36
Raoul never even saw Erik disappear. It is, perhaps, what the Phantom does best.
He stands in the darkness of his room, dim and half-lit by the evening that stretches from a window in long, orange talons across the floor. Erik presses himself to the wall, and does not move, or speak a word. He knows the man would not give any information to Raoul alone, as it would do him absolutely no good to torment the young man. The mercenary simply does not care about Raoul, or what he knows.
The Vicomte was always an innocent in the trials has Erik inflicted upon him, and the boy's attempts to protect him even now would not have been considered worthy a crime for these mercenaries. None would believe that story.
The door begins to creak open, and the light from the lamps in the hall pour inside. Raoul is shadowed, but Erik may still see the sharp, kind features of his patron appear from behind the doorframe. Erik watches him cross the room, and keeps his eyes to the window when the boy stands before him. He seems confused, and agitated by the thoughtful trance he has found the Phantom in.
"What in God's name got into you?!" Raoul rasps, somewhat breathless. Erik will not look at him, and only gives a single headshake. He cannot stand to look at the flushed face, the narrow features and the parted lips. Briefly, he remembers when they were his, without fear, hesitation or consequence. He mustn't remember, because Erik knows now what he finally must do.
"I am leaving Florence, Vicomte."
"The merchant bothered you more than I'd thought."
"Do not be an idiot," Erik growls, and pushes past Raoul, bumping his shoulder hard and making for the bed. He does not intend to pack. "You must understand me now, you must trust me. And you must not follow me." Raoul is not silent behind him. His breathing has become heavy, out of rhythm, and Erik predicts the younger man far too well to not expect an outburst of some kind.
Sharp fingertips stab into the sides of his arms, and Erik is quickly spun around to face the sparking pale eyes. "Why?! What has gotten into you, that you would leave in the middle of something so magnificent!?"
Erik's teeth are bared in a snarl, and he watches the anger turn into a sudden, wild fear over Raoul's face. It does not come without satisfaction. The Phantom reaches up to catch Raoul's shoulders in return, grimacing repressed pleasure and with all the strength he possesses shoves the boy hard into the wall beside the bed. The Vicomte is not down a moment before Erik is at his throat again, and snares his collar as though his fingers have become talons.
"You stupid boy, he was a detective!" Erik thunders, and Raoul flinches beneath him, and turns his face away from the assault. "He followed me, and he knows more than anyone exactly what I am!" It is as if they are under the ground again, and Erik has reduced his prisoner to a mewling child, begging for mercy. The more guilt takes him, the more Erik realizes what he must do. To spare the boy, he must truly make himself disappear. Erik releases him, hard, and the back of Raoul's head cracks against the wall, and he stares up at Erik in wonder, and horror.
Erik ducks his head, and hides it in his hands, running long fingers through his dark hair. Raoul will not move, or say a word. He waits to be spoken to.
"He knows what I am, Vicomte," Erik finally says, his words rough as though choked in his throat. He inhales, deeply, and comes to sit on the bed. Raoul remains where he is, and still will not turn his head in the direction of the troubled composer. "He knows what I am capable of. This man knows …what I am worth dead, and what I am worth alive and he will stop at nothing." Erik lets his head fall into his hands again, a pleasant, calming darkness. "He will …separate us."
Erik hears Raoul come to his feet and slowly, hesitantly leave the room. He suspects solitude will do the boy some good.
What he does not see is the brown, silk-wrapped trinket lying idly by the doorframe. Raoul takes it as he makes his way out, and carries it into his own room. What Erik does not see is that Raoul is beginning to remember where he has seen such a unique, pretty thing before. He sets it down, and allows the little creature to chime its cymbals together in tune with the melody.
Raoul remembers the dark nights as they passed one by one. Raoul remembers the grief of the Phantom, the howls of the organ and its last farewell to the beauty that ruined its master. Raoul remembers the water, lapping at his face and weighing his aching body down. Raoul remembers the melody as it plays: dark, soft, and sad. The one comfort of a lonely child.
Raoul remembers.