Erik finally began to feel the aching, annoying pain in his foot. It
turned back to it's normal color only a couple weeks after Christine made
him bandage it properly, but he couldn't put his weight on it. Well... he
could, but Christine wouldn't allow that.
Every few days, Christine would leave back to her world, in which Erik would imagine many horrible things happening... the nightmare that she would never come back, or that she would tell her man about his flat... To keep himself from thinking such things, he would often invite the Persian to have tea with him, or talk to Ayesha. What a mad thing to do...
One sunny morning while Erik was asleep in the darkness of his home, he awoke suddenly at the distinct vibrant feeling of his intruder bell. He had removed it from the wall and put it in his pocket to be able to feel it, and had forgotten to take it out when he went to sleep. Now, it shook annoyingly under Erik's arm.
Grumpy and not in the mood for company at such an early hour, Erik jumped out of bed; a horrible habit for one with a broken foot.
"Damn!" He cursed, picking his bandaged foot up as if from a hot iron. Looking furiously outside, he saw nobody, so figured the person was in the torture chamber. Good. Easier to do away with someone in that mirrored room...
When Erik peered through the little window of the torture chamber, he saw his tree, the gibbet in it, and a dark, shadowy figure clumsily working his way around the room, searching for a way out.
"Clumsy fool," Erik hissed to himself, "Just to think... ending up in my torture chamber of all places..." He flipped a switch and the deadly room flooded with light. The man's face was visible now, and Erik recognized him as one of the bumbling stage hands.
The man, who was known as Bouquet, glanced frightfully around as the torture chamber lit up, although he failed to notice the small window near the ceiling in a corner.
It was odd... When Erik once would have found pleasure in watching a man slowly go mad and finally kill himself in the torture chamber, all fun was gone, and if anything, he just wished Bouquet would find the hidden spring and leave him alone. but he knew he could never let the man back above ground; he had seen too much already. How long would it be before Bouquet told all of Paris he lived where he did? Joe had to go.
Sighing, Erik turned around, trying to ignore the light form the torture chamber. But another problem arose... How was he going to get the body from his room to the stage once the man was finally dead? He didn't want to have to do away with the corpse by throwing it into the lake; it would find it's way to shore, and that would scare Christine if ever she saw it, and he wasn't well enough to carry a heavy dead man five floors to the stage... well, maybe he could...
No, what was he saying? He knew what he was going to do...
Erik was going to hit Bouquet over the head with something. Yes, that's what he'd do. He would hit him, knock him unconscious, and drop him off somewhere between where he was and the surface. Hopefully, Joseph would believe his whole experience to be a dream, and obviously have fallen asleep on the job of checking an underground floor. And then he'd go on doing his usual work without another thought. Better yet, he might lose his memory of Erik's place...
Grabbing the heaviest thing he could find first, which happened to be a paperweight from the mantle, Erik slipped up to the window, pulling the switch down and consuming Bouquet in darkness again. The man could not see in the dark as Erik could, and it was easy for him to find Joseph shuffling about blindly as he opened another hidden door that could only be unlatched from the outside.
Creeping like a cat and hoping to God that he wasn't making any noise, Erik brought the paperweight above his head and thrust it down hard on Bouquet, the metal against his skull making a coconut-like impact, splitting the man's thin flesh underneath his hair. Blood oozed from the wound, and Joe crumpled to the floor, automatically unconscious as Erik had intended.
Everything went smoothly... he dragged the body to the second cellar; the farthest he could go without causing excruciating pain in his foot which now was not used to the pressure of walking. To get back down to his home, Erik had to carry himself on one foot, lucky for him he was as exceptional balancer. Once he was to his bed, he collapsed softly to it, letting his foot rest which throbbed with pain while falling into an exhausted slumber.
When he woke up only a few minutes later, he found Christine hovering above him.
"It's about time," Erik yawned, sitting up.
"I can't have people suspecting something," Christine answered. "I have to be gone for a time."
"You mean those chorus girls haven't started rumors yet? You haven't EVER told them you've been visited by me?" Erik looked doubtful.
"I DID mention something about an Angel of Music once... but I'm positive they've all forgotten about that," Christine said.
"I'm sure," Erik muttered.
Christine's eyes widened. "Why - you've got blood on your hands, Erik!" She pointed to his fingers, which he looked at.
'Oh, disgusting,' Erik thought to himself. 'Now I'm in for it...'
"I... hurt myself," he said quickly, hiding his hands from view.
"How?" Christine frowned.
"My knife slipped," Erik said hurriedly, "I was cutting in the kitchen."
"Oh," she bought it. "Try to be more careful next time."
"Stop that," Erik grumbled.
"Stop what?"
"Stop pretending to be so protective."
"Erik..."
"I'm serious!"
They stared at each other.
"I'm not pretending," Christine said slowly. "I was just reminding you." And with that, she left the room.
As soon as she was out of sight, Erik leapt from his bed and rushed to the bathroom, scrubbing his hands thoroughly, almost tripping himself with his dead foot on the way back.
"Erik?" Christine poked her head out of her bedroom, hearing shuffling noises. But by that time he had made it back to his bed safely, leaving her to sigh and close the door again.
A/N: Aiiieeekkk! I actually know what I'm going to do next chapter, so it's going to be better than this one. ENJOY! :)
Every few days, Christine would leave back to her world, in which Erik would imagine many horrible things happening... the nightmare that she would never come back, or that she would tell her man about his flat... To keep himself from thinking such things, he would often invite the Persian to have tea with him, or talk to Ayesha. What a mad thing to do...
One sunny morning while Erik was asleep in the darkness of his home, he awoke suddenly at the distinct vibrant feeling of his intruder bell. He had removed it from the wall and put it in his pocket to be able to feel it, and had forgotten to take it out when he went to sleep. Now, it shook annoyingly under Erik's arm.
Grumpy and not in the mood for company at such an early hour, Erik jumped out of bed; a horrible habit for one with a broken foot.
"Damn!" He cursed, picking his bandaged foot up as if from a hot iron. Looking furiously outside, he saw nobody, so figured the person was in the torture chamber. Good. Easier to do away with someone in that mirrored room...
When Erik peered through the little window of the torture chamber, he saw his tree, the gibbet in it, and a dark, shadowy figure clumsily working his way around the room, searching for a way out.
"Clumsy fool," Erik hissed to himself, "Just to think... ending up in my torture chamber of all places..." He flipped a switch and the deadly room flooded with light. The man's face was visible now, and Erik recognized him as one of the bumbling stage hands.
The man, who was known as Bouquet, glanced frightfully around as the torture chamber lit up, although he failed to notice the small window near the ceiling in a corner.
It was odd... When Erik once would have found pleasure in watching a man slowly go mad and finally kill himself in the torture chamber, all fun was gone, and if anything, he just wished Bouquet would find the hidden spring and leave him alone. but he knew he could never let the man back above ground; he had seen too much already. How long would it be before Bouquet told all of Paris he lived where he did? Joe had to go.
Sighing, Erik turned around, trying to ignore the light form the torture chamber. But another problem arose... How was he going to get the body from his room to the stage once the man was finally dead? He didn't want to have to do away with the corpse by throwing it into the lake; it would find it's way to shore, and that would scare Christine if ever she saw it, and he wasn't well enough to carry a heavy dead man five floors to the stage... well, maybe he could...
No, what was he saying? He knew what he was going to do...
Erik was going to hit Bouquet over the head with something. Yes, that's what he'd do. He would hit him, knock him unconscious, and drop him off somewhere between where he was and the surface. Hopefully, Joseph would believe his whole experience to be a dream, and obviously have fallen asleep on the job of checking an underground floor. And then he'd go on doing his usual work without another thought. Better yet, he might lose his memory of Erik's place...
Grabbing the heaviest thing he could find first, which happened to be a paperweight from the mantle, Erik slipped up to the window, pulling the switch down and consuming Bouquet in darkness again. The man could not see in the dark as Erik could, and it was easy for him to find Joseph shuffling about blindly as he opened another hidden door that could only be unlatched from the outside.
Creeping like a cat and hoping to God that he wasn't making any noise, Erik brought the paperweight above his head and thrust it down hard on Bouquet, the metal against his skull making a coconut-like impact, splitting the man's thin flesh underneath his hair. Blood oozed from the wound, and Joe crumpled to the floor, automatically unconscious as Erik had intended.
Everything went smoothly... he dragged the body to the second cellar; the farthest he could go without causing excruciating pain in his foot which now was not used to the pressure of walking. To get back down to his home, Erik had to carry himself on one foot, lucky for him he was as exceptional balancer. Once he was to his bed, he collapsed softly to it, letting his foot rest which throbbed with pain while falling into an exhausted slumber.
When he woke up only a few minutes later, he found Christine hovering above him.
"It's about time," Erik yawned, sitting up.
"I can't have people suspecting something," Christine answered. "I have to be gone for a time."
"You mean those chorus girls haven't started rumors yet? You haven't EVER told them you've been visited by me?" Erik looked doubtful.
"I DID mention something about an Angel of Music once... but I'm positive they've all forgotten about that," Christine said.
"I'm sure," Erik muttered.
Christine's eyes widened. "Why - you've got blood on your hands, Erik!" She pointed to his fingers, which he looked at.
'Oh, disgusting,' Erik thought to himself. 'Now I'm in for it...'
"I... hurt myself," he said quickly, hiding his hands from view.
"How?" Christine frowned.
"My knife slipped," Erik said hurriedly, "I was cutting in the kitchen."
"Oh," she bought it. "Try to be more careful next time."
"Stop that," Erik grumbled.
"Stop what?"
"Stop pretending to be so protective."
"Erik..."
"I'm serious!"
They stared at each other.
"I'm not pretending," Christine said slowly. "I was just reminding you." And with that, she left the room.
As soon as she was out of sight, Erik leapt from his bed and rushed to the bathroom, scrubbing his hands thoroughly, almost tripping himself with his dead foot on the way back.
"Erik?" Christine poked her head out of her bedroom, hearing shuffling noises. But by that time he had made it back to his bed safely, leaving her to sigh and close the door again.
A/N: Aiiieeekkk! I actually know what I'm going to do next chapter, so it's going to be better than this one. ENJOY! :)