Chapter 24: A Feverish Feud

"Monsieur Khan, will Erik be joining us this morning?"

The grey haired man eyes widened. He had barely said a word to them as he and Darius escorted them to the main hall for a hearty breakfast. As the crew discussed their plans for rehearsal while eating, Nadir had left and returned with barrels of cloth, sewing supplies, pieces of wood and some mismatched paint. His only words to them: "You have two hours, do what you must."

Christine had waited for her maestro, but he never appeared. She awkwardly joined Reiner and the other singers. But after encouraging side glances from Meg and demanding gestures from Sorelli, Christine decided to search for him herself. Yet Nadir's reaction was nothing like she had anticipated.

"Erik?" He questioned.

Christine fidgeted. "Yes. Or um, the Angel of Death. Erik is his name, isn't it?"

Nadir released a single shocked laugh. "Why yes, it is. I didn't realize you two were on a first name basis."

Christine blushed, looking away from his mischievous eyes. "We knew each other before Persia."

"I am very well aware of your history, mademoiselle. To answer your question, Erik will not be joining us until later. He has other business to attend to."

Christine nodded sheepishly. She thanked him and walked back to her friends. All of them stared at her with impatient expressions.

"He won't be joining us until later."

Sorelli rolled her eyes. "Typical."

Reiner took all of the singers, the ballet, and Sophia and Ignacio, who now both had instruments. They rehearsed the main parts of the opera, often stopping to make minor changes and corrections. Carlotta moaned often, whispering loudly as she complained about the size of her role or the way Christine carried herself as Elissa. Christine ignored her cutting comments, doing her best to focus on her performance and ignore her vehement glares.

As she had decided last night: The Shah best be prepared for her performance.

They jumped from scene to scene, each time Christine had to sing she belted out her best work. Adrenaline fueled her while she was on the stage, one that could not be damped by some immoral King or dramatic diva.

Madame Giry, Matilda, and Bastain worked on stage pieces and costumes. With some of the supplies, Bastian was certain he could make a backdrop, one that could serve as the palace and the battlefield. It would be two out of the three backdrops commonky used for the opera, but better than none. Darius helped him, often being reminded to focus on the task at hand rather than the ballet.

It didn't take long for Sorelli and Meg to notice his prolonged gawking. At a break, the two walked over to him.

"You seem quite interested in the ballet, Darius. Are you considering joining us?" Meg asked playfully. Christine tried to hold in a snicker, as she could identify Meg's fake charm from a mile away. Jammes and Christine stood not far behind them, the two of them casually eavesdropping on the savagery they were prepared to witness.

He smiled wryly. "I wouldn't say it was the ballet I was interested in, if that's what you call it."

Meg narrowed her eyes. "Clearly. We couldn't help but notice you were staring."

"No, not staring, Meg. Gawking."

"It is a compliment." Darius defended coolly. "The men in Persia appreciate admiring such exotic talents, how could I ignore such beauty?" He smiled, mockingly bowing towards the women.

"The men in Persia also seem to have a turn on for kidnapped women and think we would return the favour after you drool like a buffoon. I apologize if we seem unamused by your boorish appreciation."

Christine and Jammes snickered as Darius's jaw dropped for just a moment. The ballerina's playful tone was quickly replaced with an icy frost that cut his coy bravado to shreds. At the sound of the other two girls snickers, he clamped his jaw shut

"Do you know what civility means?" Sorelli inquired.

"Civility?"

"It means you don't sit around while us ladies suffer at your hands. If you think we are remotely interested in your admiration, you are clearly mistaken. And yes, this is what we would call ballet."

"I meant no disrespect." He blubbered, his hands raising in his defense. "I only said that because you, uh, haven't gone on your toes."

Meg lifted her skirts to reveal her dusty, worn boots. "In case you forgot, you burned our shoes to a crisp. We only have what we are wearing, which is fashionable boots from the party."

Darius didn't say anything at first. He stared at her shoes, then glanced back up to her. "Are ballet shoes made of um..." He muttered something in Persian under his breath. Quickly, he turned and yelled at Nadir in Persian. Nadir furrowed his brow, clearly bothered that Darius had interrupted his conversation with Madame Giry. "Leather?" He responded.

"Yes!" Darius smiled, pointing towards the two confused women. "Are ballet shoes made of leather?"

Sorelli shrugged but Meg nodded, her arms still crossed. "They can be."

Darius set down his hammer and stood with a proud grin. "Well ladies, I think I may be able to help improve your ballet."

"I doubt that." Sorelli sneered.

"I happen to be the son of a shoe smith. Though I have never made ballet shoes-"

"Slippers." Sorelli huffed.

"Sorry, slippers. I am sure I can figure it out."

He dashed out of the room, despite Bastian's protests. The two women looked at each other in confusion.

"That didn't go as I expected." Sorelli admitted.

"Confronting men never seems to go as I expect it." Meg sighed.

Christine giggled. "I think you still put him in his place."

"It is about time someone did."

All four women jumped, leaping into each other's arms and staring at the source of the deep vibrato behind them. They all stared at the towering man, his slight grin the only aspect of his face visible from his black mask.

Erik.

"I see you are busy rehearsing. How opportune considering the circumstances of your performance." He glared at Meg and Sorelli, who shrunk towards each other. Christine merely stared up at him, studying the black mask. She tried to remember what the other half of his face looked like. Smooth skin, defined cheekbones, thin eyebrows that were much lighter than his black gelled hair. It was difficult to imagine it under the black porcelain that now gleamed down at her.

Then his yellow eyes shifted to hers. She shivered.

"You asked for me?" He stated matter-of-factly.

Christine nodded, uneasiness overtaking her. If she didn't feel the heat from Sorelli and Meg's gaze, she probably would have denied it. "I was, um, wondering if we could talk?"

"About your performance?"

"Not exactly-"

"Then no."

Christine was taken by surprise at his firm response. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

He didn't wait for her to recollect herself. "If you'll excuse me." He stated and walked past the girls, his cape billowing around him. Christine couldn't ignore the pang that cut at her heart. He barely looked at her, let alone talked to her. What had she done that caused such hostility? She watched as he approached Reiner, who seemed just as shocked by his arrival as the ballerinas.

"From the beginning." Erik ordered.

Reiner nodded. "From the beginning!" He squeaked to the rest of the crew.

The crew dashed into their positions, many of them awkwardly standing off to the side, unsure of where to go. Erik didn't seem to notice. He stood, his arms crossed behind Reiner. Christine couldn't tear her eyes away from him. He almost seemed out of place in the bright, extravagant hallway, like a black smear on a white canvas. Through the fabric of his shirt, she could see the defining lines of his arms and they crossed over his narrow chest. To think that yesterday she was stuck in the middle of them was quite shocking. He had felt so gentle, yet now seemed so powerful before her. Christine had to look away, looking down at her trembling knees. Why did she suddenly feel weak?

Igancio and Sophia shuffled in front of her. Christine could just hear them count before playing the opening tune. Despite their tumultuous past couple of days, they were both able to play beautifully. Christine could just sense the maladjustment of the violin, but Ignacio played as though he barely heard how out of tune he was. To the untrained ear, Christine thought, it probably sounded fine. Her time listening to her father constantly tune his violin helped her expertly spot the issue.

Christine took a deep breath, ready for her cue. It was just like when her father's violin would be her marker at the Populaire. She grabbed onto a sack filled with some small pebbles. It was heavy, but would have to replace the head of the enemy king for the performance.

She sauntered on stage, caressing the sack in her hands. With a deep breath, she belted the opening aria. She did her best to blur out the environment, pretending she stood on the battlefield with her voice taking the lead. But on this battlefield, a pair of amber eyes burned her skin with his intense gaze. She turned to him, her body moving on its own accord. She forced the notes out of her mouth, hoping to gain his attention. Hoping to make him proud.

As the ballet entered, she her eyes eventually met his. He had barely moved and watched the ballet in their entrance. Christine barely noticed when Carlotta waltzed on stage and took the sack from her hands.

"Maybe focus on your lines?" She hissed under her breath. Christine winced, barely making her cue to join in song with the others. As she approached Piangi, she did her best to ignore the ache in her chest. Not a single critique? Not a gesture of praise? Nothing? Had he even seen her? Had he even heard her?

The crew went through the entire performance, not once being stopped despite their obvious blunders. They all glanced at the Phantom when they made a mistake, pushing through the performance awkwardly. Regardless, he barely said a word. As Christine waited 'off stage' Meg whispered in her ear.

"Why is he as still as a statue?"

Christine shrugged, purposefully not looking in his direction. She didn't even want to think about him let alone gossip.

It was the final scene, where the King and Queen kiss. Christine hated this scene, but knelt before Piangi nonetheless. A part of her wanted Piangi to blunder their spin yet again, hoping to instill some sort of rage within Erik. Any sort of emotion would be better than this.

Maybe then, he would spin me again like last time

Christine blinked, as if to expel the ridiculous thoughts from her head. She looked into Piangi's eyes, trying her best to stay in character. Yet his eyes were not on hers. He was looking behind her. Christine hid her confusion, gently clasping her hands over her heart. Who was he looking at?

Carlotta.

Her name roared in Christine's mind like an alarm. No one had seen their entire performance, as Christine was always away when they rehearsed. This would be the first time they would see their 'kiss'.

Against her better judgement, Christine looked around. She saw Meg and Sorelli, staring at her with wide eyes and tightly pressed lips. They awaited to see exactly how they planned to pull this off. Her eyes continued to wander from person to person, her head slightly turning to catch his eyes.

At first, he wasn't looking at her, but when he noticed that her head had turned, he glared at her with such fury that her head snapped back towards Piangi. Her hands trembled against her chest.

"My love, come to me, save me from this madness!"

She leapt into his arms, executing the fake kissing trick perfectly. It happened to work out that the direction she was facing was towards Carlotta and away from the Erik. This way, she could see that her lover was faithful and Christine could hide from his wrathful stare.

The opera ended rather suddenly. Instead of clasping their hands together to bow, the crew conjugated in the center, staring towards the Phantom. Nadir and Erik stood side by side, but only Nadir clapped.

"Bravo!" He clapped enthusiastically. "Quite the performance considering the circumstances."

"Continue to rehearse." Erik snapped. He turned away and walked briskly towards the back hall. Christine felt like a frog wanted to leap out of her mouth. A frog made of questions, demands, words that needed to be said. She wanted to yell at him, chase him down and insist he listen to her.

But she swallowed it down. She stared down at the floor, ignoring the pain in her chest.

"I am afraid you must return to your cells. However, you are more than willing to rehearse there."

Christine followed numbly. What had she said that had caused him to be so distant? Had her words last night been too much? Had she scared him off? She barely noticed how close they were to the dungeon until Meg nudged her. Christine met her concerned eyes and gave a weak smile. Now was not the time to talk about her confusion.

As she looked up, the crew was walking past the mirror to the secret piano room. She glared at it, staring at her reflection. She was still dirty, her dress practically ruined. Her skin was stained with dust and sweat. Her hair was a knot of oily loose curls that nipped at her cheeks. She was a mess.

No wonder he couldn't look at me.

"Ugh. What I wouldn't do for a bath." Sorelli muttered, staring at herself in the mirror. Christine looked down at her feet, continuing to walk forward. She ignored Sorelli's complaining. Usually, the tune she would imagine would be something her father would play, or even a lullaby from her childhood.

Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world…

She squinted her eyes shut. No. Why couldn't she get that song out of her head?

They entered the dungeon, the crew immediately welcomed by the sound of mad screaming. Jammes gripped onto Louis, who wrapped an arm around her. Gabriel stood in front of Sorelli and Meg, stretching his arms out protectively.

"Continue forward. Stay away from the bars." Nadir instructed. He extended his arm to a perplexed Madame Giry. Hesitantly, she took it.

Christine numbly followed behind Meg and Sorelli. She was at the back of the line, again. Internally she rolled her eyes at her friends quick instinct to jump into Gabriel and Louis's arms. She hugged herself. A part of her wished Raoul was here. She could hide in his arms, his sweet clean scent. She wished he could be here, smiling at her, telling her that she was safe.

Christine jumped as one of the inmates leapt at the bars, reaching for the populaire's crew. Nadir continued onward, reminding the group to stay towards the center of the aisle. Christine trembled. She just wanted to escape. She just wanted to feel safe again.

Erik continued to plague her mind. She remembered how warm he felt. How beautiful his music sounded. It could drown out the mad screams that deafened her now. It could warm her from the chills of the dungeon. His strange scent of spices would mask the stench of death and blood.

A gleam of light caught her eye. She turned, looking towards a small crack in the wall. She paused. A crack...or a door? It was as if her vision tunneled, but somehow her body walked towards it. Her fingers carefully wrapped around the stone opening, her eyes widening as it moved under the gentle touch of her hand. After a deep breath, she slowly opened the door.

The room before her was covered in wood. Wooden floors, wooden walls, even a wooden ceiling. It was small but reeked with decay. Her hand automatically covered her nose as the stench hit her nostrils. There was a wooden wall to her left, her hand absentmindedly traced its ragged texture as she stepped forward.

"Chri-Christ-iinee."

Christine tensed. Her body felt frozen. That wheeze came from behind her. She waited, thinking that maybe it was just the groan of the wood underneath her feet. But then she heard movement and turned.

Suddenly she screamed as a gloved hand covered her vision.

"Christine. Christinneee." That voice wheezed again as she fought against her attacker. He wrapped one arm around her waist, dragging her away from the rasping pleas of the prisoner. She wriggled, screamed, fought, kicked, but it was useless. Whoever had her, was not letting go.

Soon, his hand switched from her eyes to her mouth, silencing her screams. She watched in terror as she was dragged back through the halls of the dungeon, back towards its entrance. Had her friends not heard her screams? She couldn't see them. She reached out, futilely trying to scream against the gloved hand covering her mouth.

She hesitated, letting her attacker drag her. Gloved hand? Her eyes glanced over to the prisoners in the cage. They were suddenly silent, sulking in the back of their cages.

Her eyes widened.

"Erik! Erik!" Her screams were muffled. She tried to pry his fingers off her mouth, already feeling the ache of bruises forming. She slammed her feet down, trying to pull her body away from him, but he effortlessly pulled her closer and dragged her around a corner.

Christine felt her stomach drop as she stared at the side of the steps. Where were they going? They weren't leaving the dungeon, nor were they going to her cell. This was a hallway she had never been down before. Before she could examine her new surroundings, she was flung back, her body slamming against a stone wall behind her. She gripped her head, the side of it aching from its impact.

But she lost all feeling of pain when she stared up at his rageful eyes.

He towered over her, the intensity of him silencing her instantly. He panted, his hands forming into fists at his side.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

It took all she had to stand against the fury seeping off him. Her legs trembled underneath her. This was just like her nightmare.

No. She lowered her hands to her side. This would not be like last time. She swallowed her fear, doing her best to ignore the pounding of her heart against her ribcage. This time wouldn't let him escape her.

"Who was in that room?"

"That is none of your-"

"It is my business, Erik! He knew my name. Who was he?"

He straightened, his mouth opening slightly. Quickly, it snapped shut. "No it is not." He growled. "Why can't you just do as you are told?"

"Who was it? Tell me, Erik! Why didn't you let me see him?"

"You do not want to see him." Erik scoffed, his tone darkening. "I promise you, you do not want to see what I have done."

Christine's breath caught. She stared at him, wide eyed as he stalked towards her. His malicious grin sent a shiver down her spine.

"Are you afraid, Christine?" He whispered mockingly. "Afraid of your dear friend? I thought you said I was wonderful, a muse in human form?"

"Don't." She pleaded. She didn't like the evenness of his tone nor the apathetic iciness of his eyes.

"Do muses commit such sin? Do they, Christine? Do realize how naive your words were?"

She stepped to the side, trying to get away from him. His shoulders hunched slightly as he raised his hands. She trembled. His hands were not raised to defend himself, more like he was ready to pounce.

"Do you know what these hands are truly capable of? It is nothing like the muses you idolize my dear, more like the beasts they defeated."

He is an assassin for the Shah. Reiner's words rang in her ears and she stared up at him. Though she could see the tense, rigid form of his outer body, there was something vulnerable glinting in his eyes. Without knowing it, he revealed his true intentions.

"You're trying to frighten me."

His eyes narrowed. "It seems to be working."

"I'm not afraid of you."

His hands pressed into the stone behind her, both hands at either side of her head. He glared into her eyes as she forced herself to stand up straight. She did her best to ignore his terrifying sneer and the swarm in her stomach as his face drew closer to hers.

In a deep, husky voice that nearly toppled her bravery, he whispered in her ear. "Then why are you trembling?"

She was trembling. Her knees nearly buckled as the heat from his breath licked at the nape of her neck. But she refused to give him the satisfaction. She turned to look at him, his pupils dilating as her face naturally drew nearer. No matter how hard he tried, she felt as though she could see right through his mask. He wasn't a beast, just a creature that had endured the hatred of the world and only knew how to be beastly. Composers don't become assassins. Angels don't become monsters. Something must have happened to send him down this path. Her belief stilled her trembling shoulders, just for a moment.

"Because I am afraid that you've grown blind, dear angel."

He stepped away from her, the confusion evident behind his mask. Christine felt a rush of adrenaline inside her. She let it fuel her courage. "I refuse to believe you want to be a monster. I refuse to believe that this is all your doing. However, I also refuse to stand by and let you continue like this. You deserve better and as your friend, I will do my best to ensure you have the opportunity."

Her body burned and she relished in it. He wanted to scare her? Let's see how he enjoyed his own medicine. She stepped towards him, squaring her shoulders under his tall frame like David under Goliath.

"Tell me." She whispered gently. "Tell me the truth, Erik."

His lips pursed together in a thin line. "No."

"It is okay. You can trust me."

"Can I?" He spat. She ignored the sting of his words, instead taking a deep breath.

"Yes. Yes, you can."

He stared at her, his hands now trembling. "I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"Christine, stop."

"You're my friend."

"Stop it! Stop!"

How the tides had turned. He stumbled back from her, nearly mortified of the brave young woman before him. Christine refused to yield. "Why won't you talk to me?" She pleaded.

"Because you'll never care when you learn the truth!" He roared. With a speed she couldn't even detect, he gripped onto her shoulders and pushed her against the wall. The echo of his ferocity rang throughout the small room, stunning her to a state of paralysis. The cool forehead of his mask touched hers, forcing her to stare into those yellow orbs that glared into her soul. They both panted, their breaths mingling in the little space between them. Neither could speak, only stare at each other vulnerably. Her hands came to his chest. His heart was beating just as fast as hers, just as intensely, just as terrified. Through the heat of his chest and the force of his heartbeat, she knew. He was just as human as she was. He was just as hurt as she was.

"Erik." She gasped. She had so much she wanted to say, so much that she couldn't process anything. At first he didn't move. She gently rubbed his chest, trying to comfort him in some way. Instead, it broke the little resolve he had left. When his forehead collapsed on her shoulders, she automatically wrapped her hands around his neck. But no matter how hard she squeezed, it would be nothing to the way he crushed her body against his.

"You won't care." His words were released in a choked sob, muffled against her hair.

Christine ignored the tear that dribbled down her cheek. "I forgive you." She whispered.

"I don't deserve your pity. I don't want your pity!"

"I forgive you, Erik. It is okay."

"It is not okay. You don't know what I have done."

"I forgive you. Erik, I forgive you. I'm here and I forgive you."

They were the words she needed to hear when she was at her lowest and she would repeat them forever. Though she could barely hear his ragged breathing she knew he was near the verge of tears. Her body welcomed every angle of him, their bodies melting together like a puzzle. She whispered in his ear, comforting him the best she could. He was shaking, his arms crossed tightly around her lower back. Christine didn't care. She wanted this, and somehow, she knew he needed this.

Hours, minues, seconds: Christine wasn't sure how long he held her. But when he stepped away, she couldn't ignore the cold chill that caressed her body. It took almost all she had not to leap back into his arms for warmth.

"I apologize." He muttered, turning back to the hall. She followed behind him.

Erik didn't look behind him to see if she had followed, but continued walking towards their cell nonetheless. He only stopped once they reached the secret opening. His hands had returned to the tight fists at his side, his shoulders tensing. A flash of fear quipped her heart. Hesitantly, she wrapped two of her hands around one of his fists. "Please. Trust me." She whispered.

His hands loosened, letting her hand slide into his palm. Chrstine squeezed it encouragingly, though she also felt queasy. What poor tortured soul was on the other side of the room? She wanted to know the truth, but was honestly terrified of what she would find.

Erik remained silent. It wasn't until Christine squeezed his hand again that he moved towards the magic door. His iron grip forced Christine to follow. As he opened the door, she forced her eyes to look towards the direction of the voice.

She couldn't stop the gasp that escaped her lips. Firmin lay on a wooden frame, his feet bound by a single rope at its end. Their eyes locked as he rose up onto his forearms.

"Christine." He wheezed before erupting into a coughing fit.

"Firmin..." She whispered. She reached for him, walking over to envelop him in a hug when Erik's grip on her hand tightened, holding her back.

"He is ill. Do not go near him." He muttered. His tone was absent of emotion.

"Why is he in here? Where is André?"

"I'm over here. " Behind the wooden wall was another room. Christine turned and saw André sitting on a similar wooden frame, though he sat up completely.

"Monsieur." She gasped, her hand coming up to her mouth. His suit was nearly destroyed, stained with blood and dust. His ghostly complexion was painted with dark circles under his eyes. The rise and fall of his chest was the only true indication he was a living being.

"Why...why are they here?"

"The Shah has other plans for them. They are the captains of a sinking ship therefore do not deserve the safety of the lifeboats."

Firmin erupted into another set of furious coughs, his entire body shaking from their intensity.

"He needs medicine."

"I cannot give him medicine."

"At least give him a warm bed. He can take my mat."

"There is nothing more I can do for him. Now you've seen it. Let's leave."

She didn't want to leave. Firmin's nearly lifeless eyes begged for her aid. She stepped closer to Erik, her watery eyes begging him.

"Let me help. Please let me-"

"There is nothing you can do!" He snapped. "They've done this to themselves and their fate is out of our hands. You can save your friends but these fools are doomed on their own accord."

He yanked on her arm, but she resisted.

"Christine! Don't leave us!" André whimpered. "He'll kill us! We will die here!"

"Erik please!"

He ignored her. Dragging her out of the room seemed too easy for him, despite her protests. He slammed the trap door closed behind them, ignoring her cry. When it was shut, it blended together so smoothly she could barely identify the outline of the door frame. He began to drag her back towards her cell, but she pulled against him. This did nothing, so she took a new approach.

She ran in front of him, facing him and blocking his path. His eyes narrowed.

"Please. Can we talk?"

"No."

"But why not?"

"Because I know what you want to talk about. I am not giving you any details of my past nor is there anything else I can do to help your friends."

"I deserve the truth."

"You deserve nothing." His word cut at her heart, her body feeling the familiar drowning sense of guilt. But she swam upward, refusing to yield. She let her frustration motivate her.

He tried to walk around her, but she pushed him with her free hand. He barely moved, despite her best efforts. "No!" She groaned as she pushed against him. "I do deserve the truth!"

He chuckled. "How volatile." He mocked, letting go of her other arm. "If it is a fight you're looking for, little songbird, then just say so. I never turn down a challenge."

Christine refused to let his malicious snarl dim her anger. "I'm not leaving until we talk. After all these years of deceit the least you can do is explain why you lied."

"Is that so? And if I refuse?"

"I'll...I'll make you."

His laugh echoed around her. It wasn't warm or soft like she had expected. If anything, it was belittling. "Oh really? How do you plan to do that?"

"I won't leave until you tell me."

He shrugged, turning and walking back towards the staircase. She blinked in confusion. "Wait! Where are you going?"

"My job is to bring you to the dungeon. You're in the dungeon and you won't leave, therefore my job is complete."

Christine sighed in frustration, running forward to him. "That's not what I meant! Erik!"

Just as she reached him, his arm swung out and wrapped around her waist. He pulled her to him, her back flush against his body. Her hands naturally came to his arm trying to pry herself free.

"You don't want to follow me, mademoiselle. Your fragile little soul couldn't stand it."

"I'm stronger than you give credit." She snapped. She was growing more and more annoyed with him. All she wanted was the truth. She ignored the goosebumps that flared on her neck under his hot breath.

"Really? Stronger than me? Stronger than the Angel of Death?"

"Stronger than you realize." She quipped.

He spun her around, pushing her back against the dungeon door. The breath left her lungs as his hand slid into her chestnut curls, gripping a handful of her oily locks. He grinned down at her.

"Then stop me." He growled before crashing his lips against hers.

Until next time!