Jazzetry's Author's Note: Sorry it's taken so long to post this…Padme's been hacking her lungs out and I've been experiencing that delightful thing known as "Hell Week." It's the week before the show and we're rehearsing constantly…Hopefully that won't affect posting the ending too much. Have fun reading!
Christine and the Phantom
Chapter 10: A Revelation
The tolling of five chimes from the grandfather clock woke Erik from his sleep. The past day had been interminably long without Christine's presence in the castle, but the night had passed more quickly: Erik had fallen asleep while working on a piece of music at his desk. Some junk he knew he would burn for its incompetence.
Erik leaned back in his chair, stretching in the gray light of the early morning to release the tension that had built up during his short, troubled sleep. Breathing in deeply, Erik felt the muscles of his body expand and ripple, experiencing a moment of pure strength that contradicted his weak will. The sudden action caused blood to race to his head, and he steadied his hands on the desk as his sight blurred. When his vision cleared, he recognized the solemn creak of the outer gates opening, accompanied by the faint neigh of a horse.
Standing quickly, Erik drew back the curtain of the study window and peered down into the courtyard at the dismounted Christine leading Belle towards the stables. From the second floor her expression was unidentifiable, but Erik did not stop to wonder why or how she had found her way back to the castle. She had returned – that was all he needed to know.
Refusing to question his motives, Erik made his way to the secret passage that ran between the hall of mirrors and the east wing. He moved silently, pressing his hands against the stone walls to guide his way. It had been years since he had used this hallway, since he had any reason to slink to the guest chambers in secret. Even the small lever permitting him entrance into Christine's closet felt cold and unfamiliar, but Erik pressed ahead, yearning for just a moment alone with her.
Once inside the closet, he stealthily cracked open the door to her room, guiltily waiting for her return. He had not entered the Louis Phillip room since that first night when he tended to her wound. He especially knew the value of a person's privacy. Looking at it now, he realized that in two short weeks she had made the impersonal guestroom her own. She had rearranged the placement of the breakfast table so she could look out at the garden, and nearly every tabletop was filled with vases of fresh roses from his gardens. The guestroom looked warm, inviting, and lived in. In the midst of his quiet observation, Christine entered the room, lifting her heavy suitcases onto the bed so she could unpack them.
God, she was stunning. Even pale, no doubt due to her father's unexpected demise, she was gorgeous, a willowy figure that moved with graceful ease around her domain. As she reached for the buttons on the back of her gown, Erik softly closed the door and reentered the dark passageway.
He was satisfied. Christine had come home.
)--/--
He was a damned fool. Once sequestered in his room at the Duckling Valley Inn last night, Raoul had realized what an imbecile he had been. Christine had always been truthful, but he had chosen to believe the viperous Carlotta instead of his fiancée. Christine had merely doubted the sincerity of his unexpected intentions when she rejected his proposal – he could easily persuade her of the truth. She would accept his apology and reconsider his proposal. She would love him.
Raoul's steed galloped toward Christine's cottage, his rider barely noticing the muddy roads and clouded skies as he urged the horse faster.
But the cottage stood cold and empty. Raoul felt a revival of the bile that had plagued him last night. He could not ignore the evidence in front of him forever: she had gone back to her lover.
He smiled grimly when he caught sight of a horse's tracks in the mud, leading away from the house. Last night's rain had proved his ally, it seemed, giving him a clear trail towards the treacherous Christine. Fate was on his side.
)--/--
The grandfather clock tolled the ninth hour when Madame Giry entered Erik's room with a breakfast tray. He glanced at her from his writing desk with little emotion.
"Breakfast, milord." The charms-mistress set her burden down near him. "Miss Daae has returned."
Erik looked at the woman who raised him, merely nodding his head in acknowledgement.
His servant nodded. "It seems her father has died. Perhaps a requiem might ease her heart?" Madame Giry suggested.
"Perhaps." Erik looked towards the door pensively, imagining Christine weeping in her room with only Meg to comfort her. "When she is ready, ask her to come to me in my study."
Madame nodded curtly, letting the door click shut softly as she departed. After waiting a few moments, Erik stood and removed a large painting of a scene from Milton's Paradise Lost. Behind the canvas stood a narrow door leading into a stark chamber.
He himself had built this small room, the only addition to the castle since he had inherited it. The antechamber was a narrow, ugly room he rarely visited. Placed exactly in the middle of the hidden chamber was a small unadorned table of black mahogany. In the center of the table, a fading rose lay on top of a mirror, its full bloom reduced over the years to a mere three petals. Standing over the wilting flower, he stared down at his reflection in the mirror and slowly took off his mask. Twenty years later, he still hated the Enchantress and the curse she had bestowed upon him. He had found the woman he loved, but she would never be able to love him. Even now, it was too late. The rose, his timekeeper, was dying.
)--/--
Erik worked on a concerto piece after Madame Giry left, biding his time till Christine appeared. After a couple hours, he grew impatient with the notes and abandoned the music for a book. Making himself comfortable on the couch, he forced himself to become lost in the story. A knock interrupted his reading. Glancing around, Erik noticed that the sun had set, and the dinner hour had passed.
"You wanted to see me?" Christine stood fidgeting slightly in the gray wool gown she had changed into.
Erik nodded, saying gently. "I wanted to play for you." He sat down at the organ, his face turned away from Christine, focusing only on the metal pipes before him. His foot pressed softly on the pedals, allowing only a light sound to emit from the pipes. The melody floated about the room.
Behind him, he heard Christine gasp and choke down her sobs. He stopped playing and quickly gathered her in his arms. She clutched at him, repeatedly saying, "Papa!" Erik felt helpless in the wake of her grief, blaming himself for the man's death. He stroked her back as she cried, her tears staining the white fabric of his shirt.
"Christine, it's my fault he died," Erik grimaced as he murmured, "I'm sorry I caused you such pain."
Christine's sobs quieted as she lifted her red-rimmed eyes to look at Erik. "No! No, Erik, it's not your fault he died." She grasped for Erik's hand and held it tightly. "His friends locked him up in an insane asylum – they just let him rot in there!"
Relief rushed through Erik, but a single thought nagged him from the back of his mind. "What do you plan to do?"
Hope and desperation filled her eyes as she pleaded, "Please, Erik, can I stay here? I promise I won't get in the way or bother you when you're composing…"
Gently, he lifted her chin and looked directly into her eyes. Erik whispered, "If anything, Christine, you make it easier for me to compose."
Unexpectedly, Christine leaned forward and kissed him softly in gratitude. Erik tensed; Christine seemed to realize the reality of the situation. Erik was neither her father nor Raoul – he was a completely different type of man. He had shown her cruelty, compassion, indifference, and friendship, but she had failed to recognize the male aspect of his being. He could never be the platonic tutor or the doting father figure – he could only be himself.
Erik flinched back from Christine, pulling his hands away from her. Confusion clouded the girl's eyes, but she respectfully remained where she was. Abruptly, he stood and paced in front of her, rubbing his chin in consternation.
Turning to her, he told her, "Christine, may I show you something?"
She regarded him curiously for a moment before acquiescing. She took his outstretched hand and followed him out the room.
)--/--
Raoul cursed as another branch whipped across his face. Wearily, he lifted a hand to the level of his eyes in an effort to keep the sharp projections from leaving their red marks across his flawless complexion. At first, following Christine's trail had been easy, but as time had progressed, it began to narrow and grass covered the hoof prints. Ahead of him, Raoul could see a clearing where the path seemed to fork off into two directions. He patted his roan steed, "Good boy."
Christine's trail lead down the darker path where Raoul made out the shadow of an imposing castle. He had found what he was looking for.
Remember to review, please!
Padme's Author Note: Sorry about the wait, I got really sick and ended up taking a week off from school and this. Good news is, this chapter was originally twice the length it is now because it included most of the next chapter. The bad news is that Jazz will not have any time of her own to work on this until next week. So hang in, there. We're almost done.