Soul Consumption

Chapter Six

Disclaimer: As always, I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. It belongs to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber.


I came back.

Her words rang in his head like some siren's call, leading him into the dark, deep waters that he knew he would never be able to escape from. He struggled, his mind fighting against whatever was left of his heart. I came back. No, she couldn't mean it. Christine did not love him. Christine despised him and his hideousness. His body tensed, every nerve on edge. What was she trying to do, kill what was left of him? He had nothing left to give! Did she not see that? Erik was no more. All that remained was some shell of that beast.

He looked down at her, his mouth slightly open and the muscles around his eyes quivering as he forced them to stay open. He wanted to close them tightly, wanted to keep them closed until she disappeared. If she had never come back to the Opera House, back to the past, none of what was happening would have happened. Erik wished he could turn back time. He could not do this again. Not with her. Never with her. Losing her once had been complete and utter hell. It always surprised him, when he thought of it, that he had lived after such an ordeal. However, he knew for a fact that if he had to go through it again, he would surely die.

And he knew that in the end, it would not be him walking away from her and disappearing into the darkness. It would always be her turning from him.

Neither of them spoke. He stood there, practically motionless. She stared up at him, her eyebrows drawn tightly together. Her smooth forehead was creased with wrinkles, her lips trembling as she waited for him to make some move. But what exactly did she expect him to do? Was he to sweep her into his arms? Was he to laugh at her and disappear into the darkness?

Suddenly, she went numb. All feelings of pain, of guilt, of sorrow washed away as the calm numbness set in. How else could she possibly deal with this without leaving empty and cold? She was halfway there already, so she needed to spare whatever emotion she had so that it did not leak out of her body in the form of tears and sobs. It was apparent that though Erik still held something for her in his heart, it was locked in with dozens of padlocks and surrounded by a barrier of ice.

"I am sorry for inconveniencing you," she said, so softly that her words were almost inaudible. Her limbs felt like stone as she turned away from Erik. "I've done what I came here to do. My promise is now kept. Erik, wherever he is buried inside of you, has his heart back. The ring is back in his possession. Do with it what you will."

"And of your soul?" He could help but blurt it out. He watched her spine stiffen, her hands curl into small fists. The words seemed to hang in the air, soaking up the oxygen. The masked man held his breath.

And then, Christine's body went placid. Looking over her shoulder, she gave a rueful smile. Erik felt his heart snap. "I thought I came here to regain my soul… that was what I told myself when I left for Paris. But that was not the case, I know that now." Her smile wavered and he could see her struggling to remain in composure. "I am truly sorry for putting you through this yet again. I never should have come."

"Christine."

Christine felt her numb resolve weakening. It was the first time since she had made her presence there known that he had said her name without malice. She said his name tentatively and quietly. "Erik…?"

"Why did you come here?"

She laughed and turned around. Though her laugh had sounded genuine, her face did not show any trace of amusement. Instead, blunt seriousness made her features pale and tired. Strands of tangled brown hair fell into her face, the curls now limp from the damp underground lair. Her dress was dusty, and the hem had attracted much dirt. Erik had to urge to step forward and touch her pale cheek, but he held himself back. He wanted to hear her words, wanted to see her eyes. If what she said was true, he would be able to see it.

"I came here for Erik," she said simply, her small shoulders rising in a shrug. She tried to act as if she was unaffected by his sudden interest in her, but he could see her hands quivering.

"Damnit, Christine," he cursed, raking a hand through his hair.

"Do you want me to lie to you?" she asked. With every word, her voice became heated. "Fine. I was not here to confess my heart, for I am a cold-hearted woman! I did not come here to lay a heart to rest! I did not come here to return the promise you hold in your hand! I came here for the pure amusement of knowing that I crushed the man I loved!"

Erik flinched. He felt like he had just received a fist to the stomach. The man she loved? He must have heard wrong. Christine… no, she did not love him. How could she? His hand curled tightly around the ring resting in his palm.

Christine, however, almost burst into tears. Her barrier of numbed feelings came crashing down, unable to withstand the weight her heart was pressing against it. She hadn't thought it would last long, but there had been nothing wrong with trying. She could only be blank for so long with this man standing in front of her. Slowly, without a word, she sunk to the ground, unaware of the dirt that would serve as a second coating to her silken dress. She hung her head, curls cascading down her shoulders and over her breasts, falling into her eyes and onto her cheeks. Her cry sent Erik's mind reeling.

"I CAME BACK, ERIK!"

Her cry dissolved into sobs. Sobs transformed into gasps for air, and then back into sobs. The heart wrenching, animalistic sounds made Erik shudder from the core. His entire body quivered as he slowly knelt in front of her. Reaching out the unsteady hand that did not clasp the golden ring, he took hold of her chin with his fingertips. He lifted her face so that he could look her in the eyes. The glassy, blue skies he saw made his heart skip a beat.

"What could come of you coming back, Christine?" he said softly, a hint of the Erik who had once fallen at her feet in tears of love shining through the cold exterior. His eyes burned stars into her heart. "What could possibly happen here to soothe you? To soothe me? This is nothing for you here, Christine. Nothing." He had to force the words out of his lips. They were like daggers cutting his throat. But there is nothing here for her, his mind murmured. Nothing at all.

She turned her face away from him, trying to repress the sobs. Her attempt failed. She slapped his hand away from her chin and buried her face in her hands. Erik stared at her, dumbfounded and overcome with grief. This was not the Christine who had stood up to him like a woman moments before with determination in her eyes. This was a broken child… the innocent girl who he had first seen behind the mirror of her former dressing room.

"What did you come here for?" he whispered, his voice thin with heartache. He planted his hands on the ground and leaned forward, his masked face only inches away from the hands that covered hers. "Why, Christine?"

She lifted her face from her hands and almost jumped. He was so close, with his golden eyes pulsating warming sun's rays onto her cheeks. She wanted that warmth to stay there… to not fade. She felt so cold, so desolate at that moment, and all she wanted were those sun-like, warm eyes to caress her chilled skin.

"God, Christine." He looked away, as if to taunt her. She immediately went cold. "Why did you have to come here and revive the dead?"

Her heart skipped. "Revive the dead?"

"That part of me was buried, Christine," he whispered, his voice overwrought with some emotion Christine couldn't make out. "It was gone. Disintegrated. It burned with the fire of the Opera. It was no more. And now you come here with words of amorous sentiment and drag him out of the dirt!"

"Erik…" Her hand, shivering from her violent, cold nerves, came to his unmasked. This time, he did not pull away from her. He slowly tilted his head upward, his eyes locking on hers. Wild, un-caged fear swept through him. She was pulling him down into those waters, and he had no means to fight her. He closed his eyes and nuzzled his face into her hand, while one of his own came up and laced it's fingers with her own.

"Tell me why," he murmured softly. "Tell me why." He was breaking. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to not fall, to move away from the edge of the cliff. However, his heart pulsated for her. It pulsated for the feeling of her skin touching his.

"You consumed me," she whispered. "God, Erik. You consumed all of me. And I do not know what to do."

A shiver ran through him. His hand dropped from hers; his body moved away from her feathery touch. "You need to leave."

The light in her eyes died. "What?"

"You need to leave this place," Erik responded, his voice gaining volume. He stood and turned, his feet taking him quickly toward the small boat that rested calmly in the water. He stopped and glanced behind his shoulder, the mask glinting in the torchlight. "You will soon be a Countess, Christine. This is no way for you to spend your afternoon." He felt nauseated.

"How do you know about my engagement?" she asked softly, still sitting defeated on the cold ground.

"The Comte announced it in the paper, of course," Erik said with a sneer. His voice turning contemptuous, he shrugged, though it seemed that he had the weight of the Opera House on his shoulders. "Leave, Madame. I told you before… you are not welcome here. Do not come again. Next time, Erik will be dead, and he will not come back when you speak of false assertions of love!"

He easily stepped into the boat. Ripples coursed across the smooth surface of the dark water as he moved to until the rope that had held it in place. "Take a torch, if you choose to return the way you came. Otherwise, there is the way to your former dressing room. On the right side of the wall in which the mirror sits, there is a small button that will open the mirror. Safe passage, Madame. I wish you well." He grabbed the long stick he used to steer and plunged it into the water. The boat slid away from the bank.

Christine jumped up and ran forward, until he feet touched the icy water. That, however, did not stop her. "Erik, please!"

"Christine," he strained. "I cannot do this with you once again. You surely do not wish to go through this with such a beast as myself. Please, just turn around and forget that you have seen this ghastly face once more."

"Erik, I don't care about your face!" she snapped. She was about knee deep in the lake when she stopped. Her dress soaked up the water like a sponge, making it hard for her to move. She cried out to him. "Erik, you cannot just leave—"

He didn't let her finish her statement. His angry voice cut her off. "I cannot just leave!" he snapped, his eyes vivacious with light. "You left me once in the same manner. I confessed my love to you and you turned to leave as I watched you go with tears streaking down my hideous face!" His voice cracked him emotion, his hands gripping the pole as if he would fall over without it's small amount of support. "I will not stay here and listen to your lies! I will not stay here and be made a fool of once more! Leave this place! Never come back, Christine! I do not want to see your face for a second longer!"

She said nothing more. She watched as he turned away and jabbed the pole into the sand that rested at the bottom of the lake. Soon, the boat has disappeared behind a curve, and she was left alone.

Picking up her skirts, Christine trudged through the water and towards the bank. Once there, she moved to grab a torch from the wall. Without so much as a whimper, she walked back toward the corridor that she had emerged from. Slowly and stiffly, she walked up the stairs, feeling somewhat more comforted by the warming rays of the torch that lit her way. When she had climbed to the top of the staircase, she searched the wall for a button. The door creaked open when she pressed it with a numb finger.

Meg sat against the opposite wall, staring directly at the door. When it opened, she jumped in fear, and then screamed at the sight of Christine. Christine slowly walked into the chapel, letting herself bask in the natural sunlight for a minute.

"Christine, good God! What happened to you?" She rushed toward her blue-eyed friend, eyes wide and worried. She couldn't believe how dirty Christine was, let alone that she was soaked!

"He does not love me," Christine murmured. With a sudden sob, she fell into Meg's arms, burying her face in the dry satin of her dress. Meg stroked her friend's mussed hair as the girl cried painful, shaking tears. "He does not love me!"


Author's Note: Blah, I know it's short. But I'm happy that I'm getting updates out as frequently. Still, don't expect it to stay that way. My work load changes from week to week

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! Criticism is welcome, along with all the lovely compliments you guys give me.Are there things I can improve? I'm not quite sure that I like how this chapter came out. But eh. Lemme know! Keep reviewing! I love you guys for it!