I'm back! I had hoped that over the summer I would have the time to write extensively, but work, fatigue, writer's block, and family problems have conspired against me to make writing very difficult right now. That's no excuse, and I need to get back on the horse with this story, but I just thought that you deserved an explanation as to why I vanished for so long.
Also, this is unbeta'd, as I never got to send it to my beta before posting (sorry TT!). So if you see any mistakes, they are all mine.
Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed and kept me inspired. Please continue to review, I'd love to see what you think as we continue with the story!
Chapter Twenty Eight: October Haunts
Two days before Christine's birthday and four days before Halloween Raoul approached her on the sloping lawn outside of the Computer Science building and asked, shyly, if she would be his date to the Masquerade.
Christine, ever so articulate when she was shocked, blurted out, "huh?"
He held a slightly crumpled piece of paper out to her and she took it, her fingers numb.
It was a flyer, the kind that covered the hallways on campus, and on its cover were two large, ornate masks done in ink, advertising a Venetian themed Masquerade, a Halloween ball thrown in part by the drama department. It was in two days: her birthday, and it cost to get in. It seemed very unusual, and rather expensive for a Halloween party: fancy costumes were necessary, and alcohol was prohibited. All of the music would be classical. It was perfect.
Which was exactly the reason that it scared her.
"This is…" she started, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip.
"Fantastic, isn't it?" Raoul asked. "It's the first time they've ever done anything like this. I hope it will become a tradition. I heard that they are going all out for it."
"Yeah," she muttered, her eyes still glued to the paper. "Fantastic…"
He cleared his throat nervously. "So, do you want to? Go with me, I mean. It should be a lot of fun, and it's on your birthday."
"I've noticed," she said, rather dryly. His blue eyes were staring at her so earnestly; she knew that he cared about her, she knew that he had to feel more than friendship for her. Christine wanted so badly to put on a beautiful dress and arrive at the party arm in arm with Raoul, and to dance with him, and feel safe and happy.
She shook her head. "I don't know if I can do that."
"But you'll be there, right?" He pressed. "You have to be there."
She shot him a sharp look. "Why?"
He blushed, a soft red flaring under his fair skin. "So I can dance with you," he said softly.
A warmth rushed to Christine's stomach and she had moment where she thought, 'so this is what it's like to be happy.' But then it faded and she wiped the silly grin from her face and turned away from him. She pursed her lips, trying to decide what to say.
There was a moment of silence where all she heard was the far off traffic and the October wind through the red and orange leaves. Then he spoke, his voice quiet and pained.
"Christine, I know that something is going on with you, and you won't tell me what it is, no matter how many times I ask. But there is one thing I have to know."
She turned slowly to face him and was surprised at the abject despair on his face. "What?" She whispered.
"Are you in love with someone?" He asked, as if forcing the words out. Christine stared at him, shocked, as he continued to speak. "I mean, I think that maybe that's what this is really all about. Maybe you love someone and you just don't…don't want to tell me…"
At that moment all she wanted to do was to cup his chin in her hand and kiss that pained, hopeless look off of his face. Instead she settled for shaking her head.
"No," she murmured, so soft that it was almost unheard. "No, I'm not. Things are…more complicated than that right now. I just need time, Raoul."
There was a pause, and then she said, slightly louder, "Please don't worry about me."
He gave a half laugh and touched her shoulder, but his eyes were serious. "I'll always worry about you, Chris. That's what someone does when they care. And if something's hurting you, even if you don't tell me, I'll find it and I'll…"
"No, you won't," she interrupted, her voice cold and matter of fact. "Like I said, don't worry about me, Raoul. I'm fine."
Giving him a small smile to take the edge off of her words, Christine scooped up her bag and began to walk away. After a few feet she turned, her expression thoughtful. "And I will be at the Masquerade," she said after a moment's hesitation, and began to walk again. "So maybe I'll see you there."
"You'll save me a dance?" He called to her. She shrugged without turning back to him, but inside she wanted that one dance so badly, enough to risk the whole world, enough to risk herself.
After all, she reasoned, it was her night, and she should be able to dance with a friend.
Christine sat through her next two days of classes listlessly, her mind focused on the Masquerade. She was sure that Erik had had a hand in it, but when she mentioned it to him he shrugged disinterestedly and asked for details, as if he didn't already know. Even so, there was something excessively smug and secretive about his actions in the past few days, and the night of the party she returned to her new apartment to find a dress laid out on the bed for her.
It was diaphanous and light, a molten gold color that matched the red and gold Venetian half mask that lay next to it. It was sleeveless, the material cut in layers to look both draping and ragged. Across the room a heavy red cloak lay across a chair, and Christine fingered it softly as she bit her lip and tried to figure everything out.
She didn't want to wear the outfit he had picked out for her; no matter how lovely it was, it was just a physical representation of the control her held.
She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the dress. It really was a beautiful dress, and obviously expensive…it would be a shame not to wear it…
She wanted to do something rebellious, she wanted to take scissors and cut into its golden layer, she wanted to take black markers and scribble all over it, draw cascades of musical notes over her arms and hands…
'You're being stupid,' a voice chided in her head, her inner voice that was beginning to sound like Erik. 'You can't fight everything, you can't win anything.'
"If I fight all the time," she whispered to herself, relieved that the voice in her ears sounded like her own, "I won't have anything left. I'll use up everything inside of me."
Her hands were shaking, and she ran them through her hair to calm herself. "Fine," she muttered, and stood to survey the dress. "Fine, this time…this time…I'll do it."
That evening she swept her hair up and slipped the gold dress over her head, feeling like a doll. Standing in front of the mirror, she slowly raised her arms to tie the mask around her face, and watched herself disappear.
She walked to the party, joining the throngs of other students on the streets in costume. Despite the cost of entry, it seemed as if most of the school was there, filling several floors of the large theater. The stage was a dance floor, with students spilling into the aisles, as was the open foyer and the large ballet rooms on the upper levels.
Christine wound through the crowd, simultaneously isolated and awed by the changes in the theater: everything seemed dark and sleek, all lacquered wood and smooth drapes and vases spilling exotic flowers. People pushed around her in costumes reminiscent of Venice in its heyday, brocades and silks and painted masks, things that she never expected to see on rowdy college students. It was as if the night had been constructed entirely for her, her dreams spun into reality.
"It's perfect," Christine whispered, standing lost in the crowd, and wondered if that was an amazing thing or a terrifying thing.
A hand brushed her shoulder. "Christine?" a voice tentatively asked in her ear, and she turned to see a white mask partially obscured by tousled blond hair. Blue eyes started at her from under it, their color heightened by stark white. "It is you, isn't it?"
Christine smiled and lifted the bottom of her mask to allow a brief glimpse of her face. "Hello, Raoul. Nice costume."
He was wearing a simple tuxedo with a white flower tucked into the lapel and the plain mask. "I wasn't sure what to do," he shrugged, and she was sure that he was blushing. "I thought I could pass as James Bond or something. But you….you look fantastic. What are you supposed to be?"
Christine hadn't even considered the idea of being a character. She thought for a moment and quietly fingered the gold material of the dress. "Persephone," she said finally and with more than a touch of irony.
"Ah," he said, and gave her a lopsided grin. "Before or after the pomegranate?"
"I'm not sure," she replied, a little sadly. "I'll let you know when I figure it out."
"Sounds good," he said, and reached to take her hand. "May I have this dance?"
Christine stared at their entwined fingers. "Sure," she said, and smiled at him. "I'd love to."
They moved into the foyer, which was packed with people dancing or talking or peering from behind fans like a Victorian romance novel. It all seemed so surreal and dreamlike, and as Raoul pulled her into his arms to dance she felt like she was floating.
His words pulled her back down. "Pretty great party, isn't it?" he said. "I've never seen anything like it. It's the grand ball you've always wanted. It's perfect."
She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. "Let's just dance for a moment," she said. "I don't want to think."
"Of course," he whispered, and she felt his lips brush her hair.
They danced quietly for a long time, her eyes half open to let the costumes flow into a blur of unending color. She felt quiet and at peace, dancing with a friend, with someone who cared about her and wanted to protect her. She wondered, idly, as the masks passed by, if she really needed protecting. Her life had been on this path for so long it was nearly impossible to imagine it another way. And how strange and grand this story she was in, how tempting it was to slip into quiet acceptance and peace. Christine wanted to keep dancing forever and not think, and believe that her life was normal, and even more that her life was unchangeable, so that at least if she gave up hope she could finally stop fighting.
A familiar icy, beautiful voice broke into her thoughts, as it always did, and its intrusion was so expected it almost normal. "May I cut in?"
Raoul stopped dancing abruptly as she opened her eyes, and for a moment all she could see was red. He was standing there, swathed in maroon, the color of blood and deep sunset, with a cloak hanging rather majestically from his thin shoulders. His mask was white, but it angled and dipped in a strange, asymmetric way that was both grotesque and dizzying. The overall effect was stark and regal and bizarre, like looking into a fun show mirror, like looking at death.
Those impossible yellow eyes were fixed on Raoul, and she noticed that one long thin hand was wrapped tight around his wrist. "May I cut in?" Erik asked again, his voice the faintly amused superiority of one who knows he has the ultimate upper hand.
Raoul glanced uneasily between the two of them and the hand on his wrist. "Uh, yeah, I guess," he said, and backed up as his arm was released, his eyes on Christine. "I guess I'll see you over by the snack bar."
Christine nodded silently at him and faked a small smile before turning her head and accepting Erik's cold hand and strange, red clad embrace. They moved with the music and she realized that this would be the most they had ever touched.
"You wore the dress." His voice was supremely content. "Good. You look lovely."
"Thank you," she said quietly, and dared to raise her head to look at his feral eyes, somehow normal under the bizarre mask. "You planned this all, didn't you?"
He smiled gently at her, even though he had been denying it all week. "Of course. It's what you wanted."
"It's a little extravagant," she said, not sure if she was admonishing him or trying to keep him from doing something on that scale again.
He dipped his head near to her ear, fake black hair falling over the mask. "Haven't you realized yet that nothing is ever too much for you?" He asked, his voice shaking slightly. She blinked and swallowed, not sure of what to say.
"Well…thank you," she murmured finally. "It's beautiful."
"I'm glad that you approve," he said, and she could sense the smile in his voice.
They danced in silence for a few minutes as he hummed to the music in a voice that only she could hear. As she expected he was graceful, leading with surety as she held herself rigid. She would not allow her head to rest on his shoulder like she had with Raoul, and he did not seem to expect her too. It would have been an action too far beyond anything that was possible.
When he spoke it was with surprising uncertainty, so quiet that she had to lean in to hear him. "All of this," he said, his normally resonant voice sad, like a wilted flower. "This grandeur, this dream….does it please you? Truly?"
It was one of the only times he had ever directly inquired as to her happiness, and he sounded as if the question was indescribably important. Christine hesitated, choosing her answer carefully.
"It's a lovely dream, Erik, but that's all that it is. It's just a party. It's a dream of life. It's an amazing night but it doesn't constitute the reality of my life."
"But it could," he insisted quietly, his eyes unnaturally bright in the dark opulence of the room. "I could make this real, make it possible. I can make a life, any life. Any dream can become reality if you have the power to change it."
"Erik," she said, and raised one hand to touch his false cheek, feeling suddenly and deeply sad. "You've proven to me that you do have power, so maybe you can change reality, maybe you can make dreams come true, fashion together a fairytale ending from nothing. I don't doubt you anymore. But even if it is possible, I don't want it. This life, this is my life….God, Erik, my father's gone, my life is in shambles, but it's all I have. I don't want it taken away from me."
They had stopped dancing and stood, his arms still lightly around her waist, in the middle of the dance floor. He stared at her silently, his yellow eyes unreadable, his hands shaking slightly against her back.
"I want…" he began, staring at her through sad eyes. "I only want…"
Then, as if he could not choke out the words, he released her and brushed a cold hand against her cheek. "I am glad that you had a good night," he whispered, and turned and disappeared into the throng.
Christine stared after him for a moment, and a sharp pang went through her heart as she watched him go. She hated that he never finished conversations, that he couldn't talk with her like an equal; she wanted to talk to him, understand him, believe in him, but he always ran, and could not see the truth.
'You're right, Erik,' she thought, thinking back on his unfinished words. 'You only want.'
"Is everything all right?" Raoul had reappeared near her elbow and now stared at her masked face with worry. "Chris? Who was that guy?"
Christine shook herself out of her stupor. "Just a friend," she said, then turned to him. "It's too crowded in here; I feel like I can't breathe. Can you walk me back to my apartment?"
"Sure," he said, and took her arm lightly, as if he were afraid that she would break. "Let's get out of here."
They retrieved her cloak and his jacket from the makeshift coat room and emerged into the cool October air. As usual the sky was tinted with a milky reddish haze, and streetlamps dotted the sidewalk, but she wished that it was dark and clear enough to see the stars.
"You know," she said, turning her face to the sky and wrapping her arms around her body. "It's almost November again. A whole year gone. It feels like yesterday that I was so wrapped up in my exams, and worried about play auditions; Auntie V wasn't in a home, and we hadn't seen each other since we were children. A whole year. Should time go by so fast? Should so much change in a year?"
"What's really changed, Chris?" Raoul asked warily, and she giggled, feeling giddy.
"Everything." She spun in a circle, her palms to the sky. "Nothing." She started to laugh, feeling like small cracks and fissures were spreading outward throughout her whole body, cracking her like dry clay. "Hell, I even went to England!"
They were nearly at her door, and Raoul caught her hand. "Christine," he started in that hesitant boy-voice of worry. "I know I've said it before, but if something's wrong, if anything's wrong, you know you can tell me, right? No matter what."
"You keep saying that, Raoul, and each time it means nothing," she found her voice coming out hostile. "What do you want to do, save me?"
"If I can!" he said earnestly, grasping both of her hand between his. "I want to, Chris, if you'll only tell me what's wrong with you!"
"Raoul, you're a hero without a damsel in distress," she said quietly. "The truth is that I don't need any saving. I can't have people pulling the strings of my life. Not you, not anyone."
"Then what's going on?" he asked, exasperated. "Christine, what is happening to you?"
She gave another empty laugh and removed her mask gracefully, as if it were Erik's long fingers controlling her hands. "Dear," she said, "It is a tragedy."
He stared at her face under the dirty faded moonlight, at how hollow and wan she looked, circles under her slightly mad eyes, mouth thin and weak. "Chris," he started, but she shook her head.
"Don't try to save me, Raoul, not when I'm trying my damndest to save myself."
Then she gave him a smile, her eyes quiet and gentle again, and walked quickly to the apartment, leaving him alone with the darkness and the red sky.
