THE POINT OF NO RETURN
The music washed over me until I forgot where I was, who I was … There was no opera, no theatre, no audience, no gendarmes … only the warmth, the seduction …
Aminta was a simple gypsy girl; she had plucked up an apple from the inn's abandoned table and polished its mottled crimson skin on her ruffled silk skirt. She perched lightly upon the bench, legs splayed, and listened with wonder to the madly beautiful voice swelling behind her.
You have come here
In pursuit of your deepest urge,
In pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent …
Silent…
She rose rapidly from the table and skittered away with a flamenco flair. She toyed with the fruit, brushing its cool, smooth skin against her heated visage and slowly rolling it between her palms. The power of his voice seemed to be growing with each word, crackling in the charged air. The man was coming to her now, his immense cloak of black with its deep hood swaying gracefully. All she could see of him were his hands. Delicious illusion.
I have brought you
That our passions may fuse and merge;
In your mind you've already succumbed to me,
Dropped all defences,
Completely succumbed to me.
Now you are here with me,
No second thoughts,
You've decided …
He snatched the apple from her hands just as she went to take a bite, and swung around behind her, proffering instead a heavy gold goblet from the other side. The acrid tang of wine filled her nostrils.
Decided…
She took the large chalice in both hands dreamily. The stranger ran his fingertips along her hand and wrist lightly as he relinquished the cup.
Past the point of no return--
Aminta looked away coquettishly. But she felt the back of his hand beneath her chin, guiding her face back to him. His index finger traced over the generous camber of her satiny ruby lips. She shivered, feeling a rush of heat surge through her core.
No backward glances;
Our games of make believe are at an end.
Past all thought of "if" or "when,"
At his behest, she drank the wine with relish, tilting her head back, showing her long white throat. She languidly wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist and moved to turn away. Unexpectedly, he seized her wrist in a swift, vise-like grip, flexing his fingers on her flesh as though testing her strength.
No use resisting--
Abandon thought and let the dream descend.
He forced her backwards until she broke away to set down the cup and sit on the bench, the skirt spreading out like the rigid petals of a dried rose. But still he pursued her. She could feel him as he sat beside her on the opposite side of the bench and stroked the length of her arm. Coyly, she lifted her arms and pushed a few locks of her hair back from her neck.
What raging fire shall flood the soul?
What rich desire unlocks it door?
What sweet seduction lies before us?
He stood, and moved behind her. Her eyelids fluttered as he touched the back of her head, and traced the curves along the side of her face, and finally her sensitive throat and shoulders. Her lips parted in ecstasy, and she restrained a moan.
Past the point of no return--
The final threshold;
He sat on her other side now, rubbing her arm through the thin pink sleeve of her dress, and cupped her hand in his own. Arching her back kittenishly, she blinked slowly, savouring his touch and the sensations it precipitated that pulsed through her body.
What warm, unspoken secrets will we learn
Beyond the point of no return …
With his fingers threaded through hers, he pushed her hand against her breast. Startled, she jumped up from her seat and shimmied away. He immediately turned away on he bench, his back hunched. Almost unaware, the music began to bubble up and flow from her.
You have brought me
To that moment where words run dry,
To that moment where speech disappears into silence …
Silence…
Aminta stood proudly with her hands on her hips, then leaped backward and pirouetted. She barely noticed as the man suddenly rose as though to interrupt her, then, with a shaky gesture, seemed to change his mind and sat back down.
I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why,
Aminta spread her arms wide above her head, then pressed the pads of her fingertips to her temples, dragging them downward, and clapped her hands together, the digits suggestively lacing.
In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining,
Defenceless and silent.
And now I am here with you,
She turned and stared at the cloaked man seated hunched over with his back to the table. Strange, but his fists seemed to be shaking as he viciously twisted the folds of his cloak.
No second thoughts;
I've decided …
She leaned sensuously across the table edge--the low neckline hinting at her ample bosom--and purred the next lingering word.
Decided …
Past the point of no return,
No going back now.
Our passion-play has now at last begun;
Their roles were reversed, and she was the seductress now. She sang throatily, her high notes jewel-like. She dipped down, laying her arms out behind her over the table edge, and rose once more.
Past all thought right or wrong,
One final question:
Aminta fiercely clawed her fingertips into his back. She felt the muscles clench as he stiffened against her touch. She raked her nails upward, reaching over his shoulders--simultaneously, he was raising his own hands. She pressed her palms to his, and their hands clenched together with an utterly violent force, digits intertwined.
How long should we two wait before we're one?
Spreading her arms like a bird about to take flight, she never released his hands as she swooped her left arm around him and buried her face in his neck. Then, with the urgent grace of passion, she swept her right down to embrace him from behind.
When will the blood begin to race,
The sleeping bud burst into bloom;
When will the flames at last consume u--
Aminta pressed her cheek against the hooded man's, but something was very wrong; his face was cold and hard as bone beneath the black fabric …
The spell was broken. I was Christine once more, inundated with an onslaught of sheer panic. Gasping sharply, I caught a glimpse of the confused marksman in the orchestra pit. Oh God! I had to get Erik off the stage. I did the only thing I could think of. I bolted.
But Erik was far too quick and strong. Like a jungle predator, he grabbed my wrist; I struggled like a gazelle to pull him away from the loaded rifle so near to us. Dimly, I was aware that he had the wrong idea; he thought I was trying to run from him. He drew me back toward the centre of the stage as we finished the duet, he with command, and I with fear.
Past the point of no return--
The final threshold!
The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn;
As the words rolled off my tongue, stricken thoughts raced in my head. Erik would never run from a fight, his pride was simply too great. A retreat in his own kingdom? He was afraid of nothing …
I felt a stab of cold as my mind took hold of that. The idea burst forth like a wave upon the shore.
There was something Erik feared, something above all else.
We've passed the point of no return …
I seized the edge of his hood and flung it back. Erik stared at me briefly, his surprise mingling with intense apprehension, before he turned away, his cloak flourishing after him.
Go, I thought to him as hard as possible. Save yourself!
Erik stopped just before the curtained alcove. Something prevented him from escaping that way. He shot a few lightning-fast glances at the doors of the theatre, but we both knew they were all blocked. There was truly no going back. It was a bitter irony.
Adrenaline shot through my body when I saw the marksman shake off his perplexity and begin to load his weapon. But just as I was about to run to Erik, I saw that he was coming toward me. I carefully shifted my position to shield him from any gunfire. God help me, I didn't care if I was shot. As long as he wasn't hurt. My life would be an insignificant price to pay.
"Erik," I whispered urgently. "Please. You have to--"
"Christine …" he murmured tenderly. If he were at all aware of the danger, he showed no indication of it. Something else was on his mind. I looked up at him worriedly, my heart trembling at the haunting plea in his eyes. "You have given me so much already--your compassion, your voice, your smile … But there's only one more thing I would ask of you. I--You know my solitude keenly because it has been yours as well ... Please tell me you would share your life--your love--with me. May I ask you--what I mean to say is … Will you--be my wife?" By the time he reached the question, his voice had dropped to a bare whisper.
He pulled the onyx ring from his smallest finger and offered it to me, struggling to maintain composure. Hope, pride, the childlike terror of rejection … His expression alone was sufficient to warrant the answer, even had I intended to say no.
"Of course," I said softly, swallowing the lump of tears and disbelief in my throat. I lifted my left hand, and watched as he slipped the ring onto my fourth finger. The stone gleamed there, looking as though it had belonged there forever.
I lifted my face to his, dreading what I knew I had to do. I needed him to lean closer. He did, our lips so very near to each other.
My fingers found the edge of his white mask and wound themselves in the fibres of his dark wig.
Forgive me, I implored silently. Then I pulled.