"A Lover's Requiem"
Chapter II – A Return
by peppermintoreo
"Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell."
–William Shakespeare, Sonnet 129: "Th'expense of spirit in a waste of shame…"
Christine
I had spent the last six months trying to infuse Raoul into my very being, to let moments of his tender love replace whatever I could recall in my memory. My heart trembled uncomfortably at the ease which my mind and body recalled its way back to Erik's home. This is the final purging, I thought to myself; God was compelling me to take my last glimpse of Hell as a warning to what would happen should I fall again. It was essential before I could begin my ascension, to be rid of all earthly pain. After fulfilling the final pact, I would be free.
My chest drummed an agitated beat.
Yes, I would be free.
There was little light afforded to me that evening but sojourning out during the daylight was almost impossible. Raoul in his own way had forbidden me to return, masking his wishes with uncomfortable silences after I showed him Erik's obituary in La Époque. No more pain between us, I thought. I would make this journey alone, in secret. No one can escape the Devil once you stride in His path; we were lucky to have even escaped once.
After Don Juan the Triumphant, all I wanted was quick emancipation from Paris…the only thing I carried with me on our flight to Rome was Erik's ring. I never read La Époque. News of Erik's death arrived by mail a week ago, borne by a messenger under strict instructions never to reveal who had sent the clipping. I invited the poor boy into my home, prepared to shower him with gold coins or the precious family heirlooms of which I had no claim over only as Raoul's betrothed — whatever I could scourge up to bribe the messenger— to no avail of revealing an address or even the sender.
"Erik is dead," the article said. My body shook entirely after my eyes met the words...the flimsy clipping left my hands as my legs gave way, knees meeting the strength of the hardwood floor beneath the luxurious carpeting in one swift, agonizing movement.
Was it relief I felt? Dread? No tears beaded my eyes nor did a sigh of relief leave my lips.
There was a heaviness that blanketed itself around my head, my shoulders as I picked myself off the floor. Then the days were spent almost idle unless it was completely necessary to move, for which there was hardly an occasion. People traipsed in and out of my suite constantly, asking me mindless questions as I mindlessly answered them. My nights were filled with a dormant restlessness. My mind just seemed too full to allow any functioning of my body. I stayed awake during the nights, letting the fatigue drain any clarity of thought. The numbness kept me blissful, delayed the horrible truth that was waiting for me in the prison I created for my mind, so free from the burning reality.
But the candles...the candles that are burning around me and casting long shadows along these cavern walls, encasing me, making me aware of my own madness. It was very clear I was, because I could hear music again…what other strange entity existed in this world other than Erik would play such notes, such soul-trapping harmony, here, in this very domain?
The cloud has lifted…the touch he gave me was real…
"My soul?" Erik spat. His voice plunged me in a pot of helplessness, as if his pained essence of his soul…whatever existed within him…had left his body to ravage what little sanity I had left. The ropes bound around my neck and wrists began to burn my skin, the Devil in his voice commanding them to stop the blood from rushing into my pallid face and hands. All of the steady anger I armed myself with before…for Raoul, for myself… withered away the moment I entered Erik's domain. It was there where everything was in his control. The passion that lay dormant after all those years of cold indifference or hidden within tender desires ignited the dead coals that were his eyes and filled my veins with fear. Yet he possessed me entirely.
Madly.
Desperately.
The thought of him replaced whatever I could recall in my memory…
"You gave me your heart, your faith, so I tried to give you the closest thing I had to a spirit…" He removed his gloves and placed the tip of his finger on the base of my left ear and slid it down my jaw to guide me to his visage. My neck knitted so tightly into the iron gate, I could only close my eyes to free myself of his face…those eyes could tell me more about the sorrow trapped within him than that devilish finger, or that voice that so often wrapped me in dark melodies.
"My music…my music…" he chanted.
Resist, Christine. You must fight, you have done this before. Yet I felt my body lay limp against the iron gate, clutching the bars as he removed my bindings. He pressed his palm…that merciless, bare hand!...against my face. My skin welcomed his moist touch with ecstasy as I felt my soul leave my earthly body.
What new sensation is this? Powerless in all my actions, I became the voyeur of my own experiences…I tried desperately to put out the fire, only to find out it had already burned everything I had. I could feel the throbbing swell of my chest yet I felt like I could do nothing but watch from above…
Those two glorious strips of flesh that were his lips suddenly hovered over my face, returning me to my body, wanting me to provoke more of his touch…
A hard object seemed to tighten itself around my finger, as if it responded to the overtones of the magical voice that began to take me out of my self-made ignorance into a novel lunacy...His ring, Erik's ring! My left finger began to prickle and the skin was cold.
The brightness faded. The frigid temperatures sent shivers up my spine. There were no candles, except one, glowing beyond the heavy tarpaulin that covered the destroyed entrance into his domain…
"Sing me a lullaby…"
That was no heavenly voice.
"A love song…a requiem…"
I shut out the tears and cried out silently as I freed my finger from the death grip of his flawless gold wedding band...That voice was so unbearably human, more human that I could ever admit.
"Love me…"
As soon as the ring hit the stone floor, I picked up my skirts and ran. To where?
If God were kind, to oblivion.
Love is given away; if true, you never expect its return.
Disclaimers: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux. This story presents characters/characterizations/songs from Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical and Susan Kay's Phantom, but I don't own those either.
"Sing Me to Heaven" was composed by Daniel E. Gawthrop
Underlined phrases areused with permission from fellow phan and LiveJournal user, lowdivejenny