared, again becoming a shadow among the shades. This meeting had been so quick and brutal that Antoinette wondered if she had not dreamed it. But the pain she felt at her shoulders that he had manhandled reinforced the reality of events. The blood drained from her face when she realized the harmful befall that Buquet imperiled. Erik had not caused a deadly accident for several years; however, this delicate balance might overturn tonight.
This unbearable drunkard was becoming too threatening and impudent for Erik continues to tolerate his presence in the opera house. His constant pranks were already at the limit of the Phantom's indulgence, and the bestiality he had shown on Christine had made him cross the point of no return. It was time that the former machinist bowed out and left his place to a new operator with innovative and ingenious ideas that would bring some revival on the traditionalist stage of the Palais Garnier. More importantly, it was high time that this drunken scamp and his obscene manners swiftly leave the scene and Erik would be happy to expel him with his own hands.
Slipping like a ghost through the darkness, Erik roamed the hallways, the wings, the stage and finally the basement in search of his prey. After this day off, he was sure to find the worker slumped in a corner of the building to sleep off the alcohol he had certainly swallowed along the hours.
Without any surprise, he found his victim in the stables, spread in a grotesque posture on a pile of empty gunny bags, his mouth opened on his thunderous snoring. The remains of a meal and several dried pints were scattered at his feet. The circumstances could not be more perfect.
Unable to contain a jubilant and mischievous smile, Erik went to a stall in which stood a black horse named Galahad. By force of circumstances, he had appropriate the powerful and elegant animal as his regular stallion on the rare occasions when he left the confines of the opera house.
After opening the door of the box, he patted the neck of the horse, and then with a click of the tongue, he ordered it to follow him, which it did with the same obedience of a dog. Erik had always had a gift for communicating with animals and taming them quickly without using any cruelty or domination. They liked each other because none of them was worrying about the bias of appearance.
The stallion trotting behind him like a trusty steed, Erik crossed the stable, grabbed a tether hanging from a hook against the wall and stopped near Buquet. Impatient, Galahad snorted, shaking his long shiny mane while the Phantom looked his victim with a blatant disdain. It was difficult to associate this human wreck with the ingenious machinist who strode the arches of the Palais Garnier since its opening. In the past, Erik had a certain respect for this man who was able to cleverly handle every technical problems during a performance and who knew the labyrinths of the building almost as well as himself. However, in recent years, the worker was drifting and was indulging in every vice a man could satisfy. He even seemed to have added molestation and insult to his repertoire, what Erik refused to tolerate a moment in his opera.
With a slight whistle, he twirled his finger in the air aimed at his equine companion that obeyed by operating a fast turn-around on itself. He tied one end of the strap around the neck of the animal, then crouching at the feet of Buquet, securely tied the other end to his ankles. Near a drinking trough, he grabbed a bucket of cold water he took a pleasure to pour on the drunk asleep on the floor.
–"Merde!" the machinist shouted waking with a jolt. "Who is the moron who enjoys…?"
Buquet's words choked in his throat when he saw the imposing dark figure hovering over him. The place was dimly lit, but there was only one creature that could look like this gloomy and ominous shadow! The Phantom!
–"By all the devils!" Joseph squeaked before wiping with a feverish hand the water dripping on his face to make sure he was not hallucinating.
–"You don't know how right you are, bastard!" the specter announced in a sinister voice.
With a relaxed step, Erik approached the horse he patted the wide side as he made sure the rope was properly secured to each end. Following with bulging eyes the precise movements of the Phantom, the worker realized with horror that his feet were attached to the neck of the powerful stallion. Sobered up by fear in a split second, Buquet wanted to detach the rope, but Erik's foot hit his chest and pinned him to the ground with the strength of ten men. Without ceasing to flatter the rump of the animal, the Ghost stuck his perfectly lustrous boot in the ribs of his prey at the point of cutting his breath.
–"My ears have heard of your latest exploits, Joseph," Erik told with an impassive and emotionless tone, making him more threatening than ever.
–"W-what are you talking about? I did nothing!"
–"Should I also add deception to the long list of your crimes? You do nothing to appease my anger… or your punishment!" he advised finally turning on Buquet his eyes where he read a cold and unfathomable rage.
–"What are you going to do? Kill me? Do it! But I know a Persian officer who will make it his duty to deliver you to justice, should something happen to me," he bluffed with much more confidence than he was feeling.
–"You think the Daroga scares me? In this case, Joseph, let me warn you that he is a poor protection! I've fooled him hundreds of times and he is still alive by my good will. If I want, I can remove him from the scene in a snap of the fingers. For your own safety, you should find yourself another defense."
Erik felt a certain unhealthy glee in seeing Buquet's face decompose after his explanation. If the machinist thought he could hide behind the supposed threat posed by Nadir, he had made the wrong bet.
–"Cela dit, there are a thousand ways to torment a man, isn't it, Joseph! Death is a poor evil compared to a slow agony with atrocious sufferings…" he confessed, patting the rump of the animal that immediately began to prance and snort menacingly.
–"No… n-no… Please, sir! I didn't mean any harm! It was just for fun!" Buquet sobbed.
–"Well, as you can see, I share the same macabre humor as you, and tonight I also want to have fun at the expense of another."
–"Pitié… I'll do whatever you want!"
Erik boot skidded up and crushed the windpipe of the reddish worker whose eyes bulged with terror as he suffocated.
–"Never approach Christine again! If you offer some value to your life, I advise you to leave the opera house, because if I see even just a lock of your hair around the Palais, you'll be dead before you even know it! Am I clear?" Erik growled, pressing his foot harder on the throat of his victim.
Crimson and flushed, Buquet nodded as best he could, which seemed to satisfy the Phantom who relaxed his grip.
–"Perfect. I see that you are very accommodating and less reckless when you're facing an opponent at your size rather than a frail defenseless girl."
With a swish of cape, Erik released his prey and turned away to the great relief of the machinist who inhaled great salutary breaths. He thought he was out of danger, when Erik froze net with a snap of a finger.
–"Oh, I almost forgot! Good stroll, Joseph!"
At these words, he vigorously slapped the horse's rump in front of Buquet's terrified eyes. The animal darted like a rocket and galloped through the stable dragging behind him his gesticulating and shouting burden. With a toothy smile, Erik left the scene without remorse for his victim which would sooner or later be saved by a bystander in the streets of Paris, after a more or less long and painful ride.
X X X X
Somewhat relieved to have avenged Christine's honor, Erik returned to his subterranean dwelling whose peace and quiet seemed heavy and overwhelming. He let out a weary sigh as he thought of the sublime evening they had shared and the disaster in which it ended. Misfortune seemed to always continue to destroy all hopes of peace he craved.
After removing his gloves, his cloak, his jacket and his boots, he opened the door to join the living-room and risked tripping over Christine who was curled up on the doorstep. She raised her tearful face towards him, streaks of dried tears staining her cheeks. Lord, she was sat on the cold ground since his departure!
–"Miséricorde!" he exclaimed, rushing to carry her in his arms. "What are you doing on the floor, my angel?"
With an inarticulate murmur, she snuggled against his warm chest to heat up her chilled and stiff limbs. Erik's heart stopped beating when he felt her hands grab his shirt and her face buried in his shoulder in a total and confident surrender. Touched, he pressed his lips against her delicate forehead and breathed the scent of honey impregnating her silky hair. He brought the girl to her room and sat her on the bed, her thin cold hands blindly seeking his. He complacently offered her his hands she clasped between her fingers while her eyes misted with tears rose on him. Her expression was a mixture of confusion, guilt, remorse and fatigue. Erik was fully aware of being responsible for this confusion that tormented her tender face, of what he was far from being proud.
–"I'll fetch a balm to heal your bruises while you prepare for the night," he announced in a nervous voice before walking away.
After the door of her room closed with a slight slam, Christine remained few seconds lost in oblivion, cursing her cowardice. During the endless hours she had waited his return, she had worried and tormented at the thought of what he would do to Buquet because of her. And now that he was back, she was unable to face him and ask him the question burning her lips. In his presence, she only wanted to snuggle in his heat, in the protective circle of his arms and forget the intrigue, blackmail and hatreds plotted in the opera house. Far beneath the earth, there was only the music, the magic and their complicity. She wanted more than anything to preserve this sanctuary from external threats. However, she had to confront him to know the truth, even if it meant tarnishing their relationship.
Steeling herself, she rose with a determined step to join her bathroom where she changed clothes, braided her hair and ran some water on her face. She got back in bed, leaning against the cushions, and waited calmly for his return. After a few minutes of patience, three light knocks were struck at the door and her teacher entered the room carrying a small tray with a glass, a bottle and bandages.
Before he had time to take a step towards the bed, she sat up against the pillows and looked him straight in the eyes.
–"What have you done to Joseph Buquet?" she asked bluntly.
If he had been shocked by her question, he did not let it show and crossed the room in silence. He laid his burden on the nightstand before returning his attention on her.
–"Nothing less and nothing more than the punishment he deserved!"
–"And what is that supposed to mean?"
He brought a chair and sat down at her bedside.
–"Everything you need to know is that this brute will never annoy you again."
With a fearful gesture, she grabbed his hand, her eyes widening with horror.
–"Erik… Y-you do not… kill this man?"
As if nothing had happened, he hugged her palm and carefully examined her bruised wrist, his fingers touching in a tender caress her bluish skin. She had to make an effort not to be distracted by his flattery and focus on the serious problem at hand. Several oppressive seconds passed in silence as he seemed to turn a deaf ear.
–"Erik, answer me, please!"
–"No, Christine, by respect for you, I spared him, although in my opinion, he should have perished at my hand," he let go with a frustrated sigh.
–"Great God, thank you," she murmured, relieved. "I don't care to be avenged, Erik. This misadventure is unimportant and is not worth that you…"
–"I forbid you to speak like this, Christine. Your safety and your happiness are essential to me!" he cried more abruptly than he had wanted.
He released the deadly and possessive squeeze in which he crushed her frail hand before collecting his material with carefree and nonchalant gestures. Frowning in disbelief, Christine watched with a puzzled pout without understanding where Erik wanted to come. She waited a few seconds as he opened a jar of liniment. A sharp smell of camphor and arnica immediately made her shrink her nose in disgust. He dipped his fingers in the ointment and began to coat her wrists that he rubbed softly with gentle pressures and caresses.
–"Christine, you don't realize what you mean to me," he admitted unwillingly, focusing on his actions to forget the confession he was going to do. "For three decades, I am struggling to survive in this cold and hostile world whose sole purpose is to see me disappear. No human being has ever tolerated my existence. I knew neither compassion nor complicity or tenderness in my miserable existence. But you, my sweet Christine, you accepted me in your life; even after discovering the monstrosity I'm made of. You look at me with friendship, respect and kindness as if I was a man like the others. You embody a hope that I never experienced before and for this reason, I love you more than anything. Do you understand what I mean?"
–"I'm not sure," she breathed as he avoided her eyes and focused on his tending.
Once again, he interrupted his speech to grab a roll of bandage he began to apply around her wrists.
–"You are precious and unique to me! You offer me a hope that nobody has ever let me believe! The hope to live like all men," he admitted in a low and troubled murmur.
He finished strapping up her wounds and gently tied the fabric before to check the good setting of his bandages. Satisfied with his work, he hugged Christine's fingers, his thumbs stroking affectionately the back of her delicate hands.
–"I… I'm sorry, Erik… Your life is so sorrowful," she stammered, overwhelmed and dumbfounded by his unexpected confession.
–"Don't be sad, my dove. You are undeniably the only person I cannot blame for my suffering, because you have given me only joy and kindness since I met you."
Christine's eyes rested on Erik's warm fingers which enclosed her hands tenderly. She suppressed a shudder at the thought that his soft, elegant, skillful and strong hands were able as much to create as to destroy. Beneath his gallant and gentlemanly behaviors, she should not neglect that hid the dreadful Phantom whose mere name had terrified more than one person in the opera house. She hadn't forgotten the ruthless bite of his hands around her neck or arms during his outbursts of towering rage. She thought to know him, but was she sure of that? Disturbed and confused, she rubbed her forehead in hopes of calming the throbbing that pierced her skull.
Abandoning her other hand, Erik grabbed on the tray a small glass jar like a bottle of perfume. He poured a few drops of clear liquid on his fingertips he carefully placed on Christine's temples. A fresh, invigorating scent of menthol and chamomile floated in the air as he rubbed her aching forehead with light and soothing caresses. Releasing a heavy sigh, she closed her eyes and submitted to the enchanting care of her protector. The world of her Angel was so versatile and fleeting! At times, a storm and chaos was exploding while the next second an utter serenity was reigning. This universe was the reflection of his creator whose mood and temperament can change dramatically in a heartbeat. But at this moment, she wouldn't think about the storm she had just endured and she only desired to be pampered by her angel.
Erik was still stunned with what confidence and candor Christine reacted to his presence and touch. He had never imagined that a woman would accept him her world and life so blindly. A dreamy smile drew on the lovely lips of the girl and her closed eyelids quivered at the same pace as her slow and deep breathing. His fingers trailed on her soft milky skin, brushed the silky curls of hair falling on her forehead until his rough palm wrap her delicate cheek. She was his goddess and he would be her fierce Cerberus prepared to do anything to protect her.
Erik's heart skipped a beat and his breath froze in his throat when Christine tenderly buried her face in his hand. She breathed in the woody scent of his skin before slipping a light kiss in the hollow of his palm. Her beautiful dark eyes fringed with long eyelashes slowly opened and she offered him a nebulous look where he could not tell if he was reading signs of torpor or desire.
–"My Angel of Music…" she whispered.
–"I'm here, Christine. I'll always be by your side no matter what! You're not alone, my angel. I watch over you now… and know that I would do what must be done to protect you! I'll never let anyone hurt you! I swear it!" he promised in a strong and resolute voice that allowed no doubt.
–"I know…"
Her eyes closed again and she let out a weary sigh. Stroking one last time her full lips with his thumb, Erik helped Christine to lie under the covers before he affectionately tucked her in.
–"Sleep, my angel! Leave me your nightmares and dream only of future happiness!" he rocked as he brushed away a few hair wisps of her forehead and eyes.
Before he had even turned off the light and left the room, Christine was already asleep, overwhelmed by fatigue and the emotions of the day.