Soul Consumption

Chapter Three

Disclaimer: Same as usual. The Phantom of the Opera does not belong to me. It's property of Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber.


"You are not welcome here."

The voice… that sweet, dark voice… sent her mind reeling; the words did not sink in, but they did not have to. What did words matter when those golden eyes were focused on her? The urge to faint attempted to overtake her, but she fought the darkness away. She couldn't find the strength to hold onto the torch, however. It slipped from her hand, crashing onto the steps. Gasping, she moved to the side, the flame of the torch just missing the hem of her skirts. The flame died out on the cold, stone steps and disappeared into the darkness.

Her body suddenly felt cold now that she did not have the light protecting her. Shivers racked through her violently, as if a cold, cold wind had swept through the air. The shadow still blocked the doorway, leaving her with no warmth and no escape. She didn't dare find her way down the steep staircase without light to guide her way.

But her mind was elsewhere; voices screamed inside her head. How? How was he alive? It couldn't be true! The papers… they had announced his death! She had seen the headline: Erik is dead. But yet, all reason was defied. There, standing before her, was the man who was not supposed to be living. But it had to be him! Even without light shining on her, the light from the stained-glass window reflected against his silken cape, ebony hair, and the white, porcelain mask that covered half of his face.

Pain sliced through her. Erik was dead. This could not be real.

"Is this some cruel trick of the mind?" she choked out, her voice hoarse with emotion. Tears glazed over her blue eyes and threatened to fall. "Am I being punished?"

And suddenly, the shadow came to life, a familiar sound echoing into her ears. Her heart constricted.

"You do not know the meaning of punishment," the voice snapped. "Punishment, you say? Oh, Christine." Her name was spat, as if it were a curse. "Sweet, innocent Christine… I wish you did know the meaning."

He took a few angry steps down the stairs, his golden eyes flashing as he was immersed in the darkness of the stairway. Christine squinted in the darkness, waiting for her eyes to become accustomed to the sudden change in light. Seeing a dark, ominous shadow in front of her, she almost stumbled backward with a cry, but a warm hand caught her wrist. She looked up, alarm running through her. His eyes were fierce and bright like the sun. The angry tears made them seem brighter. Her own eyes widened. "Erik—"

"DO NOT!" he yelled, his grip on her wrist tightening.

She cowered away from him, but that did not calm him. It made him angrier, made the red-hot pain course through his veins all the more violently. He did not want her pity. He had had enough of pity and sorrow on his behalf. He wanted rage, he wanted passion. Both which boiled in his veins as he looked at her small form. So beautiful, his mind said, contradicting the words he spoke next.

"You should know of punishment, Christine! It is you who deserves punishment now… but it is I… I who still receive it!" She had turned her face away, so with his free hand, he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look into his face. Tears fell from her eyes onto his fingertips. He forced himself not to flinch.

"You are no angel," he said softly, his voice fueled with something Christine could not begin to grasp. "You are not the angel that I knew… not the angel that I loved." A quiet sob broke from her lips. "Angels do not haunt as you have haunted me! Demons haunt those who love them, Christine!"

His words were like a slap to the face. She wanted to turn away, but he wouldn't allow it.

"You did not come," he said softly, his grip on her loosening ever so slightly. Pain and betrayal seeped into his voice like ink on cloth. "You let some petty boy…some petty boy come between a promise… one promise I asked of you! All I asked of you when I wanted so much more from you Christine! One promise you could have kept after you left me to rot here!" More tears fell down her cheeks as his voice became tortured, full of emotion. "You lied!"

Christine felt light headed. Her body wanted to collapse, but she forced it to stay upright. Anger and betrayal coursed from his body into hers. Suddenly, some realization sparked in her mind. With her lips trembling and her eyes an angry, electric blue, she forced out the words. "You… you horrible creature!" she yelled.

Startled, Erik dropped his hand away from her wrist, and the other from her chin. Christine's hands immediately shoved against his chest in an effort to push him away from her. He was too close… too close for her to think correctly. "You stand there and scream words of betrayal to me when you have done the same! Oh, Erik!" She stared up at him with wide, electric eyes. "You lied to the world! You lied to me!" She took a careful step down to the next stair, putting some small amount of distance between them. "Erik is dead," she said bitterly, repeating the lines of the newspaper clipping that would still be hanging on her wall at him. Tears streamed down her face. "You are a liar."

He did flinch now. His jaw muscle twitched in bottled up emotion. "I am many things, Christine, but a liar is not one of them."

"I read the paper, Erik!" she yelled, her voice cracking. "And I assure you, I know I read the heading correctly. I would not be so stupid to mourn for two years if you had not been dead. But alas, I was stupid!" She looked up at him, locking her gaze with him. "Why would you create such a lie?"

"It was no lie, Christine," he said quietly, his voice almost quivering. "I may live physically, but I am nothing more than an empty shell."

"Erik—"

"My reasoning is none of your concern," he hissed, his anger refueling.

"It is my concern!" She scrubbed the tears from her cheeks even as more fell. "I mourned for you," she said, voice strained. "I cried. I hated myself! Over you! If I am a demon for haunting you, then you, Erik, are the Devil himself!"

"You do not know of self hatred!" Erik bellowed.

"Then you do not know of love," she replied quietly. She held up her right hand. Even in the darkness, Erik was able to make out the golden ring on her finger. His heart beat so loudly he could have sworn she heard it, as well.

"No, Christine." His voice was dark and grim. "You know nothing of love."

With her hands gripping the wall, Christine started to walk up the stairs one at a time. When she stood on the same step at Erik, she looked up at him, barely able to make out his face in the dark spare for those two golden eyes. "I came here to make things right… to finally free myself of you, something Raoul—" Erik's eyes narrowed at the mention of the name, "--said I should have been able to do when I read of your death." She gave a rueful, bitter laugh. "No wonder I could not be free of you." She kept walking upward. Her need to be in the light consumed her.

"You came here," he hissed. "I did not come for you. I have nothing to do with your freedom any longer."

"Oh, you are so naïve," she said, pausing in her trek up the steps. "I thought I was naïve, but Erik, you surpass me."

"Oh, really? And how is that so, Christine?" Erik replied, his voice sardonic and mocking.

"You took my soul," she said quietly, turning to look at him. He was amazed at how bright her eyes were. They seemed to glow in the darkness. "You consumed my soul, Erik. With every note you sang, with every confession of your heart, with every song I sang with you accompanying me… you stole it from me, and I was powerless against it." Light from the doorway haloed her, so he could tell she was shaking. "I want my soul back, Erik."

"You can have it back, Christine," he said slowly and calmly, trying to push the longing away. "But only when I get my heart back." It was his turn to start moving away from her. He descended down the steps, but stopped with a sigh when Christine voice rang out behind him.

"Why did you stage your death, Erik?" she demanded, her voice still tearful but strong.

"That is none of your concern." He kept moving down the darkened staircase.

"Damn you, Erik!" Christine screamed toward him. "Why would you do such a thing? What did you except to happen if I showed to… to bury you!"

Erik stopped, his heart slowly tearing in half. He could not stand this… not her fiery eyes in the darkness, nor the light outlining her body… not the pain that assailed her voice. "You should leave this place," he said blankly, trying to hide whatever emotions were assaulting him. I want to go to her, he cried into his own mind.

"I will follow you into the darkness, Erik," she threatened. "You will tell me why!"

"Because I wished to see if there was some chance in hell that you loved me as I loved you!" he roared. "Oh, Christine," he said, pained and full of emotion. "If you had come, I would have known that you held some sense of love for me. That the kiss you pressed upon me was more than just a figment of my imagination or more than just an action of pity. For who would take the time to journey back into the agonizing past to bury a monster?"

He stopped speaking for a minute, attempting to collect himself. Too much pain and longing was seeping into his voice. She had taken so much from him already… she did not deserve any more.

His voice was blank now. "I would have left all of my darkness to the dark and journeyed into the light where I could finally be free of this revolting self-hatred. But alas, Christine, you did not come. And I am still here." His laugh was bitter and full of shattered hopes. But suddenly his voice changed. It was calm and courteous, lacking the passionate speech that she remembered. "You should leave this place, Christine. It is haunted with ghosts of the past. A future Countess—" he spat the words, "—should not subject herself to such wreck."

"Erik, please—" Her pleading was cut short.

"Do not, Christine," he murmured. "Leave this place. You are not welcome here, nor do you wish to be here."

Footsteps marked his exit. Christine stared into the darkness, with tears she did not know she was shedding falling down her cheeks. She had wanted to come back. Did he not understand that she had wanted to return to fulfill her last promise to him? She had tried to come and bury him, to complete his last wish. What had stopped her was Raoul and his paranoid antics of locking her in the house with a butler at every door to stop her from leaving.

Her heart was beating erratically. Oh, this could not be right. This could not be true. Could it? Was it?

But she had run from Raoul now to go and find something that had been lost to her two years prior. She had needed to fulfill her promise, and here she was. She had needed to retrieve her soul, and here she was. She had come expecting to find bones, but instead she had found flesh and blood. He was alive. She had come here to fulfill her promise, and here she was. Standing at an entrance to his dark life, the one she had run from years ago.

His words rang through her mind. If you had come, I would have known that you held some sense of love for me. Was it true? Could it be? No, of course not. Her love, all of it, was for Raoul.

I believe, Christine Daaé, that whatever you plan to return to has already consumed you. Meg's words coursed through her mind. Christine slid to sit upon the first step of the staircase, thankful to the light that warmed her back.

She had come back to him… she had come back!

"Oh my God," she whispered suddenly, her hands starting to shiver again. Her body was suddenly filled with lead as realization slammed into her with brute force. With the strength she could muster, she pushed herself up and then stood. And she screamed.

"ERIK!"


Author's Note: Eh. This chapter is a bit short, and I apologize. But I didn't want to add any other scenes, and therefore, this is it. Hopefully, you guys aren't disappointed. I'm not sure if I captured it the exact way I wanted to, but I'm not horribly upset with the chapter. Hope you all like it. Review!