A/N: Installment number two, remember, please let me know of any faults you may find in the chapter. Thanks.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters, they are the brainchilds and brilliance of Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Any song lyrics used are stricty the property of Andrew Lloyd Webber, Richard Stilgoe and Charles Hart.
Chapter nineteen - part two.
The morning dawned clear and bright over the de Chagny estate; birds twittered from tree to tree, sharing the fruits of their explorations with their younglings. A gentle breeze swept across the lawn, ruffling the trees in a friendly greeting, the skittering sounds of the leaves feeding nature's music.
Yet all was still and lifeless within the manor.
Raoul had risen early from his study, his appearance unkempt and unshaven. He felt weary, his eyes were blood-shot and an acute headache raged within. Horrific scenes from the night before tormented his mind, as the alcohol-induced fog had slowly lifted from his brain. His reality was far worse than any nightmare. What he had done…
He swallowed the bile burning in the back of his throat, as hot tears of anger and regret prickled at the back of his eyes. He'd struck her… he had struck Christine. He had almost forced himself on her! Raoul briefly caught his disheveled appearance in the passage-way mirror. What kind of monster was he?
With an animal-like fury he lashed out at his reflection, shattering the mirror and sending shards of glass scattering across the polished floor. Oh God…!
He stared down at the blood trickling from his knuckles, snaking down his fingers in crimson rivulets and disappearing into the folds of skin of his palm. Christine… He glanced up at the foot of the staircase, willing to see his wife, to let her know how sorry he was for all that had transpired between them. His shame was overwhelming; how could he face her now, when he had become the very thing he had been fighting against all these years? He would easily forgive her infidelity with that thing if it meant he could keep her with him for the rest of his days. If only she would forgive him, and all that he had done…
Turning his back on his wife, he pulled on a cloak haphazardly, shrugging his arms into the sleeves. With one brief glance back at the stairs, he swallowed his resolve and silently left the manor.
XxXxXxX
"Ah, Monsieur le Comte… to what do I owe this pleasure?"
Raoul fell silent as he approached Erik's cell, his eyes cold and wary. He knew this man was crafty, deceitful, opportunistic… in short he could not be trusted. He was not prepared for the sight that befell him. The view of Erik's bruised and deformed face made the young Comte retch, and he had to choke back the bile that rose violently within his throat as he looked upon his nemesis. He averted his gaze, the smallest flicker of guilt flitted through his heart. But it was gone as quickly as it came.
"Why do you turn away, Comte?" Erik hissed through bruised lips. "Do you not find my face interesting – to your liking?"
Raoul struggled internally to find the strength to lift his eyes to Erik's face, as his felt small threads of resolve slip from within his grasp. The memory of Christine cowering before him, the fear in her eyes, the things he had said… and worse, done to her… He choked back the bile that rose at the thought of his behaviour.
Somehow he knew that Erik would be able to read the guilt written across his features, and he would suspect… and then what would he do? He had not found the courage to face Christine. Would he ever? He wasn't sure why he had returned to the prison, to see the man who taunted and tainted everything pure in his life. Was it his anger and remorse that had driven him to confront his wife's lover… or was it guilt….? At length he managed to compose his features and look on the phantom's face in its entire monstrosity.
Erik flung his arms wide, ignoring the searing pain in his ribs, as he smirked through gritted teeth. "Yes… my accommodation is very comfortable, thank-you for enquiring. However," he cast a steely and sardonic look at the small guard, whose companion had not returned to the prison. "The hospitality could be better."
The Comte said nothing. Erik paused as he surveyed Raoul's oddly quiet countenance. "What? No hug?"
Raoul turned to the prison guard, "leave us," he commanded quietly.
Something in Raoul's air seemed troubled, and Erik surveyed the boy under his scrutinizing yellow gaze. Raoul felt the heat of his gaze burn his skin, refusing to meet his eye.
"Don't tell me…" Erik mocked softly, "that you feel… remorse?"
Raoul's eyes snapped to Erik's face. "Not for you," he said heatedly.
Erik stilled and narrowed his eyes, "No…?"
A deathly chill swept up Erik's spine as he saw the flickers of shame and guilt pass fleetingly through the young Comte's eyes. The guilt was not for him.
His voice grew grave and deep. "What have you done, de Chagny?"
"Nothing!"
Raoul cursed himself internally, instantly realizing his mistake in answering too hastily. Erik took a step towards him, the yellow orbs blazing in the darkness.
"Did you hurt her…?"
The wretchedness that entered the young man's eyes was enough of a confirmation for Erik. The boy lifted his gaze to his nemesis, guilt, fear, and remorse etched into every feature of his unshaven face. His eyes prickled with tears.
"What was it, Comte?" Erik spoke in a tone so soft and cold, like Death incarnate. "Did she refuse you?"
Raoul paled and averted his gaze. Erik slammed his hand against the bars.
"Answer me!"
Silence.
"Did it kill you, Comte, to know that she no longer wants you?" Erik seethed, his voice quivering with barely suppressed rage.
Raoul continued to stare at the floor, choking back the tears of guilt and remorse that threatened to betray him.
"Tell me…" Erik gripped the bars so tightly that his knuckles shone white, his entire being trembled and pulsated with murderous fury. The bloodlust stirred within him, making his heart beat loudly within his chest as he imagined his death hands wrapped around the boy's treacherous neck.
"Tell me… how did it feel to see the woman you claim to love, quiver before you in fear?"
A deranged gleam entered Erik's eyes as the boy refused to look at him, and he fought to keep his voice low and even, every syllable laced with hatred.
"Did you enjoy seeing the fear in her eyes, the tears streaking down her cheeks!?"
Raoul raised his furious eyes, "you should know! You haunted her dreams for years!" He spat the words vehemently.
Erik's unnerving yellow eyes did not relent staring into Raoul's as he took a step back from the bars, a smirk slowly creeping across his distorted features. The action only seemed to enhance his monstrosity as his eyes seemed to bore right through Raoul's, into his very soul.
"Then we are both monsters, monsieur."
Raoul suddenly flung himself against the bars, his grip upon the cool metal so fierce his knuckles shone white. "I am not like you! I am nothing like you!"
"No?" Erik whispered quietly.
"She…" desperation now emanated from Raoul's eyes and he clenched his fists around the bars, his gaze faltering. "She… she… she was mine!"
"Ah, there we have it…" Erik approached the bars slowly once more, bringing his distorted face mere centimeters from Raoul's. "The thing you lack the ability to comprehend; truth."
The Comte's head fell to his chest as waves of emotion crashed over him. A single tear leaked from the corner of his bright blue eye, and traced its way down his cheek.
"I… I didn't mean…" He choked on a sob. "Oh God… forgive me…"
Erik brought his hideous face within mere centimeters of the Comte's, this voice quivering with barely suppressed rage. "God does not repent
"No? Perhaps not now… but does it kill you to know that it was in the arms of her angel that she sought comfort when she left you…?"
" …stop…"
"Oh, I bet it does…" Erik continued to speak in a deathly quiet tone. "I bet it tears you up to know that she'd rather be with a "hideous beast", like me, than with a coward like you…"
"…stop!"
Erik's skeletal hand shot out as quick as a cobra through the metal bars, crushing Raoul's throat beneath his death-grip.
"You hurt what is MINE!" he roared.
Raoul struggled to breathe, his face turning an ugly shade of purple and his blue eyes bulged. A sadistic smirk twisted Erik's hideous visage as he leered down at the boy struggling in his grasp.
His white lips came within inches of the boy's ear, "and you will die for harming her!"
Raoul's eyes widened, petrified.
A whip suddenly came slashing down through the air, drawing a bright red line across Erik's already severely scarred skin. Crimson blossomed across his back, staining his filthy clothes a darker shade of red. He hissed, but was unrelenting in his grip. Raoul felt the room start to darken as his lungs screamed in fury.
"I said let 'im go!"
The sounds of heavy footsteps echoed off the stone walls as a second and third guard raced towards the commotion. Raoul was beginning to go limp in Erik's skeletal grip. A single thought burned bright and clear in his mind;
A soft hand cupped the marred flesh of his deformed face, softly stroking the ragged skin.
"When will you let go of your hate, Erik?"
Erik's golden eyes hardened, and his muscles tensed despite her gentle ministrations.
"When it has ceased feeding my desires. When it has ceased being the pillar of my survival…" Erik's molten eyes glowed with desperation, "when it has stopped nourishing me…"
Christine sighed sadly, her doe eyes disappearing behind her thick lashes.
"Love can do that too…"
Erik shot a look at the small guard who cocked a rifle aimed at his head. He felt Christine's sweet voice pull him back from the precipice that was his murderous insanity. The light was leaving the young Comte's eyes and the third guard brought his whip slicing through the air. Erik caught hold of it before it could remove any more of his flesh, and wrenched it free from the guard's grasp, throwing it aside.
"Oh no," he snarled, leaning menacingly towards the cage bars. "Christine was never yours!" He threw Raoul from his murderous vice, and he toppled back, slumping to the floor as ragged breaths tore at his chest. He clawed desperately at his throat, fighting for breath.
Erik stepped back slowly from the bars, his golden eyes blazing furiously. "My voice binds her to me, monsieur. Her soul belongs to me! You can kill me, but she will be bound to me forever!"
He felt some of his rage subside as he watched on in satisfaction, as the turmoil and torment of his words crept through Raoul's mind.
"Well then… Monsieur," he rasped between breaths, each word tearing at his throat. "If it is your voice… which binds you… to Christine… then perhaps I shall… take it… from… you…."
XxXxXxX
London.
"Mademoiselle Giry?"
A young woman with golden blonde hair peered curiously around the door frame; her bright blue eyes stared quizzically up into a pair of equally startling jade ones.
"Oui, do I know you Monsieur?" She paused as she studied the dark-skinned man before her. Something about him seemed strangely familiar. "Wait… you've been here before."
The Persian dipped his hat in acknowledgement, his cool jade eyes shining from beneath the dark brim
"Indeed. I have come with grave news. May I enter?"
XxXxXxX
"What? But how?" Meg's voice rose with shock as the Persian recounted all that transpired.
"In her attempt to help an old friend and mademoiselle Daae."
"Christine! Is she alright?" Patrick stepped behind Meg, placing his large hands anxiously atop her shoulders.
"I cannot be sure, monsieur. She was not apprehended with the others…" His eyes flicked to Meg's face, "she is with a certain Comte."
The image of several charred letters floated to the surface of Patrick's mind, and the memory of a young woman running terrified into his arms at a sea-side inn. He swallowed.
"Than her fate may be decidedly worse," he muttered darkly, his grip upon Meg's shoulders tightening painfully.
Meg turned to look at him, "Patrick?"
He averted his gaze guiltily from her face and stared at the Persian. "What can we do?"
"We must free them. The de Chagny boy has had them incarcerated in a Parisian prison. I do not yet know which one. But if we do not free them there is no doubt that Erik will be led to the gallows." He turned his grave eyes upon Meg's face, "and consequently as will your mother, along with him."
"No!"
"Erik?" Patrick narrowed his eyes, the name foreign to his ears.
"Yes Monsieur, a man as brilliant as he is dangerous." The Persian nodded gravely, "but a friend no less. He and Mademoiselle Daae are…"
A flicker of comprehension flitted across Patrick's face, as his eyes grew hard. "He's the Phantom, isn't he?"
"That is one among many names he has been known as, Monsieur. But contrary to that, he is a man. Nothing more, nothing less."
"He is the reason my mamman is in prison!"
"He has come to the aid of you and your mother many times before," the Persian interceded, "even if you have not known it. We must help them."
Patrick's eyes quickly darted quickly to Meg's panic-stricken face and back. "I have heard Christine speak of him… she loves his greatly."
The Persian nodded candidly. "They both do. Fiercely, like none I have ever seen before."
Patrick stared at him, weighing his options. Finally he answered gravely,"We'll do what we can."
XxXxXxX
Paris.
Christine heard the sound of footsteps approaching and assumed it to be Raoul. Remembering his frightening the night before, Christine felt her blood run cold as she pressed her back up against the bathroom wall opposite the door. The resonant click of a lock sounded, as Raoul entered the room. A pale line of light flooded beneath the bathroom door as he lit a candle, his footsteps coming to a halt where Christine imagined her bedside to be.
The silence of the room was broken only by her shuddering breaths, and then the sound of a glass, smashing against the polished floorboards. Thousands of razor sharp shards fell to the floor, scattering in all directions.
A horrible animalistic and primal yell thundered throughout the room, and Christine had to clench her eyes and mouth shut in an attempt to keep from crying out.
Christine heard him run from the room, doors crashing open and close as he thundered about the house like a wild animal in his desperate search for her. Several cries of alarm could be heard from the servants' quarters as Raoul paid no heed to the racket he was making, as he stormed down the corridors.
Suddenly his footsteps approached the bathroom door. Christine stared intensely at the door, her bottom lip quivering as it stood as the last barricade to shield her from Raoul's fury. There was no-one here to save her now.
Christine watched in horror as the doorknob began to turn. Not yielding, Raoul began to jerk it, side to side in his attempt to gain admittance. The door then began to bang forward, and backward, but still it did not yield.
"Christine!" he screamed hysterically, his fists banging hard upon the door. Christine froze in fear, afraid of his alcohol-induced temper. "Christine!"
Christine's eyes prickled with tears as fear clenched her heart in an icy grip, numbing her thoughts. Raoul continued to pummel the door with his fists, his shouts becoming more desperate and increasingly louder. Christine could hear the panicked shouts of the servants, as they wondered what could be making such a raucous.
As Christine sobbed, he continued to bang on the door, each thump progressively louder, screaming her name over and over. Cold fear spread to every inch of her body, making her shiver as she listened to the desperation and anger in his voice resonate around her.
"Christine!" Raoul bellowed. "No!"
She searched about frantically for anything to defend herself with, should Raoul succeed in breaking down the door. Nothing. There was nothing. Panicking, she glanced up at the small window through which ghostly streams of moonlight filtered, sizing up whether she could fit her small frame through it. She concluded she could. Stepping carefully up onto the rim of the ornate bathtub, she searched for a means of opening the window. There were no latches, nor hinges. She would have to break through.
Just as she stepped down and seized the candelabra from the vanity the sound of fists banging on the door halted. Christine hefted the candelabra in a defence position, ready to strike at whoever came through the door. However, the sound only ceased momentarily before a larger sound blared through. He was throwing his body onto the door. He was going to break it down!
Oh, God! Christine thought frantically as she climbed atop the bathtub and began breaking out the panes of glass in the window. She timed each strike of the candelabra with each thud from the door, so that Raoul would not suspect her escape. Finally she smashed the remaining glass, and using all her strength, hoisted herself up through the hole. She cried out as a stray shard of glass snagged the skin of her arm, drawing a deep red gash across her pale skin.
Groaning from her efforts, she hung by her fingertips from the window sill on the opposite side of the wall, her feet scrabbling for any form of edging. There was none. An overwhelming sense of panic gripped her as the blood trickled down her arm, falling in droplets to the ground two storeys below.
Glancing frantically around, she noted the balconies on either side of her, wondering whether she could swing herself onto the balcony of the adjoining bedroom. Her grip on the window sill was lessening as her weight bore down hard on her limbs. She tried desperate to swing her body to the side, hoping desperately to latch a foot around the balcony railings.
One… two… three…! She managed to hook her foot on the railings and steadily pulled her other foot across, so that her body bridged the gap. Carefully she stretched her hand to grab the pipe running down the length of the balcony, and pulled herself to safety. Breathing heavily, she pushed the sweaty hair from her eyes, fear still pulsing quickly through her veins.
On this part of the house, a large ivy-like tree grew closely up and around the building. And it was close enough to reach.
Christine pulled herself over the balcony railings, her skirt snagging on the metal and proving cumbersome. She wrenched the material free, tearing a jagged rip across the hem. That was the least of her worries. The sounds of Raoul's efforts to gain access to her still pilfered the air, as several lights burned brightly from the servants quarters. She silently prayed that no-one had seen her escape.
As she struggled to find a path down the tree she heard the lock burst out, and the door swing open violently. Deciding she would risk the fall, she jumped from her position in the tree nearly a storey above ground level, and fell with a thud. Pain shot up through her legs at the moment of contact and she staggered forward, willing her screaming muscles into action. Her body shivered in fear as she ran through the grounds, listening as the sound of Raoul screaming her name carried across the night air.
Only one thought kept her going as her tired and aching muscles screamed in exhaustion; Erik.
A/N: Phew. Please drop me a line to let me know what you think; this was a hard chapter to get out… lots of Erik next chapter!