EXODUS
She had watched their taunts from the banister above…watched them as a dark, unfamiliar abhorrence boiled and churned within her. Her knees were folded beneath her, the wooden railing clutched against her trembling body as she steadied herself. The revolver in her hand shook slightly, the sensation of power over life foreign to her fingertips…
There had been no words in the moments after Erik left them. Utter and complete silence, words unable to express the depth. Madame Giry took her arm hesitantly, but Christine yanked herself free violently. The old woman did not recoil beneath the cold and relentless burning of Christine's gaze; instead, she spoke, her voice a whisper of controlled emotion.
"Do not let his sacrifice be wasted in vain, child." She met her eyes, her own image reflected in the large, glassy pools. "He gave himself to them in order to save us…in order to save you." Christine said nothing, her lower lip quivering. "You cannot possibly understand what you have done for him, my dear. You gave him light, you gave him purpose…you gave him love." Madame Giry put a wrinkled, cold hand to Christine's cheek. "It is time for him to repay you."
Christine placed her own hand over Madame Giry's and squeezed it… hard. Madame Giry winced and looked at Christine, eyes wide in shock. "Repay me for what, Madame?" she whispered urgently. "Repay me for abandoning him, for choosing safety over fate? For being so quick to judge and deciding to flee from reality at the first sign of imperfection?" The old woman stared at her, mouth agape. "No, Madame…I will not be led astray again."
She left the room, leaving Madame Giry standing alone.
Erik's study was three doors to the left of her room, at the end of the hallway. The rooms were lined up against the right hand side of the corridor; along the left was the banister that wound around the entire top level, allowing whoever was walking through the second floor to peer down into the foyer…and anyone who stood downstairs to see up into the halls above. Christine passed slowly through the moving shadows, her body pressed firmly to the wall, as she crept towards the last door. Her eyes jumped nervously from the hallway behind her to the men standing beneath her, her heart pounding so loudly that she was sure they would hear. As her fingers passed over the brass knob of Erik's study, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise, and she swung around, sure that someone was following her…
Madame Giry watched her apprehensively, and a sigh escaped Christine's lips. "You could still escape, Madame. I would hold no ill feelings," she whispered. The old woman said nothing, her eyes soft and sad in the darkness. Slowly, she shook her head, her gaze cast downwards.
Christine nodded before pulling the door open. The hinges made a low creaking noise as she slunk inside, wearily glancing behind her. Madame Giry looked after her, then she turned her eyes to the shadowy forms below. She could not make out who it was in the foyer, but the steady whispers met her ears, low and urgent. A soft thud echoed from behind the door, and Christine emerged, quickly and noiselessly, a small pistol clutched in her hand.
"Are you sure you can do this, child?" Madame Giry murmured.
"Yes." Christine met her eyes, unflinching. "Yes, this I can do."
They fell silent, and soon they became aware of the mirroring stillness below them. Christine slid back against the wall, her hand grasping the wooden rail next to her. She peered into the darkness, watching the dim figures group around one man…Erik. They just…stood there, staring. Then, clear and distinct, she heard one voice pierce the blackness.
"Shoot him. Now."
Without even so much as a glance back at Madame Giry, Christine held the gun out in front of her. It shook violently in her sweating fingers, one eye squeezed shut, as she aimed at the figure beside Erik, the one who held a glinting metal object in his hand…
The force of the kickback surprised her, and she jumped back, her back hitting the wall behind her. The hammering of her heart beat against her chest, the blood pounding in her ears. She became aware of the static silence, broken only by her heavy, gasping breaths.
It took them a few moments to realize that whoever had shot at them had missed. A gray puff of gunshot smoke rose from a small black hole in the floor near Pierre's feet. François's gaze turned slowly to Erik, whose eyes had narrowed in order to hide the conflicting emotions that passed across his face. 'Oh God, Christine, what are you doing…?'
"Who else is up there, Monsieur Phantom?" François spat, glaring at Erik, who said nothing. "Who are you hiding?" He received no response, just a dangerously defiant stare. "How the hell did you all miss them?" François shouted at his men, his eyes still locked on Erik.
"We assumed he was alone here, sir," said a voice from the back of the group. "I mean, who would stay with…?"
Erik remained silent, the barrel of the gun still pressed against his skin. "You two stay with him," François called, pointing to the two men on his right. "We're going to find our uninvited guests." At this, Erik's pulse quickened, a sweat breaking out on his brow.
"Wait!" he called, fighting against Pierre's unyielding clutch. The pistol was shoved viciously into the soft spot beneath his jawbone. "You have me, and you'll get your damn reward…" he gasped through tightened, constrained breaths. "You don't need them."
François raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth curving upward. "Is it possible our hardened murderer has found love? Is this true, Monsieur?" he asked mockingly. Erik's eyes narrowed. "No, of course not…you're probably holding a girl hostage up there… If you would pardon my bluntness, Monsieur, it must be difficult for a man with your unique face to find a woman willing to give herself to a monster. How many whores have refused your money, Monsieur? How many have turned you away in fear?"
'Please, Christine, please be using this stolen time to get away…' begged Erik silently.
François gave a deep, barking laugh. "Too many to count, Monsieur? Do you keep this girl chained up as an animal? Of course you do…there would be no other way to keep a woman, least of all by her own free will. Does bondage serve your needs, Monsieur? Does she satisfy you?"
Erik did not defend himself…he was biding his time… François appeared angered by his lack of reaction.
With a wave of his hand, he led the men up the grand staircase. Their guns were out and ready, alert and watchful…
They waited behind the closed door, breathing bated, as they listened to the steady sound of footsteps outside in the hall. "Madame Giry, this isn't right…" Christine whispered. "What if they give up and go back to Erik? Madame, they were about to kill him…" she moaned, pressing her hand to her mouth. "I couldn't…if he should die, I couldn't…"
Madame Giry was about to speak, but she was interrupted by a violent pounding at the door. The two women backed away slowly, Christine clutching the old woman's arm. Quickly, Madame Giry took the revolver from Christine's trembling hand and aimed it at the door.
With a crash, the door broke down, a group of men standing in the entryway. Those in front stopped, shocked by the sight of an old woman pointing a pistol at them. "Give me the gun, old girl," murmured one man as he stepped forward, lips pulled back into a leering grin, his yellow teeth glinting in the candlelight. "You don't even know how to…"
He didn't finish his sentence. Madame Giry pulled the trigger, and an instant later, a small red hole appeared in his chest. The blood spread quickly across his white chemise, dying it scarlet. For a moment the men just stared at her in astonishment. François pushed his way into the room, his eyes falling upon the body that lay in the center of the floor. He looked up at Madame Giry, who was still trembling, and met her eyes.
Without a word, he took his own gun from its holster. "He was one of my best men…a good friend. He had a family…a little girl," he whispered, his voice filled with an unstable rage, still staring directly into her wide eyes. Bringing the revolver up to Madame Giry's forehead, he whispered, almost as reassurance to himself, "I feel no remorse."
Then he shot her, point-blank range.
Christine was still screaming as they dragged her from the room, the tears spilling from her eyes and wetting her cheeks. She called out her name, over and over, reaching her arms back towards the doorway. "You bastards!" she shrieked. "You bastards, you unfeeling bastards…she was an old woman…!"
When he wasn't looking, the other men cast questioning looks of disbelief at François. Never before had he shown such heartlessness, such ruthlessness…what was happening to him? They were frightened even to whisper amongst themselves…who knew which of them he would turn on next…? François walked down the hall in the front of the group, unresponsive to their accusing stares. He started down the stairs, but stopped halfway.
The foyer was darker than it had been; the few candles that lined the walls had been blown out. "Pierre?" François called hesitantly. He grasped the railing and continued down, cautious and vigilant. His feet met the hardwood floor, and he took a few guarded steps forward…before running into something on the ground. Something large and soft… "Someone get me a light down here," he called anxiously over his shoulder.
One of the men struck a match and came down the stairway behind him. As he drew nearer, the retreating shadows revealed a body…a body that was not the one he intended to recover. "Henri?" François whispered, nudging him on the arm with his foot. Henri did not respond. François did not notice the deep purple bruises that lined Henri's throat…
"Light those candles over there, quickly," he ordered the man with the match. Without question, he walked swiftly towards the candlesticks that stood in the corners of the room. His feet tripped over something that lay in the hall, and after stumbling a bit, he began to run towards the wall. Lighting the wicks as quickly as he could, the man turned back to see what it was he had fallen over.
It was the body of the other man sent to watch their captive.
Erik stood by the front door, his eyes burning as brightly as the flames that threw shadows against the wall. Pierre stood next to him, quivering, a noose tied securely around his neck. "My dear sir…" Erik called, his voice dripping with an icy mockery of courtesy. "If you would be so kind as to return my imprisoned whore to me, I would like to be getting on my way." François stared at him in horror, his mouth opening and closing like a fish's out of water. "Please, Monsieur, do not gape at me like that …it is quite unbecoming of you." François's lips snapped shut, but he continued to stare. "Let's not dawdle, Monsieur…I believe your brother is becoming uncomfortable. That often happens when one's air supply is cut off." Erik's fingers danced across the rope around the young man's throat, his voice now shaking in an unsuccessful attempt to control his fury.
François turned to the men who held Christine and jerked his head towards the door. They released her, and she raced across the hall, clutching Erik's forearm desperately with her hands. Erik's eyes closed for an instant in momentary disbelief and utter gratitude before turning his gaze back to François. Slowly he backed up, pulling Christine with him, as she opened the door. They stepped out together, Erik's hands still holding the noose. "Get into their carriage," he whispered to Christine. She did so, without question, and Erik lingered there in the doorway, watching. He met François's eyes, and a small smile slipped onto his lips. "For Madame," he mouthed to him, his grin widening.
He yanked back on the rope, an echoing snap resonating through the foyer.
By the time François got to the door, the carriage had disappeared into the glistening fog of early morning.
A/N: I put this at the end as to not interrupt the tension between those two chapters. Anyways…I hope you all don't hate me right now. This wasn't one of my favorite chapters…difficult to write, not enough E/C. But Madame Giry's death…I'm not sure how I feel about that. Was it too violent? For once, I feel a bit unsure of how that whole situation went. Usually I like the way the things in my story work out, but this…I don't know. I want your feedback on it, now more than ever…normally I don't alter my story according to how my readers feel (Sorry guys, but I write for me!). However, this one is tough. Should I rework this? Let me know!
P.S: Sorry this chapter took so long. I've been kind of sick, and I've had to catch up on schoolwork. (Damn you, sophomore year:Shakes fist at heavens: ) I promise the next chapter won't take so long…I was dreading having to write Exodus, but this…this should be fun. Lots of E/C-ness…well, it's going to be my last one, so I have to fit lots of E/C goodness in there!
P.P.S: Brownie points to those who remembered the pistol…hope I didn't make that too predictable. I had enough death-threats in my reviews about Erik's "death" that I was reassured it wasn't too too obvious…
