Chapter Ten
Disclaimer: Same as always. I don't own the Phantom of the Opera. It belongs to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Also, I've been introduced to the wonders of Susan Kay's Phantom, so you might see a few interactions between Erik and the Daroga that reflect her book.
Author's Note: Thanks so much to you guys who still review! You're all awesome!
Erik felt the sweet notes pull at his heartstrings. His entire body started to throb to the soft, sweet melody that echoed through the otherwise silent chamber. How in God's name had she found another way down into the darkness of his life? Had he not told her to leave, that he didn't want to see her? His blood was blazing, either way. As if he could not control himself, he started to walk toward the door that would lead him to the lake.
"Erik."
The Daroga's voice snapped him from the spell her voice had weaved over him. He glanced back at the man, his face strained.
"Daroga…"
"Some things cannot be denied," the dark skinned man said with a soft nod. "Not even you can push certain things into disappearance, Erik. You are a magician, but this is not a toy you can manipulate."
Erik closed his eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat. "This will kill me, Daroga. I cannot do this again," he murmured softly, keeping his eyes closed. He did not like the rueful smile that quirked the man's lips.
"If you think, Erik, that this potential dream will burst into flames, give me the word. I will go to the lake and take her back to her fiancé myself. I will find a way to seal up the doors, if you so wish it."
"Why?" the masked man asked softly. "Why would you do such things for me?"
"I feel, for some reason, that I owe you as much, my warped friend," the Daroga said gravely. "So, you are free to tell me what you wish for me to do…"
Erik opened his eyes. The Persian was reminded of the bright, desert sun looking upon him. "Please go to the lake and bring her here."
Corin stood in the hall, staring at the short corridor that lead to some room he did not wish to enter. The hallway seemed old and dusty, and that did not mix with the expensive clothing that adorned his lithe frame. He could only imagine how horrid the room beyond the hallway was. Call him self-centered and spoiled, and the young man would most likely agree. He did not want to change walking into a spider's web. The soon to be Countess de Chagny, however, seemed to have had no qualms about entering when she hurriedly pulled open the door and stepped inside.
He had seen her only by chance. A blur of blue had caught his eye, and he had turned just in time to watch the girl disappear behind the old wooden door. He doubted she had saw him… she hadn't seemed like she was paying attention to anything but getting inside the room and keeping away from Raoul.
Oh, Raoul, Corin thought with a sigh. Games are being played, and you, a pawn, know absolutely nothing… or maybe you know everything, but wish to know nothing…
He could hear Raoul's faint, frantic calls to the girl who would not answer him. He almost laughed at the irony. Part of him wished to call his friend, to tell him where the girl had disappeared. However, he stood where he was. It was not his place to get involved. Apparently, the girl had some other qualms she wished to settle. And she wished for Raoul to be as far away as possible.
The small, dark haired girl from earlier was hurrying past, her head bowed. Corin immediately reached out to grab her arm. The girl literally squeaked, bringing a dark gaze up to the young man.
"Mademoiselle Giry, was it?" he asked politely, slowly releasing her arm when he believed she would stay.
Meg blinked, nodding. "Yes. But I don't believe I caught your name, Monsieur."
"My name is Comte Corin Delvin," he said with a nod. The small startled stare the girl directed at him didn't escape his eye.
"You are related to Monsieur Delvin?"
"I am his nephew," Corin said with slight bitterness. He and his uncle did not get along well; it was a proven fact. Though no one knew it. Being as well known as he was, something petty like a ongoing hatred of his uncle would spark rumors that Corin didn't want to deal with. He could be patient, but the wagging tongue of society always made him angered. "I am also a partner in the rebuilding of the Opera House. I assume you are working here?"
"I am one of the dancers," Meg said with a testy smile.
"I see…" Corin smiled brightly, flashing white teeth at the girl. He wanted information… it would be easy to charm it out of this one. "Tell me, does anything lay behind these walls?"
He could have sworn the girl went a shade whiter. Her eyes shown like puddles of black ink. "I do not know, Monsieur."
"But Mademoiselle, you worked here before, did you not? And from what I know, you had been here a long time, with your mother." The girl seemed to grow paler under his probing stare. I'm being careless, Corin thought, cursing himself.
"I see you know more than you first let on, Monsieur," Meg stammered, her hands wringing together.
"There is something you know, as well," Corin said with a smirk. Meg looked away.
"What I know is none of your business, Monsieur." The girl seemed to gain some bravery under the burning eyes of the towering young man. When she looked up at him again, her eyebrows were drawn together in indignation. "And I can assure you, I do not know much. What is beyond these walls is a basement, and that is all. If you wish to travel down there, attempt to do so. I would not. Rats litter the pathways."
"I have heard stories," Corin said, one eyebrow arching as he ignored the tone of the girl, "of a man who dwelt in the dungeons of the Opera House… and that Mademoiselle Daaé, as well as Comte de Chagny, were involved in some scandal a few years ago. This is true?"
"Those stories of the past have been long dead," Meg said testily. The sudden white pallor of her skin and the uncomfortable twinkle in her eye, however, betrayed her steady voice.
Corin was about to speak again, but an older woman stepped between him and the young Giry girl. He recognized a likeness in the two women, and guessed that this was the girl's mother. A protective, precautious aura surrounded the older woman. Her voice was sharp and quaint. "Monsieur, is there something you need?"
"No, Madame," Corin said brightly, though his mind was turning in thought. "I believe I know all that I need to know. Good day, Madame. Mademoiselle." With a bow, Corin turned and walked with long strides into the Entrance Hall.
The Daroga stood at the edge of the lake, staring across into the blackness that mingled with torch light on the gray water. The harmonic singing was even more beautiful now that walls did not filter it. He could only guess that Christine was close to the lake… he didn't know what she planned to do when she got there, so he stepped into the small boat and pushed off with the stick.
The sound grew louder, and if he hadn't been so clear headed, the Persian knew he would have been caught in the web that the music spun. He could only imagine what would happen when Erik came face to face to the girl after the lovely notes sprung from her.
Christine was just entering onto the bank of the lake from one of the tunnels when she came into the Daroga's view. When Christine noticed the boat, her singing stopped. Hope brightened her face for a mere moment before she realized that it was not Erik who steered across the water. The Daroga could see her body tense in the torchlight.
He wondered how Erik had reacted, now that the singing had stopped….
"Mademoiselle Daaé?" he said softly, nodding his head as the tip of the boat bumped quietly into the bank.
"I remember you," Christine replied, her voice quite and thoughtful. "You were there… that night… you were with Raoul…"
He gave a small smile. "Yes, that was I."
Suddenly, her eyes widened and her hands curled into tight fists. The Daroga was startled by the sudden fear that leaped into the endless blue depths of her eyes. With lips that wished to tremble, she asked, "And why do you return here?"
"I have always been around here, Mademoiselle," he said kindly, finally understanding her sudden apprehension. "I am no enemy of Erik on this night. You've no need to fear his safety concerning me. He is my friend, though our friendship is one that is constantly strained to a breaking point. I mean no harm. I am merely here, as I sensed trouble brewing with your return."
Christine flushed. "I… I did not come here with that as my objective."
"I know," the Persian said softly. "However, things have been conjured, and they must be laid to rest. He wishes to see you. I am to take you to him."
Christine's heart did a jump inside of her chest. "He wishes to see me?"
The Daroga nodded. Without another question, Christine scrambled clumsily into the boat. The ride on the lake was silent, as neither spoke. The Daroga busied himself with gliding the boat across the water. Christine stared nervously into the dark depths of the lake, her thoughts working overtime.
Erik wanted to see her.
She could only guess that he heard her sing and knew she was coming, hence why the Persian had been there to meet her. But why would he suddenly welcome her to his home without protest? He had made it clear a while before that he did not want her there. Actually, he had been quite resolute that she never step foot in his world of darkness ever again. And now, she was going to see him once again. She would be able to drown in the eyes that seemed to be blessed by Apollo himself.
When the boat hit the opposite bank, Christine was jarred from her thoughts. Without a word, the Persian helped her out of the boat. However, he did something she did not expect him to do: he got back on. Christine gave him a questioning glance, her eyebrows drawn together.
The man's smile was soft and calm. "This is not my affair. I will let you and him settle this between yourselves, without my prying ear. Tell him I will be back later this night… I believe I will need to keep my eyes open on the floor above, as much commotion may start more trouble."
"You are too kind, sir," Christine said sincerely, her smile small but effective. "Thank you."
"No, Mademoiselle… thank you." With a bow, the man pushed off of the bank once again. Christine watched as he and the boat became smaller, until he disappeared around a corner.
Taking a deep breath, she turned and started walking toward the underground mansion that was Erik's home. She walked through a pair of familiar large, open doors. Behind them lay a lavishly furnished room that was in tatters. Pieces of wood, glass, and ceramics were strewn across the floor in angry patters. Christine stared in slight horror. What had happened!
Swallowing the dread that crawled up her throat, she walked through the room, being careful not to step on a shard. Her feet were still bare, as she had not found her shoes and had not been supplied with a new pair.
Erik was nowhere in sight. The room was empty and motionless, spare for a fire that lit up the hearth. It was dying slowly, and black smoke was starting to dance in the air like fairy dust.
With a shuddering breath, she continued on into the next room. She remembered it well: the music room, Erik's most cherished quarter. It was there that his prized organ sat in all of its glory, along with various other instruments that Erik did not cherish half as much. Plush chairs of red velvet sat comfortably next to a fireplace that didn't house a fire. Paintings covered the walls. Candles lit the room, causing an eerie glow to cast shadows around the room. She had sung duets with him in that very room, and it seemed like so long ago that she had mingled her voice with the beautiful music he could create. A voice in the back of her head whispered that he would be there…
And of course, he was.
He sat at the organ with his back to her. Christine was reminded of her dream, even though Erik was not losing himself in the music. His clothing seemed wrinkled, his hair disheveled, and his body tense. It was so unlike the clean, crisp Erik she remembered from those hellish days and nights. She didn't try to silence her footsteps… she wanted him to know that she was there, that she had come back.
I've come back twice, she told him in her mind. You cannot deny it, Erik… please don't deny it…
"Christine."
A delicious shiver snaked up her spine at the sound of her name coming from his lips. His voice was low and dangerous,and ever so drugging.Christine took a step forward, drawn to the angelic voice that spoke her name. "Erik…"
Her eyes widened when he placed his hands, the bandages tainted pink with blood, onto the keys of the organ. Even as her mind raced with concern at his wounds, she said nothing more. He still did not look at her. Instead, he bowed his head and he pressed one key. A deep note echoed forth, wrapping them both in a cocoon.
There was no going back this time.
His voice was soft and caressing. "Sing with me, Christine."
No… there would be no going back…
