A/N - chicketieboo - ah, come now, it wouldn't be any fun if it were that easy ...! ;)
Stemwinder - *laughs and hugs* This is really a reply to your review for my other long fic - thank you :) But no, I'm afraid the sequel isn't ever going to be written. I deal in angst - I'll leave it to more talented writers to tell the story of their happily ever after :) (I'm absolutely loving your sequel by the way - soo sweet and romantic!!)
Erik didn't know how long he sat there for, absently stroking Ayesha until she bored and disappeared off somewhere else in the dark little flat. It was cold, he noted absently. He should get some heating for Ayesha, she didn't like the cold. He could hear her voice raised in plaintive complaint, and wondered distantly what the matter was. He rose slowly, noting with mild surprise the stiffness in his joints. A wave of nausea passed over him and he stumbled, catching at a table and lowering himself stiffly into a chair. A myriad of emotions swept over him, and for the first time since leaving Nadir's flat, he could not summon the energy to empty his mind and force himself not to think.
Christine ...
He dug his nails fiercely into the palms of his hands, screwing his eyes closed and bending low until his forehead touched his knees.
No!
He wouldn't think about her. She was a closed chapter of his life - he didn't need to think about her. She was an irrelevance. A childish fantasy - out of his system once and for all. A pretty face, a pretty voice, and that was all. Oh God, her voice ... He shook his head vehemently and bit his lip until he could taste the blood. No. Just another silly ingenue - really, she had done what was best for all of them - it would be good for him to get that adolescent nonsense out of his system. Love - what an infantile notion. What fools people were, allowing themselves to be seduced into such a puerile charade that their lives were really held together by something so ephemeral.
He could hear his thoughts becoming more frenetic, less comprehensible, making less sense as he forced himself to think faster and faster to shut out the eddying tide of emotion which was threatening to break through.
Perhaps he should go to visit Nadir tomorrow, perhaps take a long walk along the boulevard, after dark of course, it would be nice and empty, perhaps he could go to that little bookshop along the Rue de Rivieres, it was a long time since he had read anything new, nothing too heavy of course, perhaps something he had read before, Victor Hugo perhaps or maybe even something as simple as an Austen ...
His mind cut off that avenue of thought with the brutal efficiency of a guillotine - he remembered reading Emma aloud to Christine once. She had been ill - pale, and drowsy, but still beautiful, and so apologetic for all the trouble she was causing; "Erik, honestly, I'm all right, you don't need to go to all this trouble, it's just a touch of cold ..."
No ... he shook his head again, trying to shut out her voice, his mind rushing on ahead, frantically busying itself with whatever trivialities it could derive to distract him from her absence.
It really was cold, Ayesha must be hating it, he must see the landlady about some heating as soon as possible, perhaps rent another apartment if this one wasn't living up to scratch which of course it was so far, but one never knew, one could never tell, and of course if the neighbours started posing difficulties, they seemed like a relatively private group, but it was impossible to tell, if they took a dislike life could be made very hard ...
A sudden wave of dizziness cut him off in mid-thought, black spots dancing before his eyes, leaving him fighting against the rapidly enveloping velvet curtain of unconsciousness.
His last lucid thought before he faded into the vast black chasm of infinity was that he wouldn't see Christine's wedding.
* * *
Erik awoke some time later, his head throbbing. He prayed briefly that the fit had been yet another attack, heralding the release of his escape from this world; but the deeply buried part of him which still possessed common sense told him that his antipathy towards food ever since his arrival in his new flat was infinitely more likely to be the cause of any faintness.
He swore hopelessly, without any real energy, pulling a hand roughly through his hair, welcoming the pain as bearable.
He heard Ayesha mew, and rose slowly, testing his strength. He made his way laboriously over to her, taking her into his arms, welcoming the soft warmth of her body against his. She rubbed her head happily against his face, purring ecstatically. He sighed and dropped her gently onto the bed, going through the almost-empty cupboards, selecting something for her to eat. The irony that the only food in the house was that meant for his cat did not pass him by; under different circumstances, it might have made him smile.
Ayesha ran to the food, and for a few moments, the silence in the flat was broken by her noisy enjoyment. Erik moved stiffly over to the bed and sank down, burying his face in his hands.
Oh, God ...
He sat quite still, the wall hard and cold against his back, the streetlamps casting artificial puddles of yellow light on the bare floor, his eyes closing as he finally succumbed to the vision of Christine.
The final sleep ...
Suddenly he felt Ayesha's warmth insistent against his hand, her nose warm and wet, demanding attention. He drew his hand away, the image of Christine drifting closer, almost within his reach, the light becoming brighter, the warmth soothing, her voice so soft ...
Erik ...
He heard Ayesha yowl, felt her clawing desperately at his clothes, heard the fine fabric of his jacket rip, felt the air suddenly cold on his skin - and with the sudden shock of cold air the warmth and light receded and Christine melted away from under his fingertips, her face dissolving in a swirl of smoke.
Erik found himself reaching helplessly out to her - but even as he did, he felt Ayesha rub her head across his chest and reached down automatically to stroke her. She gave a contented mew and settled down to sleep on his lap.
He sighed, running a hand mechanically down her back, treasuring the silk of her fur. Had it not been for his little princess, he knew he would never have risen from the bed again.
* * *
Erik was sitting by the window again, ignoring his friend's noisy entrance.
"Erik?"
His voice was cold. "Daroga."
Nadir ignored the lack of enthusiasm in Erik's voice. "I've arranged a little trip for us."
Erik barely glanced up. "I don't think so."
"Come now, Erik ... you won't refuse me when I've been to so much trouble."
There was a long silence before Erik stood up, resigned. "Very well ..."
After a few minutes, Nadir noticed he was becoming edgy. "Where are we going?" he asked again, his voice tighter than before.
The carriage rounded the corner, and the Opera came into view.
"No," he said tensely, his hand clenching on his knee. "I'm not going in there."
"Yes, you are," said Nadir coolly.
"It may have escaped your notice, Nadir," Erik said with a biting sarcasm which did little to disguise his discomfort, "but there is a significant price on my head in this part of the city. If you want to rid yourself of me that badly, I'm sure there must be an easier way than this."
"Don't be facetious," Nadir said, showing surprising resistance to the lure of Erik's voice. "I've reserved us a private box - we're a few minutes late, no one needs to see us."
Erik's hands were twisting convulsively in the folds of his cloak, his voice barely audible above the clattering of the horses' hooves on the cobbles. "What are you trying to do to me, daroga?"
"You have to face the past before you can forget it," said Nadir quietly. His reasoning sounded weak even to his own ears; he should have come up with a better excuse beforehand ...
Fortunately, Erik's instinctive distress at being so close to the Opera again seemed to have distracted him from Nadir's facile reasoning, his eyes fixed on the building through the window, his hand clenched so tightly on the door that the skin on his knuckles had turned white.
"It's a Thursday," he said, seemingly irrelevantly.
Nadir nodded, understanding his silent thought processes. He was secretly relieved that Erik could still make the connection; Thursday being one of the days on which Christine was scheduled not to appear. Nadir had a feeling that if Erik thought there was any chance of Christine appearing that night, neither hell nor high water would not have induced him to enter the building.
"I know," he said quietly. "Come on ... we have to go."
As if in a trance, Erik slowly opened his door and stepped out into the street, automatically pulling his hat lower over his eyes. His eyes were distant, and Nadir dreaded to think what was going through his mind, faintly surprised that he was putting up so little resistance.
Neither of them spoke until they were safely ensconced in their box, with the curtains drawn carefully across to shield them from the eyes of the audience. Erik was sitting on the very edge of his seat, every muscle in his body tensed, his hand flexing convulsively on the arm of his chair, his face like stone.
"Relax, Erik," murmured Nadir.
Erik didn't look at him. Suddenly a soprano voice rose above the chorus, and Nadir felt him move, fast and startled, his entire body constricting with shock. He rose, his hand groping blindly at the wall for support, parting the curtains on the side closest to the stage. He stood quite still for a long moment, then turned away and sat back down as though his legs could no longer support him. With a shock, Nadir realised he was shaking, a hand passing over his face, his breathing suddenly ragged.
"You knew she'd be here." He drew a shaking breath, briefly closing his eyes. "What are you trying to do to me?"
There was a silence. Erik rose again, slowly, shakily, and parted the curtains again. He stared down at the stage for a long moment, his hand clenched around the rim of the box with splintering force. He passed a hand across his face and turned away.
"I don't know what you're trying to do," he said in a very low voice, "but I'm damned if I'm going to wait around to see." He moved towards the door, but Nadir rose quickly to block his path.
"No," he said quietly. "Sit down. You need to be here tonight."
Erik stared at him. "Care to explain why?"
Nadir shook his head. "It's not my place. Christine wants to see you - that's all you need to know." Erik's convulsive reaction to her name did not pass him by.
"And if I don't want to see her?" The words were measured, but the faint trembling of his voice betrayed him.
Nadir raised his eyebrows. "If you can look me in the eye and tell me that you don't want to see her, then we'll leave now."
Erik looked up. "Give me one good reason why I should listen to anything you have to say. One good reason why I shouldn't walk out of this box right now."
"Don't make this difficult, Erik," Nadir said quietly. "How is she going to feel if she's left all alone in her dressing room after the performance waiting for you and you don't come?"
"Can't imagine," Erik said coldly. "What do I know about unfulfilled expectations?"
"And you'll punish her for that?"
Erik didn't reply.
"One last performance, Erik. One last chance to hear her sing, to talk with her face to face - and then if you want it to be over, you can walk away and never come back."
Erik rose and stared down at the stage again.
"She must be mad," he murmured distantly, shaking his head. He looked down at the stage and turned away, slamming his hand against the wall of the box with frustrated anguish.
Nadir rose uncomfortably. "Erik ..."
Erik turned very quickly away from him, his voice suddenly very cold, strained with tension. "Don't touch me, daroga - a few moments alone, if you please."
"Erik ...?"
"Go!"
Erik heard Nadir hasten out of the box, the door closing behind him, and the faint buzz of conversation as he encountered someone else in the corridor.
Erik leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, swallowing hard. He rose, brushing back the curtain, and stared down at her for a long moment.
It doesn't make any sense ...
To help his enemies set a trap for him one month and arrange a private meeting the next? He sighed. Perhaps he was becoming less cynical in his old age ...
If it was another trap, it was an excruciatingly clumsy one ... he would have expected better from her. Perhaps that was the whole idea ... that he would never believe that a trap could be so blatant ...
He sighed again, and, looking down at her onstage - twirling round, her hair creating a halo around her head, her face lit up with one of her heartbreakingly beautiful smiles - he realised it didn't matter. Ambush or not, he couldn't turn down the chance to see her again - and if his life should end on a glimpse of her, perhaps the chance to touch the hem of her dress - it would be the best of all deaths.
He knelt on the floor at the front of the box, resting his hand on the wall and closed his eyes to hear her sing one last time.
More than he had dared to hope for ...
* * *
Nadir paced uneasily up and down the corridor, wondering whether or not he dared re-enter the box. He tiptoed to the door and pushed it open a crack, praying it wouldn't squeak. It didn't; it opened just far enough to enable him a view of Erik kneeling on the floor, his head bent, barely seeming to breathe, a faint tremor in his shoulders; and Nadir realised he was weeping silently.
He hastily backed away with a silent curse and pulled the door to again. At least this slightly off-key rendezvous had awakened something of the old emotion in him; although whether or not it would prove positive was still a question of vaguely worrying doubt in Nadir's mind.
He paused outside the door a moment longer, before turning and making his way down the corridor to the Rotunda; a double brandy might help steady his nerves for the tension which would inevitably accompany the forthcoming meeting.
* * *
As the performance ended, Nadir cautiously re-entered the box amidst a storm of applause from the audience. Erik had resumed his seat in the chair and was staring into space with studied indifference.
"Erik?"
Erik looked up slowly. "It would have to be Meyerbeer, wouldn't it," he said reflectively.
Nadir wondered briefly whether or not to ask; and decided that, on balance, it would be a bad idea.
"Shall we go?" he asked gently.
Erik remained motionless a moment longer, doubtless steeling himself for the ordeal which lay ahead. Finally he looked up, and the look in his eyes suddenly made Nadir doubt that he was doing the right thing.
"Why all this, Nadir?" he asked, his voice quietly controlled. "What is she trying to do?"
Nadir shook his head slowly. "That, my friend, is something that only she can tell you."
Erik passed a hand through his hair. "One day she will learn that to play with fire is to risk a burn," he murmured, more to himself than to Nadir.
There was a moment's silence. Nadir hesitated, feeling uncomfortably out of place. A long moment passed before Erik clenched his fists briefly, rose, and settled his cloak around his shoulders again.
"Very well, Nadir," he said with a forced nonchalance which did not sound quite easy. "We mustn't keep the lady waiting."