Hm. Well, this is still PG-13.
Also, I PROMISE that this is an Erik/Christine tale. It's just...well...taking a while. I gotta build up a plot here, people:) I apologize in advance for any spelling/grammar errors...I had emailed this chapter to myself from work and sometimes yahoo likes to F with my writing!
Enjoy...
Christine walked through the maze of hallways leading back to her newly appointed room.
How cold this place felt, how reminiscent of things she could not change.
Suddenly, a hand clamped on her shoulder.
Christine shrieked, the sound carrying throughout the theater.
She spun around to see Madame Giry.
"Christine, my child, I did not mean to frighten you" the older woman said. Christine placed a hand to her heart in relief.
"No, it's alright" she replied, catching her breath. "I suppose I'm just slightly on edge."
Mme Giry nodded. "I thought you might be" she said. "The managers are asking much of you...it is a shame you don't have more...support."
She was staring into Christine's eyes knowingly.
"Yes, well, they are just trying to do what's best for the Opera..." Christine said nervously.
"And who is doing what's best for you, my dear" Mme Giry pressed, raising an eyebrow.
Christine held the woman's gaze for a moment. "It seems, Madame, that I have only myself to rely upon" she replied.
Mme Giry smiled. "Is that so, Christine"
The young diva nodded. "It is a lesson I learned...some time ago."
"Some lessons require re-learning." Mme Giry placed a cool hand to Christine's cheek sympathetically. "And that requires a teacher" she added cryptically and then turned from her.
"Madame Giry" Christine called after her. The matron turned. "When did you become aware he was still alive"
Madame Giry smiled again.
"I've known longer than anyone" she replied. "After all, it was I who invited him back."
She motioned for Christine to follow her.
His lair, if you could still call it that, was in shambles. It seemed that after the fire, there had been no visitors to the seat of sweet music's throne.
It was dank; the air seemed suffocating. Erik wondered how he had managed to spend almost an entire lifetime in this place.
Then he realized that his expensive mansion differed little from the bowels of the Opera Populaire.
He had been surprised to find that the small boat he had crafted still waited for him on the shores of the icy lake, across from where he used to dwell.
Drifting across the body of water had sent memories bubbling in Erik's soul-memories he had quickly suppressed, not ready to face them.
But he could not eradicate the echoing sound of her voice. The walls seemed to drip with it, with the songs they sang, with her admiration of him...with her fear.
It seemed he would have to tolerate the sound if he planned to remain here.
Not forever, he reminded himself. This was no longer his prison; he was a free man with land...a home...
But he could not leave the Opera Populaire now, not when he had managed to resurface as the Opera Ghost.
He glanced down at the papers he had placed on a toppled desk.
Stealing the manuscripts had been simple enough...he knew that the managers would not take care of such precious scripture. He knew that all of the copies to be found would be sitting in the orchestra pit, waiting for the next rehearsal of the musicians who would ultimately...if not haphazardly...bring his creation to life.
And so he had stalked onto the stage in the middle of the night, breathing deep the smell of Christine which still lingered in the air.
He had looked up to his beloved box five, which also seemed void of human life.
Perhaps everything he had touched while here had died...like Midas's touch, only crueler.
A scrap of white cloth at his feet drew him from his thoughts.
He bent at the waist, picking up the material.
It was frayed, dirty and wet, but he recognized it instantly.
And so did Christine.
"There was a part of me that was proud to wear that veil" her voice echoed off the dripping walls.
There she stood, in water up to her knees at the great gates that separated his former home from the outside world.
And from those who meant to do him harm.
"Why are you here" he demanded, his voice harsh.
Christine said nothing, but continued to glare at him.
"How did you find your way" He asked.
"There are those who have always known of your true existence, Erik" Christine replied.
Realization struck him.
Madame Giry.
"She was a fool to have given you directions" Erik dismissed her. "There is nothing down here for you."
Christine, despite the strength she had felt during her descent to his lair, felt tears form on her eyelashes.
His words were infused with a hatred...with a pain she knew she herself had inflicted.
"Erik, please" she said softly. "Open the gate."
He held her stare for a moment longer. Then he sighed, pushing the crude mechanism that still lifted and lowered the steel bars of the gate.
She backed up, keeping her eyes on him as the creaking barrier lifted slowly.
It stopped with a loud noise, causing Christine to jump, her breath coming heavily.
He stood just twenty or so feet from her on the shores of what was once his home.
He was without his cape and vest. His crisp, white shirt stood out starkly against all of the gray and black of this underground maze.
His shirt was rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms and ungloved hands.
His black as pitch hair hung slightly in his face, apparently disturbed by his venture across the underground lake.
And the mask he wore...the mask that defined him...the mask that she had taken from his face on two occasions...it was there, gleaming, defying her...daring her to move closer.
She began treading through the water, her heavy black skirts soaking up the liquid.
Her feet were numb inside of her delicate slippers. How water could be this cold and not freeze was a mystery to Christine.
When she was finally before him on shore, she raised her eyes to his.
"Why have you taken the manuscripts" She asked boldly.
Erik laughed darkly. "Why shouldn't I have? They are mine."
Christine shook her head. "What are you planning"
Erik just continued to stare at her. The black dress she wore was plain, but it did little to mask her beauty, even if her eyes were smudged with black marks from lack of sleep.
And even if her lips were blue from the cold.
Cursing under his breath, he lifted his cape from beside the manuscripts and placed it over her shoulders in one fluid motion.
Enveloped in the scent of him, Christine instantly warmed. "Thank you" she said quietly. He nodded curtly.
Touched by his out of character kind gesture, Christine felt bolder.
"Erik" she began. "I know how much Don Juan Triumphant means to you..."
He scoffed.
"But you can rest assured that the managers are merely trying to bring back the success that once was the Opera Populaire" she continued, ignoring him. "I'm imploring you to give me the manuscripts."
He stared at her. "Am I to believe you are asking a favor of me, Christine"
Christine swallowed hard.
"Do you really think I owe you anything" He pressed, moving closer to her.
"But why take them, Erik? Why not have your masterpiece performed..." she paused. "This time in its entirety"
Erik visibly stiffened.
He took another step closer to her, placing his bare hand on her cheek. Her eyelids involuntarily fluttered closed.
His heart wrenched.
"How can I relinquish these pages" he breathed, moving his hand to her neck. "How can I hear these notes...hear your voice repeating the words that have infected my mind for the past three years..."
Tears were slipping down her face.
"You simply ask too much of me, my dear" he concluded. "I wrote this for you...for us...and when you refused me, you refused these words..." He held up the worn manuscripts. "They no longer hold true...this is an illusion...a dream..."
He lips were a breath away from hers.
"A nightmare..." he finished.
She tipped her head up, brushing his lips with her own on accident.
Erik could bear it no longer. He took her in his arms, crushing her to his tall frame. She let out a cry as his lips crashed down on hers.
He moved his lips against hers, taking advantage of her willingness.
Erik and Christine's first kiss had been chaste; it had been a gesture of pure emotions from Christine.
This kiss was different.
Her hands were locked about his neck, his around her waist, moving up to grasp her neck as he intensified the kiss.
When he slipped his tongue within her mouth, she received him eagerly, sweeping her own against his.
The sensation caused Erik to lose control.
He growled, pulling her even closer to him, just about crushing her with pure want.
Christine allowed her hands to explore his broad shoulders, his muscular back. Her nails dug through the cloth of his shirt, causing Erik to inhale sharply into her mouth.
She doesn't love you.
She wants the manuscripts, nothing more.
She cares for this place because of the boy.
Because of what they were when they were here together.
The voices were back, swirling around Erik's head.
SILENCE! He commanded them, allowing his hands to begin working the intricate buttons at the back of her gown.
She will leave once she has what she wants.
No one can love you.
Monster.
Thing.
"DAMN YOU" Erik cried, pulling away.
Christine gasped as he left her embrace, her gown undone to her waist, exposing the thin chemise beneath.
He stood before her, panting, his eyes glassy.
Fear crept into her heart.
"Damn you" he repeated. "Siren! Harlot"
"Erik..." Christine pleaded, crying again.
"You think you can manipulate me...use me...all for the sake of your precious Opera" Erik reeled at her.
"What are you talking about" Christine gasped.
"YOU THINK I AM A FOOL" Erik continued to rant. "You want this..." He lifted the manuscripts. "Who sent you, Christine...Who? Was it your beloved? Was it RAOUL"
The sound of Raoul's name on Erik's lips almost broke Christine in half.
"I am not a pawn in your little game, Christine" he said, his breathing harsh and wicked. "If Don Juan Triumphant is to return to the stage it will be done so on my terms...and not the terms defined by a woman who has resorted to seducing the wretched Phantom of the Opera"
Christine clutched at her heart. "That's not why I am here...Erik..." She moved closer to him, reached a hand to him, only to have it knocked out of the way by Erik. "How long will you punish me, Erik" She demanded. "How long must I suffer for things I cannot change?"
She was shrieking, her voice unearthly and wholly hurt.
Erik stared at her for what seemed an eternity.
"Tell me, Christine, why do you only wear black? Are you in mourning for the marriage that failed before it began" He asked out of nowhere.
"Be quiet" Christine whispered.
"Will you run to him now? Will you run and tell him the horrors you met in this labyrinth? Will he hunt me down and spill my blood"
"Stop it" Christine wept.
"Will you take him in your arms and weep for him...plead with him to take you back...to love you...I believe he still would, Christine...even after you handed him the same punishment you were so generous to bestow upon me three years ago"
"I shouldn't have come here" Christine sobbed. "You were right. There is nothing down here for me. Just the dark, and the man who adores it."
Erik pressed his lips into a thin line as Christine began to trudge back into the water, leaving his cape in a heap on the shore.
As she passed through the gates, she looked back at him.
Memories...she...Raoul...a boat...a song...
The last time he had seen her.
"Why do I wear black, Erik" She called to him, her voice strong. "Because I was mourning you. Your false death...your false love." She stared at him, her heart tearing from her chest. "It seems I will wear black forever."
And with that, she left him, alone...in the dark.