Hello everyone, the new chapter is finally here! I'm so sorry for the delay. I hope that you will enjoy this new chapter.
Now when I write the first time (love scene) between Erik and Christine, would you like me to write it in a PG-13 rating, or M rating? I would love to have your thoughts on this. Also how far would you like me to go with the Ned/Meg relationship?
And finally, I want to thank you guys for your patience, and for not giving up on this story.
Long Live Phantom!
Chapter 21: (The Cottage) Part Two
Dear Angel of Music,
Last night was one of the longest nights of my life. Sister Luisa hasn't been feeling well for a while, and yesterday the doctor stated that she will not live much longer. He said that she has consumption. But I can't accept that. Sister Luisa was the one who held me in the days after I learned of Papa's death. She was the one who pushed me to go on. She is like a second mother to me.
Why, Angel? Why does everyone I love, leave me? Is it me? Am I somehow cursed? Everyone I care for ends up getting hurt one way or the other, and yet I am always spared. Why? I don't want to be spared! I am so tired, so very tired.
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Phillipe managed to slowly open his eyes. Everything was bleary and he felt exhausted. What a grand view he saw - a tapestry of stars shone silently, like diamond tears, watching over him in the arms of the never-ending universe, there just out of reach. Phillipe's dazed mind began to focus… Where was he? There were sounds of men chatting, and he could smell smoke, a fire? Without thinking he turned his head to the side, to inspect his surroundings. Big mistake as a sharp pain pierced his skull and the world spun out of focus before his tired eyes. He groaned in pain and his eyes drifted closed as he tried to contain the agony. He didn't know how much time had passed, but when the pain had subsided to bearable, Phillipe realized with a start that the voices had died down. Had he just imagined the sounds of men talking? Was he really outside in the open? Or had he just imagined that tapestry of stars? He could still smell the pungent smoke. Then he heard a few whispers, this time very close, as if coming from above him… no, he hadn't imagined it.
"Is he waking up?" "Shut up." "Maybe we should kick him awake."
Phillipe heard snippets of whispered phrases…Who were these men? Gathering all his strength, he opened his eyes to see a group of men looking down at him. He didn't recognize the faces but there was something familiar about them. The last he remembered he had been at the door of an abandoned church.
"Who the hell are you?" he rasped. In that moment his sight fell on Joseph Bouquet and there was no need for an answer now, he knew…
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"Where is Christine?" Raoul shouted at his staff, who stood in front of him, heads bowed. "You good-for-nothing idiots!" Raoul spat, his frustration mounting with everything that had happened. First this man who had appeared from nowhere claiming to know where Phillipe was, now this… apparently, it had all been just a distraction so that someone would get Christine. She had been kidnapped from right under his nose. He felt angry with himself - and his naivety - when it came to these matters. God only knew where Phillipe was at this moment, and Christine was now in danger as well. The staff started talking all at once, saying that they knew nothing.
"Enough!" Raoul shouted, ordering them to silence. "One at a time" His gaze roamed the staff, assessing them one by one. The Cook, a rather staunch motherly older woman, said, "That's all we know, Monsieur. The last I saw her, she said she was going out for a walk."
That just didn't make any sense to Raoul. He had left her in the middle of a conversation, and he had told her to wait for him, or had he? In all the chaos he couldn't remember what he had told her. In both cases, it still didn't make any sense. With a wave of his hand, Raoul dismissed the staff, disheartened. This was all his fault; he should have been more careful…The gathering of workers began to disperse. As Raoul turned to go to the study to think and await the arrival of the chief of police, his sight fell on the Gardener, a lanky old man, who was still standing there, his hat in his hands. He looked very nervous. Raoul turned his full attention to the man, his gaze sharp. "What is it?"
The Gardener's startled eyes met Raoul's. "Well, it's just that I… I saw her by the fountain, and - " he hesitated for a moment.
"Go on," Raoul urged him impatiently.
"Well," the man swallowed. "She wasn't alone. I saw her with a man - I don't know who he is. I've never seen him before."
Raoul paled and worry etched his features. "Did he hurt her? Was he dragging her?"
"No, Sir," the old man replied. "He was talking to her as if they knew each other. So I didn't pay a lot of attention to it."
"Damn it!" Raoul took an angry step toward the man, ready to shake him. "And why didn't you tell me this before?"
The old man replied with a hint of guilt in his voice. "I thought" - and to Raoul's surprise the old man was blushing - "I thought she was on some secret rendezvous, my Lord. I like Mademoiselle Daee. I didn't want to feed any gossip about her, especially something like this that could affect her reputation. I didn't want to say anything in front of the maids."
Raoul took a deep breath and then said in a calm voice, "You did the right thing. This stays between you and me. Now, tell me any details you might remember about this man. We will need all the information we can get to give the chief of police. Anything might help."
And with that, Raoul turned toward his study, gesturing for the old man to follow.
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Christine dipped the cloth in the cold clean water and gently placed it on Erik's forehead. She had washed his wound as best she could and was still waiting for Armand to return…What was taking him so long? Erik had stirred a little but other than that, he had remained asleep. After inspecting his wound a second time, Christine realized that it was not a flesh wound after all, but something much more serious. The last thing she needed was this added worry. It seemed as if what had started as a flesh wound had been torn deeper. Christine could only deduce that he had done more damage to his wound during some sort of a fight - a physical exertion that was the most plausible explanation and the most probable one, too. And it was something that she had opted not to think of in the meantime.
Christine blinked hard to keep her eyes open; she was tired and she was afraid. She just wanted to be in Erik's arms again. The floor creaked beneath her feet every time she rose to refill the water basin, or just walk a little to revive the circulation in her legs, shoulders and back. Now, as she sat uncomfortably in the chair by his bed, Christine prayed for Armand to come back quickly. She caressed Erik's forehead, running her fingers through his black hair. He was hot to the touch, which she knew wasn't a good sign; it meant that fever was ravaging him.
"Oh, Erik," Christine whispered. "You've turned me into a watering pot!" Her voice broke on a startled mixture of a laugh and a sob, before getting her voice under control and wiping the tear that had rolled down her cheek. She softly continued on a lighter note. "Not that I'm blaming you, but I have cried these past few weeks more than I have cried in my entire life. So…" Christine leaned forward and brought her face closer to his, whispering in his ear, "you're going to have to make it up to me once you're better. I expect to laugh a lot." She smiled weakly, pressing her soft cheek against his ravaged one.
The door slammed open, causing Christine to jump back from where she was leaning intimately over Erik. She stood up and whirled around, only to be met with Armand, who quickly walked in.
"Please forgive me," he said in a hurry as he laid the bags he held in his hands on the table. "I had to be very careful."
Christine rushed to the bags, opening them to look inside at the contents. A sigh of relief escaped her. She turned to look at him, holding up two vials in her hand. "Well, don't just stand there, come and help me," she said.
Armand moved to her side. "What must I do?"
Christine pointed to the herbs in the bag. "Mix these together and boil them into a tea." She was walking toward Erik as she finished her sentence. "Oh! But I don't even know if there is a stove in the kitchen!" she said with dawning terror, almost dropping the vials from her shaking hands.
"There is a stove in the kitchen. Nothing to worry about," Armand hurried to reassure her from where he was standing mixing the herbal contents of the vials into a glass. Christine laughed, trying to ease the tension and worry that was eating at her but her laugh came out shaky and brittle. She blinked back tears as she sat down on the wooden chair by Erik's bedside and placed the vials on the small table by the bed, so as to open them one by one. As she worked, she spoke to get her mind a bit off her worry. "I suppose you think I'm half out of my wits now. I've been here for the past - I don't know how long - and I don't even know if there's a stove in the kitchen or not," she said, her fingers working to open the vial in her hand.
"No, I thought nothing of the sort," Armand replied as he stopped at her side and gently took the vial out of her hand and opened it for her, returning it to her before going back to pick up the glass which held the contents of the herbal mixture he was to place in a pot and boil. Walking past her to the kitchen he continued, "Your mind is just busy with other things right now. You need to relax." Then he disappeared into the kitchen. Christine took a deep breath and opened the next vial that contained a cream-like healing salve. It would help heal his wound from the inflammation.
Please be well…
Gently, ever so gently, Christine began applying the herbal salves to the wound. Erik moaned in pain, and to her utter and complete shock, begged in an exhausted voice: "No!" He sounded like a frightened boy and there was fear in his voice, Christine had never for a moment thought that Erik would be capable of the feeling. Her jaw dropped before she regained her wits and with a sinking heart realized that Erik had started to hallucinate. That meant that his fever was going dangerously high. She knew that many hallucinations that came with these types of severe fevers were like nightmares. At the thought, a revelation knocked the wind right out of her, paralyzing her heart for a moment. Was Erik reliving some part of his past? He must be.
"Oh, Erik," she whispered tremulously. "What happened to you?" With trembling hands she continued to apply the salve. He moaned again.
"I've put the herbal mixture on the stove. It's boiling." Armand announced from the kitchen doorway, jerking Christine's gaze away from Erik to his. "Anything else I can do while the tea is being made?"
Christine sighed, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead where beads of sweat had gathered.
"Yes, actually there is," she said as calmly as she could muster. "We need to remove Erik's shirt. It keeps getting in my way."
"All right."
Armand positioned himself behind Erik's head and slipped both hands beneath Erik's arm pits, huffing as he lifted him up to a sitting position while Christine worked to remove Erik's shirt. Erik felt the pain in his wound increase as he was being jostled. Feeling himself surging forward and out of the abyss of unconsciousness, Erik fought inwardly to come awake. Armand laid Erik back down on the bed. Christine handed him the dirty bloody shirt.
"Burn it," she whispered as she turned her full attention back to Erik. She didn't want anything from this awful day to remain, most of all, not the shirt that was stained with Erik's blood. At that moment the teapot whistled on the stove, startling her for a moment before she rushed to the kitchen. Armand stood there impressed by her courage and the bravery she was displaying. Seeing her entering the kitchen he turned to go outside, to burn the shirt in a small pit fire.
"Ludaux," Erik called out in a strained voice, having been able to finally open his eyes and come awake if only partially, after all the jostling he had endured when they had removed his shirt. Ludauxwas Armand's last name and the name Erik usually used when speaking to him and giving him orders.
Armand's eyes widened; he hadn't expected to see Erik awake and cognizant in his current condition. He walked closer and stood by the bed. Erik took a deep breath and said: "Watch out…for…Christine." Armand nodded at the order. Erik continued in a strained voice, fighting to stay cognizant. "The fever…I could…hurt her…" He wanted to say more, butthe last part of the sentence died on his lips. His eyes closed as he once again succumbed to the beckoning darkness.
Erik knew that he was in the grip of fever and that the worst had not even begun yet. He had lethal skills and once in the grip of feverish nightmares of the past, he would be out of control. He couldn't risk the possibility of Christine getting hurt. She would be safe…a part of his subconscious knew that and the thought gave him peace.
Christine came out of the kitchen, holding a hot mug of the concoction in her hand, to find Armand still standing by Erik's bedside looking pale. Her heart lurched as she rushed toward him.
"What is it? Has he taken a turn for the worse?" she cried.
His attention jolted to Christine's worried outburst as she sat down in the chair by Erik's side and placed her hand on his forehead, frantically trying to discern if his fever had increased.
"My lady, he is fine," Armand said reassuringly, turning and walking toward the door.
Left alone, Christine finished checking on Erik, reassured that his fever at least for now was not increasing. Placing her hand beneath his head, she held the mug in her other hand and gently lifted Erik's head. Bringing the mug to his lips, she said softly, "Here, drink this. It will help you feel better."
Erik groaned but swallowed the nasty stuff anyway. After he had drunk the entire mixture, Christine placed the mug on the small table beside her and then gently laid Erik's head back on the pillow. Watching him for a moment, her heart constricting in her chest, she brought her hand up to the side of his face and softly brushed away a lock of black hair that had come to rest across his forehead.
"I love you," she said and kissed his ravaged cheek.
She then stood and walked toward the open bags on the table. She picked through them until she found a needle and a thread. A shudder ran through her; she had never stitched anyone in her life. She had watched sometimes when the sisters had done it, trying to help out, but she had never done it herself. That was in addition to the fact that she usually felt woozy at the sight of blood. But she had come this far, she thought to herself, taking a deep breath and straightening her shoulders. Erik had consistently been there for her and she was going to be there for him.
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Madame Giry sat in her rocking chair knitting a scarf, as was her habit these days. Ever since her daughter had disappeared, Madame Giry had sunk into a depression. Usually a strong and vibrant woman, she now just went through the motions of life, drowning herself in work. When she wasn't fixing healing herbal concoctions and receiving calls from sick people who needed her help, she busied herself with knitting. She had knitted at least ten scarves in the past week. Her tears had run dry. The first two weeks after Meg's disappearance, Madame Giry had wept throughout the long nights until no tears were left. Now, she felt only a numb sense of reality.
The house that Madame Giry lived in was not fancy but a simple, good sized, warm and cozy residence, elegant but sharp in its design just like the woman herself.
How many nights had she sat like this, Madame wondered, looking out the window into the darkened world, imagining her daughter coming through the front door, as she always did, vibrant and lively after her ballet practice. Madame sighed and wiped away a tear that had trickled down her cheek. She had thought that she had run out of tears but apparently that wasn't true. So distraught in her thoughts as her fingers moved of their own accord in never-ending patterns of knitting, Madame failed to hear the first knock at her door. It was the second knock, which was stronger and resounded throughout the sitting room, which jolted Madame out of her sad reverie.
Glancing at the clock on the mantle, she saw that it was 6:30 in the evening. She sighed.Somebody must be sick in the village. She rose wearily, placing the scarf she was knitting on the now empty chair. Another knock resounded at the door, irritating her.
"Coming," she called out.
Just as she was unlocking the door, another knock resounded, almost making her jump in surprise. Now really irritated, Madame wrenched the door open and almost fainted on the spot at the sight that greeted her. There stood her daughter, Marguerite - beautiful, well - and alive!
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"So let me understand this one more time," the police chief said, while standing face to face with the lanky Gardener, as his assistant continued to scribble on the pad he held in his hand, taking notes of what was being said. "You last saw Mademoiselle Daae talking with an unknown man, who had brown hair? But you don't remember any of his other features?"
Raoul sat behind his desk drumming his fingers on its polished wooden surface, trying hard to tamp down his worry and annoyance that Bernard had not gotten a better look at the mysterious man that Christine was supposedly in the company of. Bernard swallowed, twisting his old hat in his hands, feeling nervous as he endured the relentless interrogation by the fierce chief of police.
"Well, I was too far away to tell his precise features, Monsieur," he replied.
"And you didn't see fit to approach when you saw a house guest talking to a stranger?" Raoul interrupted, barely able to hold his temper in check
The poor Gardener looked about ready to weep. "I - I'm sorry, my lord. I - I thought you knew and she seemed friendly and relaxed so I didn't think that anything dangerous was going on."
The chief of police continued to interrogate the Gardener for a while longer, before finally – and mercifully - dismissing him. Taking the note pad from his assistant and dismissing him as well, Edward sat down in a chair and flipped through the notes, frowning every now and then. Raoul rubbed his forehead tiredly as he looked at the chief and asked, "So did you find anything helpful?"
Edward placed the notepad on the desk and met Raoul's tired gaze from across the desk. The chief's gaze sent a chill down Raoul's spine, for Edward looked ready to impart some very bad news. "I'm afraid, Monsieur Le Vicomte, that solving this case will be very hard. I only hope that your brother isn't involved too deeply."
Raoul looked expectantly at the chief waiting for him to clarify his cryptic sentence, but when the chief appeared to be satisfied with saying that much, Raoul asked worriedly, "Involved in what?"
Edward paused for a moment, thinking where to start.
"First, you must know that I will do all in my power to capture the people who took your Christine and your brother. You see, Christine's father was helping my uncle break a very big case concerning the Marquess, eleven years ago. Only the poor girl's parents died in the process, and my uncle was killed as well. So you see, Monsieur De Chagny, you're not the only one dealing with a loved one's loss, or the repercussions."
"Oh, Dear Lord," Raoul breathed. "Do you mean to tell me that Lucienne was responsible for the death of Christine's parents? And that he is responsible for my brother's disappearance?"
Edward chuckled mirthlessly as he replied. "Yes. Lucienne. But we're not looking for him alone." Raoul waited for him to continue his sentence. When Edward didn't seem inclined to clarify, Raoul had to ask. "Who else?"
The reply sent shudders up and down Raoul's spine.
"The Living Corpse."
Raoul looked shocked for a moment, causing Edward to frown in curiosity at the man's reaction. Tamping his shock down, Raoul cleared his throat and stated confusedly, "But I don't understand. Lucienne hates that monster thing. He told me so himself when I thought him a friend." With dawning horror, Raoul continued. "Was he just playing me for a fool and working with that 'Living Corpse' to get my brother and Christine?"
Edward remained silent, digesting what Raoul had revealed to him before leaning forward, his eyes narrowing as he realized exactly what was going on.
"Monsieur Le Vicomte, you need to listen to me very carefully," the chief said severely. "The Living Corpse, as is the nickname of that man, is not Lucienne's friend or ally." Running a hand through his hair, Edward continued gravely. "That man worked for the Marquess once upon a time. There was also something… nobody knows what… but it was something that Lucienne wanted desperately of 'the Living Corpse'. The Marquess thought that he could threaten Erik." Looking at Raoul's stunned expression, Edward clarified before continuing, "That is his real name by the way. But Lucienne was wrong. And he paid dearly for thinking that he could threaten that man." On the heels of that statement, Edward added, "Lucienne is one of the vilest men alive, Monsieur De Chagny, make no mistake about that. But 'the Living Corpse' is the deadliest."
And Christine and his brother might be in that man's company, Raoul thought in a rising panic.
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It was one of the longest nights of Christine's life. She could barely keep her eyes open; she was beyond exhausted. She had stitched Erik's wound and dressed it. Taking turns with Armand, they had poured more healing herbal concoctions down Erik's throat, every hour. She was too tired to argue with Armand who insisted he do most of that task. She wanted to stay as close to Erik as possible and yet Armand seemed to be hovering over them, like a vulture. Every time Erik began to hallucinate, Armand would pull Christine off the chair by Erik's bed and hold her back, not allowing her to rush to him and calm him as she wanted to do. At first she had fought Armand, trying to break away from his grip or to get an explanation from him. But he refused to let her go when Erik was in a nightmarish bout or to explain his reasons. As the night wore on and she became more and more weak and tired, Christine didn't fight Armand anymore; she didn't have the strength and she wanted to reserve whatever strength she had left for helping Erik. She just went with the flow, walking and talking through a fog of numbness. Her muscles ached, her back hurt, her eyes burned from lack of sleep. But she had sworn she wouldn't give up, or leave Erik for an instant until his fever broke.
Finally, exhaustion won out and she fell asleep leaning down from her chair onto the side of the bed, where she lay her cheek against Erik's hand, which she held in one of hers. Armand slept on an empty chair across the room. He had wanted to keep an eye on Christine, but having not slept several nights in a row, sleep won out.
Soft morning light greeted Erik's eyelids. After having endured a hellish night, Erik felt himself considerably lighter. There was no weight on his consciousness or eyes. He felt very tired, but not out of sorts. Something silky soft tickled his lips. With some effort, Erik opened his eyes, and then closed them again for a moment, before opening them again to see the soft morning light. Trying to move, he realized something else; his hand was pressed against something soft and warm. Using his free hand, Erik brought it up to his lips and lifted a long stand of golden hair. He frowned for a moment, before realizing that he was holding a strand of Christine's beautiful hair between his fingers. He looked down and saw Christine sleeping by his side, her cheek pressed against his hand, which she held like a lifeline.
Lifting his head a little off the pillow, Erik groaned as the room spun around him before coming back into focus. He looked down at her face, to see her more clearly, to make sure that he wasn't dreaming. There she was, dark shadows beneath her beautiful eyes, a testament to the fact that she must have stayed up all night watching over him as the fever had run its course. With that thought, Erik leaned back against the pillow contentedly realizing that his fever had truly broken. He then lifted himself up on one arm, so that he was in a semi-sitting position, and buried his free hand in Christine's silky hair, gently stroking it, before cupping her cheek and running his thumb slowly across her slightly parted lips.
Christine frowned and mumbled something in her sleep. As he gently touched her lips again with his thumb, Christine stirred and opened her tired eyes. When her gaze cleared, she found herself looking into a pair of golden eyes. Startled from her sleepy haze, she straightened away from the bed, her eyes widening in surprise. Erik's fever had finally broken!
"Good morning," Erik stated casually, only he wasn't prepared for Christine's reaction. She cried out and flew out of her chair, launching herself into his arms, sobbing almost hysterically. Erik winced, his wound still very tender. A moment later, Christine realized that she must be hurting Erik and tried to move away from him, sitting up on the bed, just as he had started to bring his arms around her.
"Oh, I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you?" she cried. Erik grabbed her by the arm, not allowing her to move further away from him and although he wasn't one to smile, he found himself smiling slightly for her benefit.
"Come here, Angel," he said soothingly to calm her down, as he patted his good shoulder with his free hand. She shook her head; she was trembling - he could feel her shaking. "No," she stated as firmly as she could muster. "I could hurt you!" He pulled her down to his chest and she didn't fight. Truth be told, Christine was too dazed and tired and happy and in shock as all her remaining strength seeped out of her. All the emotions which she had been keeping inside all through that hellish night came back with a vengeance. Erik gently placed her head on his good shoulder as she sobbed the words she had been thinking and feeling and dying in. "I could have lost you forever!"
"No, that would never have happened," Erik replied soothingly, his hands moving softly over her back, arms, shoulders, and the nape of her neck as he gently rubbed and massaged all the tension out of her muscles. He buried one hand in her hair as she continued to sob in his arms.
Erik's eyes met Armand's, who had awakened due to all the ruckus Christine was causing, which she was completely unaware of at the moment. Erik gave him a look that dismissed him without needing to say a word. Armand got the silent message, nodded and turned toward the door.
Alone with Christine, Erik bit back a smile when she said through her tears, her voice slightly muffled, "Don't you ever scare me like that again!" Her voice came out shaky, although she tried to make it sound firm. She was bossy after all, Erik thought lightly. Then he felt a bit guilty because she clearly was very distressed.
And it was then that it struck Erik. He had never, ever, in his entire life had anyone love him, not even a little. He had always known that when he died nobody would mourn him or weep over his remains. He would die forgotten and alone. But now, here she was, someone as beautiful inside and out as Christine Daae, an angel sent to him, who was weeping in his arms, for him! Out of fear that she would lose him! Tears burned in his eyes and a lump formed in his throat. He had never even dared to dream that something like this could happen to him.
"Christine," Erik said tenderly. She raised her head from his shoulder to look him in the eyes. There were still some remaining tears on her cheeks. Erik wiped them with the palm of his hand. "Could you get me my saddle bag? It's over there," he said pointing toward an old dresser with rows of drawers. "The upper drawer."
She nodded, rising from his arms. She quickly walked toward the dresser and pulled the drawer open revealing the saddle bag. She brought it to Erik. Sitting by his bed side, she sniffed, wiping away the last remains of her tears with her free hand.
"Open it," Erik said. She obeyed. "The small crimson pouch," Erik instructed. "Find it." Christine looked inside, searching. A few minutes later she had the small pouched in her hand. She looked curiously at Erik; he nodded to her affirmatively to open it. When she hesitated, he prompted, "Go ahead."
She turned her attention back to the pouch and loosened the string which kept it closed. Turning it upside down over her open palm, her crucifix fell out of it. She looked back at Erik, ever so lovingly. Erik placed his open palm over hers, so that the crucifix was held between their intertwined hands. Erik wasn't one for nice talk or confessions of love. He had always found romantic notions to be silly. But ever since Christine had entered his life, he had known that his life would never be the same again…that he would never be the same again. And he knew, in that moment, looking at her beautiful, stormy azure eyes, that he had to express his feelings to her, even if it were with a few simple words.
"I love you, Christine," he said reverently, wholeheartedly, "I always will, till forever and a day. No matter what happens."
It took a moment for Christine to regain her wits, before she repeated tremulously, from deep within her heart, "And I love you Erik, I always will, till forever and a day. No matter what happens."
Once those simple words were spoken, Erik wrapped his free arm around her waist and drew her down to him, pressing his lips against hers, sealing their vows with a kiss.
Always…No matter what happens…Forever and a day…