Chapter 36- Angel of Hell
The room fell silent as she stared from Erik to the body of Pierre Contigue lying utterly lifeless on the floor. His face was white as the last thing he had seen on this earth; Erik's mask. The tears flowed unstoppable down her young, plump cheeks as she dropped to her knees, pulling Pierre into her chest, stroking his hair, kissing his head and getting covered in scarlet blood in the process.
Erik watched the scene for a moment thought that he felt a twinge of pity tap his heart, but it was soon gone and he stared down at the woman clinging to Pierre's motionless carcass. He had been dead for no more than five minutes but the ecstasy cursing through Erik's veins felt like it had been there an eternity. The bliss of knowing that he had finished him, he alone had brought his death, was immeasurable.
Pierre Contigue was as evil as the day was long, his carnivals and circus's had long been the bane of many poor souls existence. It had certainly been the bane of Erik's. He had spent years with that man, cooped up in a cage like some wretched beast, some defenceless animal. It had been his mother's fault of course, if Pierre was evil his mother was surely the devil himself. Handing him over to that monster when he had been so young. He had wasted enough time hating his mother, someone he would never forgive but never really be able to get to. She was dead already, after all. Pierre was different matter.
Erik knew as soon as he saw the henchmen, the mess, he knew it was Pierre's handy work. It couldn't have come at a better time, finding Christine and now, rescuing Raoul. Of course, Christine had been his ultimate catalyst, the boy could never die so long as Christine wished him alive. If her heart had broken then Erik's would certainly be dead. However, she should never fool herself by believing that Erik's only motive was her, or that he simply wanted to rescue de Chagny, that could never be.
He glanced once again at the sobbing mass of hair covering Pierre's God awful face, that pompous mouth.
'Papa,' she cried and Erik had to force himself not to smile. She looked up at him, hate flooding her body but he just stared. 'What have you done?' she said.
'I thought that was obvious,' he said and allowed that smile he had been holding down so hard to emerge on his face. She spat at him as she leapt to her feet.
'How could you?' she screamed and bolted towards him hands flailing like a flag in the wind. One connected with his chest and he grabbed it, stopping the other one mid flow and holding her off her feet.
He threw her to the floor.
'I was wondering when you'd arrive,' he said and leant casually against the door frame. He had barely broken into a sweat since he had arrive, there wasn't a hair out of place.
'You… knew?' she asked, her resolve crumbling as she sat up and hugged her knees.
'I found out quickly enough.' He said. 'I see the family resemblance now. It's striking.' He grinned. 'Unfortunate child.'
She sobbed and rocked, arms holding her knees to her chest, tears dripping onto her hands. He grimaced at the sight, pathetic. Horrific.
She looked up at him and held the dagger out in front of him, blood dripped from it's edge and she looked away. Erik wandered over to her and turned her face to look at him. He leant down and rested the blade of the dagger under her chin, watching the fear in her eyes. Big, soft eyes. Big bland eyes.
'Tell me, Rebecca, why I shouldn't kill you?'