A/N Thanks for the reviews! Hope you liked the last part…I know I enjoyed writing it! Erik with his shirt off…is there anything better? I promise that's not the last PG-13 stuff I write in here…but not in this chapter. Just some sensual fluff. Sorry to disappoint.
P.S: Jamy, I hope you don't mind that I borrowed your one comment for this next chapter…it was poetic, and it worked well! Let me know if you don't want me to use it.
P.P.S: I use French in this for a bit, but the most French I ever learned how to speak was "Bonjour, monsieur." I'm more of a Spanish-speaker…(¡Yo hablo español es el mejor idioma en el mundo¡Viva español!) So if I screwed up my French, please let me know.
SEVERANCE
No matter how hard he heaved, the gateway would not dislodge. Frustrated, Raoul let out a piercing grunt of aggravation. He peered into the blackness, straining his eyes desperately.
"Christine?" Raoul whispered into the shadows, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. "Christine…" he repeated, a little louder. "Christine!" was his final call, a scream of despondency.
-
Spring was her favorite time in Erik's chambers. Beginning in the middle of March, a breeze would stream through the walls, making small ripples in the cerulean water, and the canal would become tepid and comfortable. She had been there for a little over a month, but to Christine, age did not exist. In a storm of warmth and pleasure, the concept of time melted away.
Erik watched her as she twirled her hair between her fingers, her eyes faraway, staring into nothingness, a smile lingering on her lips. "I shall be adding a short chromatic run after your high vibrato, Christine… Begin at measure forty, end at forty-nine." She gazed out at the water, unresponsive. "Christine?" It gently beat against the bank, then retreated back to the darkness. "Christine!" he said sharply, touching her forearm delicately.
She glanced back at him, smiling innocently, and pulled away, stepping towards the water. "What are you doing, Chris…" He was interrupted by a spray of water in his face. Christine giggled, a sound that filled Erik with a fiery longing, and she splashed him again. For a moment he didn't move, his face stony and unresponsive. Then, the corners of his mouth twitched, and he gave her a smile, one of the most sincere she had ever seen.
He stood from his seat slowly, his eyes locked on hers. In a few long strides, he had come to the water's edge, looking down at her with a mingling feeling of amusement and burning desire. He walked towards her as if he did not notice the water that slowly encompassed him, and Christine swam to him, suddenly serene and composed. She took his hand, almost dutifully, and met his beckoning lips. They fell back into the canal together, and Erik lifted Christine up into his arms, never breaking their kiss. He felt her hands creeping up his back, massaging his tense muscles, and his mind began to flood with a wonderful sensation: he could be loved…
"Christine!"
The shout pierced the cavern walls, and they stopped, pausing with their lips joined together passionately. Erik felt Christine begin to tremble, and immediately he realized whose voice was calling to her.
"Raoul…" she murmured, her eyes growing wide as she looked up above her, as if searching through the ceiling of rock. She pulled away from him, her legs carrying her to entrance of the chambers, her heart beating painfully fast. Bullets of sweat trickled down her cheek.
Erik's gaze dropped to his mirror image in the waters, and his thoughts filled with visions of Christine running back to her former lover's embrace, kissing Raoul's mouth with the same fervor with which she had just kissed him. The shriveled skin that stretched his cheeks taut along the edges of the mask seemed the glow, burning in the reflection. He slammed his fist into the image, scattering droplets of water into his face.
"Damn him," he heard Christine mutter. Erik looked up sharply, watching a tear crest the corner of her eye. "How dare he…" She covered her face with her hands, weeping bitterly.
After a moment's hesitation, Erik waded over to her and pressed her against himself, stroking the base of her neck and whispering to her gently. Christine let herself fall into his arms, her mind floating smoothly on the edge of peaceful gratitude, her spirit soaring towards the upper limits of their haven in bliss.
-
The mistake was made the following evening. Normally Erik waited until sunset to venture out of the chambers, when the streets of Paris were shrouded in darkness and he could hide under the security of the night. That night, however, Erik threw logic away.
"Erik, it's only a headache… Forget I mentioned it."
He shook his head vehemently. "No," he replied, cutting her off. "You are in pain, my dear, and the resources to make you well are right at my fingertips." He slid his hand over the side of her face. "I'll only be gone a few moments."
"I can wait thirty more minutes, Erik."
"But I cannot. If for no other reason, Christine, think of your lessons. You cannot sing when the pulsation in your head throws you off rhythm." He stood, a faint smile appearing dimly on his lips. Taking her pale hand, he kissed her knuckles deeply, then trailed his lips up her wrist, across her arm, and to the crease of her elbow. Just as she felt his tongue on her shoulder, Erik broke away. She gave a small whimper of disappointment, her eyes wide and pleading.
"I shall be back as quickly as possible, love, and we'll continue where I left off." He arched his eyebrows seductively, then kissed her hand one last time before departing the chambers.
When he stepped out of the gateway, the sunlight that hit Erik's face was so bright and foreign to his skin that he had to shield his eyes with a black gloved hand. He closed the barred door as silently as the black shadow that extended from his feet. Without a moment's hesitation, he swept his thick velvet cape over himself and started off towards town.
-
The Vicomte de Chagny saw the cloaked figure through the stained yellow glass of the bar he so regularly attended. A hood was drawn over the man's face, and his strides were long and hurried. Something awoke within Raoul that shook him from his usual evening intoxication, and a few moments later, the door of the tavern was swinging shut.
He followed a few yards behind the stranger, down the cobblestone road towards the other side of town. With a swift, sudden movement, the figure ducked into a store. Raoul paused outside the door, looking into the window of Le Magasin de Médecine de LaVergne, the local drug store. A few moments later the man came out, clutching a bag in a black gloved hand. Feeling fairly certain of who this outsider was, Raoul trailed behind him, even closer than before, watching every movement he made. The sun was about to set, casting orange radiance across the city, stretching the shadows out even farther. The man was quick-footed and silent, obviously wary of something judging by his constant glances around the streets. Raoul pulled his top hat down farther over his eyes.
In the last few moments of light, the stranger made his serious error of assessment. He turned his head to look down an adjacent street, the dying rays of sunlight illuminating the right side of his face. The mask that covered his cheek that had been burned into Raoul's memory was rekindled, and an overwhelming sensation of hatred, bitter delight, and zealous vengeance churned in his stomach, causing his throat to sear with a mixture of bile and fury. The man disappeared into the alleyway, dropping into a gutter and vanishing into the shadows. In the stillness, Raoul heard the muffled yet distinctive click of a lock.
Smiling to himself, the Vicomte de Chagny turned and started his trek back towards town.
-
"Do you feel any better?" Erik asked apprehensively, leaning over her with anxious concern. He replaced the cloth on her face with a new one, running his hand over her cheek.
Christine smiled affectionately at him, placing her hand over his. "Erik, it's medicine, not a miracle. It will kick in soon enough. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting herself up to him.
Erik did not respond for a moment, his brow still furrowed with uneasiness, just looking down at her with an expression mixed with hesitation and lustful yearning. Then he pulled her to him, on top of him, smothering her with his lips. First on her neck, finding their way to her ears effortlessly, to the crest of her cheekbones, then into her mouth. She felt his tongue, pushing, exploring. Heat radiated from her skin, the fire overwhelming.
Abruptly, Erik paused, then lifted her back down onto the bed quickly. "Christine…" He removed one of his black leather gloves from his hand and pressed it to her forehead. "You're burning up…"
Christine clutched his wrist, her eyes wide and beseeching. "No…please, don't stop…don't stop…" She felt his indecision and pushed him to her. "Don't leave me now, Erik…you can't…"
For a moment, Erik felt himself give in, to respond to her fantasies with everything he possessed. But when he saw the flushed rosy color of her cheeks and odd glassiness of her eyes, he sighed and sat back. "No, Christine…you're sick, you need your…"
That was as far as he got. A deafening crash sounded from above them, followed by angry, violent shouts.
-
"Oh God…" Christine whispered hoarsely, her mouth forming a perfect circle in the candlelight. "Erik…" He didn't answer, his gaze directed at the entrance of the lair. The gate that separated them from the passages could in no way prevent a mob from getting what they wished. The yells were growing louder by the second. "How did they…?" Christine murmured, half to herself.
Erik met her eyes. "Someone must have seen me," he replied, his voice chillingly calm.
The heavy thuds of footsteps vibrated the walls, causing some of Erik's work to fall to the floor, shattering before them. "Lord in Heaven…it sounds like that have the entire French army up there…" Christine breathed.
"I committed murder, set fire to the most famous theater in all of France, and kidnapped a promising, beautiful Opera singer. Is that worthy of an official arrest?" he replied, mocking himself with a burst of momentary chuckles that filled the chamber. His chin dropped to his chest, his eyes squeezed shut. "Perhaps I deserve to have them find me."
"Don't you say that!" Christine shrieked. They stared at each other, the moments becoming slower and slower, the shouts and glow of torches growing closer by the second.
"Come." Erik took her by the elbow and wrapped a blood red shawl around her shoulders. Pulling her against him, he led her to the back of the chambers and to a long velvet curtain. He pulled back the drape and revealed a bookcase Christine had seen countless times before but never inspected closely. Erik glanced at her, a fear unlike anything she had ever felt in him radiating in his eyes, before reaching behind the shelves. Turning a hidden knob, he pulled open the bookcase, revealing a secret passageway, the blackness reaching out to them like icy, skeletal hands.
Without hesitation, Christine intertwined her fingers with Erik's and stepped into the shadows. Erik did not follow, his feet rooted to the floor. She looked back at him, frenetic confusion lining her face. The expression in his eyes was shocking; she had seen it only once before…in the moment she had pressed the sparkling diamond ring into his hand six years before…
"Christine, I love you…"
"Christine…"
"Erik, what are you doing…?" she asked frantically, her voice shaking. "We have to get out of here…they'll be through the canal any moment now…"
His composure was unnerving. "It will never stop, Christine." She saw tears brimming in his eyes, and one slipped down his left cheek. "You don't deserve this endless running, this eternal witch hunt." He took her hand and kissed it tenderly. "The life of a fugitive is not suited for a Vicomtess." Closing his eyes, he released her into the darkness.
Christine watched him let go of her as if she was not in her body, as if she instead was watching down on them from above. She stood in numb shock, seeing his grasp leave her skin, his lips brush past her and pull away from her fingers. The earsplitting resonance of metal being ripped apart sounded from behind him, breaking her from her horrified trance. "What are you…?"
He shut the door, enclosing her in darkness.
"Erik!" she screamed through the door, banging her small fists against the paneling. "Erik! Erik! Angel!" The last call exploded from her lips without thought. With grief-stricken desperation, she slammed herself into the frame. Again. And again. Her head hit the wood with a sickening crunch, and she fell back into the pitch blackness of the corridor. Her arms flew back behind her, hoping to catch her fall, but instead they caught…nothing. Air. Emptiness.
Christine was falling into oblivion, her skirt billowing out behind her. "Erik…!" was the last thing to escape her mouth before she was enveloped in coldness. Then she was floating, carried away…
Somewhere above her, she heard singing.
