Chapter 92 Descent

Her Angel was completely out of control as he dragged her mercilessly down into the bowels of the Opera House. His hand was in a vice-like grip around her wrist as he pulled her along. She'd once thought he'd never hurt her, yet her bare feet tore from the rough ground as he went ever downward and raged about damnation.

The monster who'd thrown her to the floor had returned. Only his anger was ten times as great. Christine knew she'd just made the greatest mistake of her life, revealing his face to them all. Love had blinded her to his violence for the last time. He pulled her along like a rag doll, revealing the strength that he'd always kept tethered before now. "Please, let me go," she begged, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry – "

"Is this not how you wanted our opera to end?" Erik snapped. "Did you think I would be dead by now and you would finally be free?" He'd lost every tenuous grip he'd ever had on his sanity when she'd revealed his accursed face to the world. Was everything she'd just sang to him nothing more than a distraction? Had she plotted with de Chagny to drive reason from his mind and replace it with lust? Was everything that had ever passed between them just another act? Had she used him as a tutor to just discard him once she had a Vicomte to keep her instead? Was she no better than every other whore in the place? He knew he might be hurting her, but he couldn't stop. She had to understand that this was to be the last game she ever played with him. How had he been so stupid as to have ever believed she loved him? "No doubt your dreams of a happy ending with your Vicomte didn't include being dragged into hell by the monster you both intended to kill!"

She slipped as they went down the damp slope and cried out. He didn't even stop, just pulled her up again from the ground. She didn't recognise the man before her. Her Angel was dead. He'd been replaced by this demon. "I didn't intend anything. I didn't want you to die!"

"And you expect me to believe that?" He rounded on her, revolted at himself when she cowered back from him, yet unable to stop. Didn't she understand what his life had been with such a face? The torment and terror, the black fog of despair that had kept his soul in hell? Yet the pain he'd felt at being revealed to the audience's horrified screams was nothing to the pain of her betrayal and the revelation that her 'love' had been a lie. "That I would be the one you chose? That this face would be the one you want to look at for the rest of your life?"

He dragged her further down and stopped at the boat. "No," she gasped, "I don't want to go!" She didn't know what he might do once she was back behind his gate. He was too far into madness now.

"I no longer care what you want," he said, lifting her into his arms and taking her into the boat. There was no passion this time as she struggled against him. "Now sit down!" Once in she sat terrified before him, trembling in fear.

A small part of him was disgusted with himself for how he was treating her. But that small part could not ever hope to fight against the chaos of rage inside him. "It's time to make you suffer. Maybe I should spend the rest of our lives together making yours as miserable and wretched as you have mine, over the last six months. Perhaps then you'll understand what you've put me through. Perhaps then you'll stop playing this dangerous game."

"I didn't do this to hurt you," she pleaded. Oh God, how could she make him see? How could she get through to him?

"No, it's done wonders for my confidence, having all of Paris scream at me in revulsion," he said sarcastically, as the boat reached its destination. "Why did I never think to subject myself to such scrutiny before?" He picked her up in his arms as he stepped out of the boat and cursed himself again as she struggled against him. Would this be how she always was now, no passion, no love, no desire. Only wanting to be rid of him, only wanting him gone. Like the rest of the world, like every other woman who'd ever seen his face.

"I didn't mean -," she stumbled as he dragged her over to the mannequin, "I never thought –"

He shook her then, "You didn't mean, you never thought?" he mocked. "Then why did you do it? Why?"

"Raoul was going to –"

It was the worst answer she could have given. "Raoul?" he mocked the name as if it were a curse upon them both. "Do you really think I see him as a threat?" He started dragging her towards his bedroom.

She saw then that the mannequin was naked, her wedding dress was gone. Her terror only increased, thinking what he was about to do to her. "No, please, he was going to kill you!" Couldn't he understand she'd only done it to save him?

"There are fates far worse than death," he ground out, pushing her in front of him towards the bed. "As you are about to find out."

They stopped before the bed, where her wedding dress lay. His hands grasped her arms, as she looked down upon her fate, then he started to undo the laces of her corset. She turned then, "stop it, no!"

Did she really think? "If I wanted to take you before now, I would have," he said darkly. "Get dressed, my dear. We can't be late for our wedding."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I'll bed you," he said, looking down at her body. He ran his hands all over her neck, her shoulders, lost in the feel of her skin, then pulled her towards him, hard. "But I'll not do it until you're my wife."

He let her go and she stumbled back, hitting her legs against the bed. "No priest would marry us," she said, shaking her head.

He snorted at her naiveté, then walked over to a dresser against the wall. He opened a drawer and pulled out a small piece of folded paper, then held it up in front of her face. "You'll be surprised how accommodating your F. Callier will be once he knows I've read this."

Christine's hands shook as she took the note from him. She opened it, not recognising the unfamiliar hand. It was a love note between Brigitte and F. Callier. Her heart sank, she knew her priest would do anything her Angel said, to keep such knowledge a secret. There was no escape.

Erik smiled with grim satisfaction as he watched her face fall as she read it. "Brigitte's priest will have no more choice than you do."

"How did you even know?" she asked hopelessly. Had he seen her talk to Brigitte, that night in her dressing room? The night when she'd shamefully thought to ensnare him with lust and bind him to her. How stupid she'd been…

"Did you think yours was the only mirror I've ever looked through?" He shrugged off his jacket and threw it on the bed.

She gasped at that.

The look on her face might have been comical if it hadn't broken his heart at the same time. Let her think she was nothing to him, let her think she was one of many. Let her think he could live without her, even as he fought to trap her with him into eternity. "Now get dressed." He walked away from her, out of the bedroom, yet didn't close the curtain, giving her no privacy.

She looked after him forlornly, then moved to do as he'd said. She had merely changed masters, going from Raoul to her Angel. She still had no choice or say in her own destiny. Dropping Aminta's costume at her feet, she began to put on the wedding dress she'd always dreamed of. It fit like a glove – of course. 'Didn't they always?' she thought wretchedly, remembering her Gala dress, the Ball dress and now this.

She turned to go back to him, then noticed another piece of paper on the floor next to his bed and bent slowly to pick it up. It was crumpled and worn; he must have read it over and over. It was her letter to Madame, asking for Meg to join her at the Dechanet estate. There were streaks now, in the ink. Did it once hold his tears? She knew then there could still be hope.

But then she saw the mask he'd worn, when dressed in red, at the Bal Masque. She shivered, it looked like death to her now; then saw a flash of white underneath. Her heart in her throat, she bent to pick up the mask and then the white stocking it hid. Her heart fell. It was hers; she'd worn stockings that first night when he'd brought her down here. They were dirty, ripped; she hadn't even noticed at the time how ruined they'd been by their walk through the corridors.

He must have taken them off of her unconscious body. What else had he done that night, while she lay sleeping? She should have been sickened by the idea, but her traitorous heart could not stop wanting him, even now, with all that he was doing to destroy them both.

She threw all three things onto the bed, another thought chilling her blood. She rushed out of his bedroom again. "What did you do to Piangi?" the accusation was clear in her voice.

He was momentarily stunned. She looked breathtakingly beautiful in the dress. And wasn't that how every man was supposed to feel, when first seeing his bride? But her words stung, as always. "What does it matter?"

"Did you murder him? As you did Buquet?"

"Would you have preferred I let Buquet violate you, as he'd planned?"

"Isn't that what you intend to do to me?" she said. "Is this all I am to you? Another conquest, another body?" Another woman – one of many he'd taken through the mirrors he'd watched them all through? Was that all the passion she'd thought they'd shared had meant?

"No woman before you has ever looked upon me with desire," he said, going towards her. "No woman before you has ever felt my touch." He reached out and tried to stroke her cheek, but she moved from his caress. He lifted up a curl of her hair instead then went to fetch her veil and headdress from the mannequin; she should be properly attired. "The world has taught me never to dream, never to hope… From the beginning, it taught me I was worthless." He pushed the headdress down on her hair, then turned her to face him. "From the beginning, it taught me I was nothing. I'd always been alone, until I found you," he said, his voice filled with sorrow.

She looked down; he took her left hand and placed a ring into it, then folded her fingers over it and with the utmost gentleness, covered her fingers with his own. They both knew what he was finally asking, even if it was with another man's ring.

Perhaps now he'd be calmer? Perhaps now she could get through to him all that she felt, all she needed to say? Taking the headdress off as she walked past him, she went up the few stairs to the first mirror and slowly revealed the glass beneath. She knew she'd only just begun to discover the horrors that had been done to him before now, because of his face. But she also had to make him understand his scarred flesh didn't frighten her as much as his troubled soul. "You need never wear a mask with me again," she said quietly, showing him his own reflection. "But that won't absolve all that you've done."

'Christ,' he thought, 'this is hopeless.' How could she ever understand? How could he ever burden her timid soul with the battering that his had been forced to withstand? He closed his eyes for a moment, grateful to have his temper under control again at last.

Then he heard it. Splashing, panting. Only one man could be stupid enough to make that much noise as he approached an enemy.

He looked back at her with a manic gleam in his wild eyes; all trace of the cowed man, only seconds before, had gone. "Did you send out invitations, my dear?" he snapped. "Is the whole audience coming down to watch you shred my heart to pieces with your dainty little fingernails?"

Christine looked to see what he was indicating, and her heart fell. "Raoul!" she cried rushing towards him. Oh God, why had he come? Didn't he realise what her Angel might do? Didn't he know how much danger he was in?

Erik strode up the bedroom steps, arrogance straightening his spine. How typical of de Chagny to turn up at the worst possible moment. He looked through the gate at the dripping whelp. Shame that trap hadn't worked; it might have spared them such an obnoxious intrusion. Ah well, he'd always wanted to kill de Chagny with his bare hands anyway. "How nice of you to join us at last," he said, "did you hope to fill the position of Best Man?"

Her cold and callous angel was back. He came down towards her again, then grabbed her, pulling her towards him as if they were nothing more than a newlywed couple, welcoming a guest to their home. She fought to be free of him as Raoul pleaded to be let through the gate to help her, professing that he loved her. "Get off me," she said, pushing him away.

'God above,' Erik thought, 'how could she possibly prefer this pathetic little runt?' De Chagny bleated that Erik should show compassion – when he'd had trained marksmen aiming weapons at them not ten minutes before? "How sweet that he thinks he can save you," he sneered at Christine. Maybe he should leave him out there, let him watch as they later consummated their marriage. But then his unwelcome appearance gave Erik an idea. Perhaps there was another, infinitely more satisfying way, to end this all?

"Please," Raoul cried, "let me through." He had no idea what he might do but beg for this monster to let her go. He was already exhausted from nearly drowning only minutes before, but he'd fight to his last breath to help Christine escape from this nightmarish place. The gate started to rise in front of him and he waded underneath.

"It seems I have Emilie to thank for showing you the way," Erik said, striding into the ice-cold water and stalking towards his rival. Did Emilie give her usual useless advice of how to avoid a noose, or did she willingly send de Chagny to his death? He had to smile at the thought, hoping it was the latter. "I'm surprised she didn't come down with you, to enjoy the show." De Chagny seemed oblivious to the threat laced through his contemptuous words.

Erik threw his arms wide, welcoming the fly to the spider's web. "I can't think why you're worried on Christine's account. As you can see, she is perfectly safe." He indicated back to where she stood.

Christine's breath caught in terror as her Angel stalked towards Raoul, icy sarcasm dripping like blood from his lips.

Raoul vaguely registered that she was somehow wearing a wedding dress, then turned as the gate closed behind him, momentarily distracted.

It was all Erik needed. "But I can't promise the same for you!" He grabbed a rope from the water at his feet and threw it around de Chagny. "It's time to atone for all that you've done, for every time you've ever laid a hand on her." Working quickly, Erik tied him securely to the portcullis, making sure to pull the rope across the re-opened wound on his left arm, delighting in the blood already staining his shirt. "And now we come to our Final Act," Erik said, walking back to Christine. "The choice is yours, my dear. Do you intend to become my bride tonight, or does your precious Vicomte get sent straight to hell?" His voice was no more than a guttural growl as he demanded her to choose between them at last.

"How could you do this?" she cried. "This isn't a choice!" She wanted him – but she didn't want Raoul to die because of it! He, of all of them, was innocent in this twisted chaos. He only hoped to save her, he'd only ever wanted the chance to love her. "How can I love you, if you kill him in my name? Are you trying to make me hate you?"

Erik went past her to grab a dry, harsher rope. "Do you think I'll care if you hate me, as long as you're mine?" There was no other way now. He had to have her. She had to be his. If this was the only way he could do it, he'd make her see, he'd make her realise somehow, someway. They had to be free of her damn Vicomte. And what was one more murder on his soul? What would it even matter if de Chagny's rotting corpse stayed in this dark hole forever, once they'd left it far behind?

Raoul tried to struggle, but was no use, he was stuck fast. And now he was absolutely useless to her. He realised with sickening dread, that he'd entirely underestimated the man between them both. This was no love-sick tutor, this was a crazed lunatic. He'd thought to rescue her easily, but now she was in more danger than ever. "Don't give him what he wants," he cried. "I'd rather die than have him touch you again."

"I'll do more than touch her, once you're dead," Erik snarled, looping another noose around de Chagny's neck, up through the portcullis, pulling it tight. How satisfying it was to choke the words from the bastard at last. "You came to me un-armed and unprepared and think that I'll just give her back to you? That I'd actually let you take her from me again?"

"You can't think she wants to be with you," Raoul spluttered, revolted by the scarred man in front of him. "No woman would choose you of her own free will. You're only forcing her to lie."

Erik tightened the rope around de Chagny's throat, showing Christine exactly how her fiancé was about to die and how easily that death could be achieved. Free will… she should choose freely… She should be free…

"For God's sake, don't!" Christine cried. "Stop it – you're hurting him!" How could she ever have looked upon her Angel with adoring eyes? Her heart had been so blinded by love that she'd never known how damaged his mind had been by years of abuse and neglect. Making him the monster who stood before her now, shouting at her to give in to his impossible choice. Why couldn't either man understand, her heart was not something to be tossed between them both. Why couldn't one of them ever let her freely choose what she really wanted?

"Think of what her life would be," Raoul pleaded. "Everything that she would throw away –"

"Because to be with me would be a waste of her life?" Erik snapped. Yet he knew that to be true. Somewhere inside the maelstrom was receding and reality was taking hold. Her life would be a waste. Tied to me. Condemned to me. Binding her to him would force her into his darkness and steal the light from her eyes. If he truly loved her, how could he sentence her to such a fate? He looked back at her, standing so helpless, so destroyed by his anger.

"Angel, please," Christine cried, desperate to get through to him and stay his hand.

"Angel?" Erik said, anger flaring yet again. "Do you even realise that you've never asked my name?" She never even asked my name… She never even cared to know…

"You played your part in this," she said, accusingly. "You never told me who you truly were."

"I gave you what you asked for," he spat. "You were the only one who actually believed in our charade. Now choose!" He yanked the rope one last time, enjoying de Chagny's grunt of pain.

His heart stopped as he watched her mouth the words 'I love you' across the room. To another man.

The only words he'd ever wanted from her.

The only words she'd never said to him.

The fight bled out of him as he realised she would sacrifice herself to save the man she truly loved.

And that man wasn't him.

It had never been him.

That man was Raoul de Chagny.

Christine walked towards him in the water, and he knew it may be their last moment. She offered him salvation, benediction, forgiveness. All to save de Chagny.

She slipped the ring onto her finger and before his heart could process what was happening, she took his soul in her hands.

They shared a breath, then her lips pressed against his own.

It broke him.