Act Three: Faust
Christine burst into hysterics the moment I began to pull her away from her young lover, beating her small fists against my chest. Despite her protests, I managed to move us through the panicked crowd towards the nearest entrance of my domain. When she saw that her efforts were not slowing us in the slightest, Christine allowed herself to become dead weight, forcing me to shift my grip on her arms to half carry, half drag her into the passages between the walls. In the darkness the patrons' screaming died to a murmur and Christine's sobs grew painfully loud in comparison. But, oh, how she cried.
I had cried like that, only moments ago. When I saw her beneath the shadow of Apollo, as she freely gave herself to Raoul de Changy's embrace and kiss. But my sorrow only lasted long enough to fuel my rage at her betrayal.
Christine was mine. She would always return to me.
Tired of Christine's efforts to slow us, I halted just inside the wall and spun her around to face me. Her tearstained face pained me but did little to assuage my anger.
"I will drag you the entire way to my home if that is your wish!" I snapped. Christine seemed torn between further hindering our journey and the indignity of being dragged through the opera house. Perhaps sensing my willingness to follow through with my threat, Christine allowed me to take her arm and remained silent for the remainder of our journey.
When we reached the boat by the lakeside, I lifted her into the seat before moving to quickly untether the craft. Not quickly enough as Christine began to rock from side to side, trying to capsize the small boat. I halted her efforts before getting in myself, steering the vessel away from its mooring into the black expanse of the lake. Once we were a good distance from the shore, Christine shot me a fierce look of determination before abruptly standing. I knew what she was playing at and quickly caught her wrist and forced her back down before she could jump overboard. She shouted wordlessly in indignation. I silenced her by placing my left foot over the folded hem of her dress that was tangled about her legs, pinning her to the spot.
She glared at me, her striking sapphire eyes shining brightly even in the shadowy darkness of my domain. I was forced to turn away.
I knew that she was angry at me, but she should have expected that from me. She knew me as I truly was and what I was capable of. All I had done was full fill my vow to protect her and to advance her singing career at any cost, without even a single drop of blood on my hands…this time. She should be grateful for my restraint.
When we reached to the other shore, I secured the boat and turned to offer Christine assistance from the craft . She refused my offer. My fury at Christine's ungrateful behavior had dimmed by the time we reached the opposite shore, only to flare again at her refusal. She stood up rapidly, almost losing her balance. She didn't have a chance to protest as my arm was quickly around her waist to steady her. She pushed me away and stomped off toward the door to my home. She waited impatiently at the concealed entrance, while I undid the mechanism to open the door.
I once again attempted to take her hand to guide her inside and she flung herself backward at my approach. "Don't touch me!" she shouted, shying away like a wounded animal, Keeping her sights on me, Christine stumbled into the room, cursing me all the way. After a second stumble, Christine finally gave in to the need to watch her step, spinning angrily on one heel. The train of her gown swirled around her, ensnaring her legs, and her first step caught on one of the many floor rugs. Christine pitched forward and I winced at the harsh slap of her hands breaking her fall against the stone floor beyond the edge of the rug.
Kneeling beside her, I grabbed one arm, lifting her into a seated position. Once up, she overcame her momentary shock and pushed me away again.
"Get your hands off me. Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" she snarled, curling her hands into claws and lunging towards my masked face.
I didn't give her that chance. Ignoring her cries, I pulled her up and deposited her none too gently on a nearby arm chair. She crumpled backward to escape my grasp and then rocked forward once I had stepped away. Her hands came up to cover the fresh tears rolling down her already tear stained face. I watched her for a moment, speechless, for even while she sobbed she was breathtakingly beautiful to me. When Christine shook more violently than her tears warranted, I noticed the chill in the air. Cursing myself for forgetting others' need for warmth, I quickly stepped into the kitchen to toss a few small logs onto the dying hearth.
Returning to Christine, I slipped behind her chair, removed my cloak with one graceful move and placed it over her shaking shoulders. I dared to let a finger trace against the outline of her chin as I brought my hands up and away. Sensing my movements, though I had not actually touched her, Christine's sobs quieted and she turned slightly to face me.
"Why did you do it, Erik?" she cried. "Why did you kill her?"
"I didn't, Christine," I gently reminded her.
Christine's gaze hardened at my words. "I don't believe you."
I rounded the chair to stand in front of her, my hands pressed together to keep myself from reaching for her. Christine's eyes followed my movements, narrowing in suspicion.
"I don't believe you. I can't believe anything you say," she continued, accusatorily.
"What other choice do you have?" I stated. "You saw what happened with your own eyes."
She shook her head in a silent denial. "No! Genny wouldn't have done that. I know what I saw, but I don't care. I don't care what I saw and I don't care what you say. Genny wouldn't kill anyone. She couldn't!"
Christine's stubborn clinging to the false image of her friend's purity was nothing if not childish. Perhaps I should treat her as a child when explaining the realities of this world. Murder was a common occurrence, especially in fits of passion. My own actions were evidence of this fact. My love and devotion for this beautiful girl before me had driven me to enact justice for the wrongs committed against her, through lethal force where necessary. But how to explain the difference between my own actions and those of the de Changy girl's in a way Christine would understand?
"Passion and devotion can drive certain people to madness." I pointed out.
Again she fixed me with her hate filled gaze. "Like you," she hissed.
I did not agree. I rationally thought through the end result of any action I chose to take, unlike the de Changy girl. She had only maintained a confidant air until the actual deed was done. With La Carlotta stilled, her spilled life's blood no longer able to hold her in this world, Genevieve de Changy's calm demeanor had fled. Perhaps I should have left her to the police, as I'd originally intended, with the evidence in place to clear all of Christine's competition from the stage permanently. I had not intended to involve Christine in my plans, but the unexpected surprise of her rooftop rendezvous and the means with which she had arranged it upset my equilibrium. I had only thought to upset hers in return. Now she was convinced that I was responsible for La Carlotta's demise.
"Think of me what you will, Christine, but I know the truth. Carlotta met her end by the hand of Genevieve de Changy. Ask her yourself, when you get the chance."
"She would confess?" Christine asked to herself in a bewildered voice.
"I suspect so." I answered for her. "Thankfully there is an insanity defense."
Christine jerked forward. I saw a familiar look of horror in her eyes. Her hands pressed tightly against her mouth and for a moment I feared she would start to hyperventilate.
"You're evil," she gasped after several strained breaths. "What you did to me," she hesitated, "What you did to my friend." She came to her feet abruptly. "I can't … I can't ..." Christine's coherency faded away due to her uncontrollably rising anger. The only warning I had was a flash from the depths of her vividly blue eyes before I felt a harsh blow against my cheek.
I turned my head in the direction of the strike to minimize its effects. While Christine was far too weak to inflict any serious harm to my person, her slap had been enough to knock the mask from my face. I looked at its empty eyes staring back at me from the floor before snapping around to glare at her; to give her something to truly be afraid of.
Her face didn't change as she viewed my ugly visage for the second time. Her lips were curled in a sneer and the small flash in her eyes had expanded into a terrible blue flame. Even my face could not frighten her now, not when she found something else in me that she considered even more repulsive. Consumed with a passionate fury, she did not turn away or give any indication that my face held any terror for her.
"You deceived her! You lied to her! You pretended to be her Angel of Music!" Christine's hands were curling and uncurling at her sides, as if itching to reach out and do me further injury. And when you were done with your sick game, you abandoned her." She took a step forward, jabbing a single accusing finger in my direction. "You drove her mad!" she screeched, the cavernous walls ringing with the echoes of her denunciation. For the space of a moment there was no sound save for Christine's heavy and labored breaths as she struggled to regain her composure. Seeming to notice our sudden proximity, Christine withdrew her arm and retraced her step. She took a deep breath, trying to remain calm enough to finish her rant.
"When you first called to me on the stage I didn't believe you. I didn't believe that you were simply a kind man who wanted to give me lessons. I thought that was a sick joke too!" She pressed her hands into fists and raised them above her head. "How right I was!" she howled, obviously losing the struggle against her rage. She didn't turn away. She gave no indication that she felt any terror looking at my face. She was consumed with a passionate fury. "What you did to my friend, I can never forgive you!"
She went to strike me again but this time I was alert. I stopped the assault before it could connect, using her captured wrists to pull Christine in close. Now she finally gave a cry of fear as I bent, bringing my head down her pretty face.
"Forgiveness?" I snorted incredulously, "Why should I expect forgiveness from a foolish girl like you? I have given you everything and yet you choose to be with that simple minded boy. You would destroy everything I have created, everything I have worked for to run off with your lover. You who have confessed your love to me on more than occasion."
I relaxed my grip for a moment and that was all Christine needed to make her move. Her right hand shot out, attempting once more to reach its target, but I caught it in my own and pressed both against the side of her head. I wanted to feel her skin against mine and let the soft tresses of her hair caress my fingertips. My lovely Christine. My angel. How she wounded me.
"Shall we compare grievances, Christine? Who should be begging for forgiveness? Whose lies are more painful, yours or mine?" I released her now limp arm to bring my other hand up to trace the left side of her face. "You pretended to love me distantly, hesitantly, when you so happily gave yourself over to that boy in a moment." When my hand reached her chin I clasped it gently, drawing my thumb across her lips. I leaned in close, feeling our breaths mingle in the insufficient space between our mouths, and whispered, "Whose deception is the cruelest?"
In a moment of madness, I considered pressing my mouth against hers; kissing her while unmasked. In that kiss I would show Christine all the love I felt for her, my willingness to do anything for her, as well as my abject misery at seeing the Vicomte de Changy kiss her. I knew my attraction to Christine to be the natural desire of a man for a woman, one that, unfortunately, was shared by others. Other men who could dare to touch her, to kiss her—to violate her—because they were normal men born with normal faces. I, with my misshapen features, had never before even contemplated doing such with any woman, much less the angel that stood before me. Could I now take that step into forbidden territory? Could I mark Christine as mine in the most primitive way of the human race?
Christine sensed my hesitation and used it to her advantage as she squirmed out of my grasp, swiftly crossing to the other side of the room. Even at that distance I could see she was shaking with the aftereffects of our proximity.
"What you did to me was bad enough, but Genny," she hesitated, puzzlement at my actions tonight clear on her face. "Why did you do it?"
How could she not understand my motives? Everything I did was for my angel. I shook my head at the necessity of explaining myself to Christine.
"If you hadn't interfered, both of your rivals would have been eliminated tonight. The stage would have been yours, my love," I informed her.
"I don't want it! Not like this!" she shouted back at me determination filled the gaze leveled at me. "And I won't let you hurt any of my friends anymore."
As I advanced unhurriedly across the room something in my expression must have unnerved her, for Christine dropped her defiant pose and retreated a step towards the wall behind her. For every step she took I added one of my own.
"I will do what I must. I will eliminate anyone who tries to come between us," I gravely assured her, "especially your precious aristocrat."
Fresh tears followed as my words struck home. I didn't want to break her admirable spirit or frighten her further, but for a creature, such as I, it was unavoidable. Christine needed to learn not to force my hand. My resolve must have shown on my uncovered face as Christine's eyes widened in panic.
"Don't you do anything to Raoul!" she threatened, attempting to regain control of the situation and her reemerging fear.
"Raoul? Are you on such friendly terms with him. Tell me, Christine, do you love him?"
She ignored my taunts.
"Stay away from him!" Christine was backed against the hard shelves of the bookcase against the wall, her hands pressed behind her as if she could move it to create more space. She turned her face away as I closed the distance between us.
"Gladly," I hissed, "as long as you promise to do the same. Make no further attempts to see him. Do not try to deceive me again." By now I was almost upon her.
Christine dropped her head in defeat. "I have tried! I haven't encouraged him. I've sent him away," she wailed, "all because I knew what you would have done."
Once again Christine demonstrated how noble she was. She had desperately tried to send her friends away, to get them to leave Paris in order to escape my wrath. She had put others before herself. But now that she had confessed all to her handsome lover, I knew he would not stay away. He would pursue her.
That I would not allow.
"Lies! If you try to see him again … if he tries to take you away from me," I spoke deliberately, letting each word stretch to hang ominously between us, "I will kill him."
Her head snapped up at this, eyes finally meeting mine in defiance. Her hand twitched, as if strike me again, but I saw the thought on her face and easily dodged her blow. Undeterred, Christine changed tactics. As her fingers brushed against the side of my head, she managed to twist them into my hair. Jerking me off balance, Christine pushed past me and ran into the kitchen. Regaining my balance, I stalked after her, stepping to the other side of the screen that separated the two rooms, the sound of rustling cutlery assaulting my ears.
Christine turned, a large knife with the long steel blade pointed directly at me, in her hand. I stopped my advance. She too seemed uncertain as she glanced between me and the knife in her hand almost unsure of what to do now. Coming to a decision, her brow darkened. Standing there, glowering at me, with her coiffure undone and bits of blood still on her gloves and dress; she was like Electra, gone mad.
"If you hurt any of my friends, Erik," she shouted triumphantly. She paused and in that moment I too stopped breathing. "I'll kill myself."
I barely stopped myself from dashing across the room to rip the knife from her fingers. "No, Christine!"
"I will!" She thrust the knife forward, as if to keep me at bay. The blade wavered in the air, following the pattern of hands that shook fiercely. It would only have taken me a few long strides to reach her. I could wrestle the knife out of her grip. It would be the swiftest maneuver, but the least gentle. I had no desire to cause her pain.
Once again turning my reluctance to her advantage, Christine darted past me and swiftly up the stairs to her room, slamming the door just as I reached the threshold. I cursed, having promised I would never enter unless invited. I would not intrude now. She already thought me as a monster; no need to provide further proof.
"Christine!" I called at her door. There was no answer. My hands ached to pound against the door, but I forced them to inaction. Not sure if her ultimatum was merely a calculated move or a legitimate threat, I remained unwilling to exasperate her actions, whatever they might be. Christine stood on the other side of the door, with a knife
"Christine, open the door," I pleaded instead, resting my face against the frame. The continued silence seeping under the door did nothing to settle my mounting anxiety. Instead, my breathing grew labored as I imagined Christine doing harm to herself while I did nothing but keep my word.
"Open the door right this instant!" I bellowed, panicked. No response greeted my outburst. "Please, please open the door," I whispered, trying to regain control.
My fragile attempts to remain calm shattered when I heard a cry of pain from the other side. Promise be damned, I was going in. I turned the handle and pushed at the door, a cry of rage escaping me as I realized something blocked my efforts. Determined to get in, I threw my entire weight against the obstruction. After two attempts something cracked and the door finally gave way.
The remnants of a dainty faux bamboo chair lay scattered in the doorway and Christine stood before her dresser. She startled at my entry, turning to face me with wide eyes. And then I saw what had caused her to cry.
A flash of color against pale skin drew my eyes to Christine's delicate wrists. The skin there shone crimson as small streams of blood trickled from a set of twin crisp wounds. Her body trembled violently, yet Christine's grip never faltered on the bloody weapon.
"Give me the knife, Christine," I whispered. I shifted my weight, ready to wrest the blade from her once in range.
Christine brought the knife around toward me quicker than I imagined her capable. She seemed unmoved by the horror inflicted upon herself; her rage focused solely on me.
"Get away from me!" she shouted, brandishing her bloody blade to force me to comply.
Despite the obvious threat in her tone I worried more for Christine's continued health than for my own. I could not leave her. I rushed forward, forgetting about the threat of the knife in her hand. When I grabbed hold of a bleeding wrist she cried out, shutting her eyes and shoving her free hand in a deliberate forward strike.
I felt a flash of pain in my side. In that moment, my body and brain were consumed by a stinging pain. Once it has passed, I quickly altered my movements. I secured both of Christine's hands in one of my own before removing the blade and throwing it to the ground. The sound of it echoed through the room, mingling with Christine's cries of agony and failure. Her shoulders slumped in defeat and her eyes opened only to roll upwards a second later.
Christine fainted into my awaiting arms.
Note: I'm going to bump this up to a M rating-Just because the violence and tension is going to get pumped up a notch.
Thanks again to avidreadercina for making sense of my word vomit!
And Thanks to all my readers and reviewers!