(a/n) Thanks for all the reviews guys!
AkashaVampireQueen: Thankyou—I don't know if I thought Christine was a whore originally but I was definitely frustrated with her.
Kate: Haha, it would be a good pun though. Thanks! I like hearing I have Erik's mind right.
Fingolifia: Thankyou! Thankyou! Thankyou!
Leesainthesky: Thanks, that a really great compliment. I'd like to think I can get into Erik's head. A major point in this story is to show Erik that it isn't all about him.
GoldenLyre: But what fun would that be! Then she would get all weepy—plus she probably would have let her baby die because she couldn't figure out what to do.
LostSchizophrenic: Yeah, he had an inward reaction, he was just grasping at straws, he didn't want to admit he was wrong.
Emily: Hehe I wasn't thinking of Snake boy in Daran Shan. I just thought it was funny.
Lizzie Black: Thank you! They are fools aren't they? I love insulting my own characters.
CynicallyAmused: Yay, I like to hear you wait for the updates. That doesn't make you a loser! I love angst myself, of course I want them to make up, but I love feeling that twisting of the gut.
Ziroana: Thanks, based on your suggestions, you'll like this chapter a lot!
Sugar Peaches: Thanks
Erik'sangel527: Yay! Hello again! I love your reviews. Thanks for saying I write Erik well, I love to hear that.
Crying Wasteland: I want to smack Christine too, and yet Erik was a jerk. Glad you like the Erik and Belle scenes. I love writing them.
Monroe-mary: Yes, he will feel guilty. So very guilty. Muhahahaha. Once again glad, you like Belle, she is my baby. OH and I feel so complimented when you say you waited up. This is a little earlier. . . But really its an hour earlier here. So you see.
Well here is the chapter, just a warning, there is quite a bit of VIOLENCE. Hope you aren't squeamish. (a/n)
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Erik
My God, what had I done! I fell to my knees as I heard Christine leave, a single tear rolling down my face, its calm path a poor reflection of the storm raging within me. How could I have been so mistaken? But I knew! So twisted was my own soul that I believed evil of every other being.
As I thought of my furious words to Christine, the tears began to stream down my cheeks in a wild deluge. Memories rained down on me like hail, every recollection sending a sharp pain through my body. She must hate me! I knew she did—those beautiful lips had never before delivered such a fatal blow. But as much as she might despise me, she could never despise me as much as I despised myself!
Groaning in my despair, I remembered my cold reaction Christine's confession. What had it taken for her to tell me? Even then I could not accept I might be wrong, for if I was . . . if I was it would mean this! That I was the despicable creature I had always known myself to be, that once again, once again I was the sole cause of my own destruction.
The world had given me poison so many times before that I could not accept anything as pure and true, but ironically, by my own toxic touch, ruined the very elixir that was my salvation.
What she must have suffered! Victim to the perverted pleasure of the man she had killed in one lenient blow—when he should have suffered the torments of hell! I trembled with impotent rage, furious he was beyond my reach. Before directing my thoughts to one that was not—the blackguard who dared to threaten my Christine and press his unwanted kisses upon her—he would pay dearly for his presumption! I focused the torrent of my emotions onto that one creature, my boundless energy surging into a controlled fury—a terrifyingly purposeful rage.
If I did nothing else for Christine I would rid her of this pestilence!
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Erik
Darkness was falling, and I could feel my blood begin to hum in anticipation.
Tonight I would avenge Christine.
I looked down with grim satisfaction at the letter in my hands. I had written to Madame Giry earlier explaining to her that Christine had informed me of Reggie's blackmail, and politely requesting that gentleman's address. I had not informed her of my intentions, but I doubted she maintained any illusions.
In return she had sent me a brief note, merely containing the address, but that was all I needed.
When the sun had fully set, I donned a voluminous black cloak, its velvety folds enveloping my entire figure. I quietly exited my building, noting the dozing figure of the porter with satisfaction. As I stepped out into the darkness, I looked up, mentally paying tribute to the celestial orb whose gentle gaze had lighted my way countless times before. This night the moon was but a sliver of light, barely illuminating the sky, and entirely neglecting the streets of London. Unfortunately glaring electric lights occasionally flawed the beautiful dark of the night.
However, I adeptly avoided these, one with the shadows, as my gliding steps drew me ever nearer to my destination.
When I reached the address, I concealed myself, my crouching form just another shadow in the darkness. There could be sloppiness about this, so I would wait until my prey entered or exited the building, an elegant town house I observed—no doubt paid for by extortion.
My patience was endless, but my efforts were rewarded sooner than I had anticipated, and I felt a long forgotten thrill travel my body as I sighted my quarry.
I allowed him to enter the house, and waited for a few minutes before following. As the knob turned easily under my grasp, I sneered, reflecting on the foolishness of men. They thought themselves safe far too easily.
No servants were to be found in the hallway, and I soon sighted a lighted room, almost laughing at the ease of my entrance.
I paused briefly, pressing myself to wall just before the doorway, hoping my luck held, and that Reggie was indeed in this room.
Taking a breath, I focused my thoughts, centering on my intentions and reminding myself of all the torment this man had put Christine through. He had played with her, delighting in his power over a weaker being, but now he would find himself in that unenviable position. I did not mean his death to be quick.
I deliberately moved in front of the doorway, and my gaze took in the form of Reggie, lounging at a desk, calmly smoking a cigar, as he rifled through papers. I saw the room was a library, and I laughed, books were ever my constant companions, even now.
At the sound of my voice, Reggie looked up, fright and shock entering his eyes at the sight of me. His cigar fell from his lips, rolling over the desk, and to the floor, briefly singeing the carpet before the glow slowly died.
I turned, unhurriedly closing door, and as it clicked into place, I turned back to see Reggie jump to his feet.
"You have no right to be in my house—leave at once," he commanded.
I laughed softly, amused at his futile words.
His eyes widened and he demanded, "Who are you? Why are you here?"
"I am the Angel of Death," I replied in a soft, silky voice—drawing back my hood to completely reveal my mask.
Terror filled his eyes, and he exclaimed, "You're Mad! Brooke! Brooke! There is a madman in the house!"
I silently drew back one side of my cloak, and slid my dagger from its sheath. Grasping the ornately carved handle affectionately, I lovingly turned it, allowing the light to reflect off of its wickedly curved form. I had obtained the weapon while in Persia, immediately drawn to both its efficiency and its beauty.
Death was, after all, an art.
"Oh God! Brooke, call for help! Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you!"
"You have dared to sport with one Christine Daae," I informed him, my voice grim, advancing toward him with slow, deliberate steps.
"I know of no such person," he declared, a cornered look on his face, "I swear it! You have the wrong man!"
"Elise." I hissed, and with one swift move, sliced his right cheek.
His hand flew to his cheek, and he shoved the chair over, backing away. But recognition filled his eyes at the name Elise, and he truly began to shake with fear.
"What is it you want from me?" he asked desperately.
"Only your silence," I informed him, my tone cold and hard, and my dagger flashed through the air once again, slashing his other cheek.
He gasped in pain, and pleaded in a panicked voice, "I swear to you I will say nothing."
"I intend to make sure of that."
As the meaning of my words sunk in, he darted out from behind the desk in a frenzied move. Unrelentingly I pursued him, and before he knew it, had him pressed up against me in an iron grip. He struggled briefly, before freezing as he felt the cold steel of my knife caress his throat. Tauntingly, I ran the knife back and forth across his skin, increasing the pressure gradually, until blood ran.
Then I abruptly thrust him away from me, and I saw hope enter his eyes. An emotion I swiftly banished by lacerating his arm with one deep cut. He cried out in pain, the other hand instinctively feeling the wound, and he stared in horror at the blood that it came away with.
In desperation, he grabbed a bottle of brandy, resting on the library sideboard, and recklessly ran toward me, attempting to smash me over the head.
I easily stepped out of the way, and the bottle came down upon the desk, burgundy liquid staining the papers.
Sheathing my knife, I grabbed his injured arm, and turned him around swiftly, before grasping his throat, easily lifting him off the ground.
He choked, his arms flailing uselessly, and I lowered him until I had him shoved up against the desk—cruelly pressing his back onto the shards of glass from the broken brandy bottle.
As his face began to turn an alarming color, I released him, and pulling him up, thrust him towards the door.
He was facing me, and wild hope filled his eyes, as he began to slowly back away towards the door. Then, just as he was about to turn, sure of his escape, I whipped out the Punjab lasso, breaking his neck with one swift jerk.
As he fell, one arm violently hit the shelf just behind him, and books tumbled off, covering his body in a jumbled pile.
How poetic, I thought, that the books should convey their approval by burying my victim for me.
I briefly bent to feel his pulse, one could never be too cautious, and feeling nothing rose. I pulled the hood back over my head, and exited the room. Keeping my face averted, I could see the cowering form of a man in the shadows, but I ignored him.
No one tried to stop as I left the house, and I quickly walked towards my home, triumph surging through my veins.
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Max
Strolling cheerfully down the street, I made my way to Reggie's house. I had not been to visit the young scoundrel in a while, and it was high time I bothered him again.
Reflecting affectionately on my younger brother, I wondered for the umpteenth time, where he found the money to live as he did—without being in debt. I myself owed thousands, and had several times only barely avoided being thrown into debtor's prison. Quickly dismissing the matter from my mind, I whistled happily. Earlier tonight I had been quite successful in my advances on a charming little bird. I was reflecting cheerfully on this tempting armful, when I caught sight of a very strange looking fellow.
He briskly strode past me, almost entirely covered by a great black cloak, and under the hood, his face glinted a weird white.
How strange, I thought, the get-up fellows are into these days. Shaking my head disapprovingly, I mounted the stairs to Reggie's house, and rapped on the door.
It was quite some time before the door opened, and I was just getting irritated when the doorknob began to turn. Brooke must have been imbibing in liquor again, I decided, as the door slowly opened. Whatever was the man doing? Brooke peered through the barely opened door with a very queer expression on his face; however, when he saw me he gave a gasp, "Oh! Lord Charlbury, such a relief!"
"Whatever are you talking about man? Stop standing there in that stupid manner and let me in!"
He obediently opened the door wide, and I entered, thinking that I must really speak to my brother about Brooke. This simply was not acceptable.
Brooke did not close the door, but still stood there, gawking at me.
"Well, where is he?" I demanded.
"Sir . . .I think I should tell you . . .well . . .go look for yourself—in the library," he stuttered.
I stared at him, what on earth?
Abruptly I strode towards the library, and opening the door, almost immediately stumbled over something. With a sick feeling, I looked down, and realized that something was my brother.
He was lying there, books strewn over his person, his eyes wide open and bulging.
Oh God! I fell to my knees and grasped his wrist, frantically feeling for a pulse. But what I already knew was confirmed. Reggie was dead.
"Brooke," I roared. But the man was just behind me, "How," I growled, "Did this happen? And what has been done?"
"There was a man, he . . . he came into the house without my knowledge. I heard Mr. Grantham calling for me. But I dared not open the door."
"Good God, are you a complete coward!"
The man trembled beneath my furious gaze, and I wanted to beat him for his cowardice, but I shifted my mind to more pressing matters.
"Have you rung the police?"
"No . . . no, sir, I was about to ring the doctor when you knocked."
"The doctor! It's too late for that! Damn you, why did you not ring the police while Reggie was being attacked! Did my brother install that infernal contraption for nothing!"
The man looked like he was about to whimper, and in disgust I turned from him, strode to the telephone, and picked up the listening receiver. The operator answered and I brusquely requested the Metropolitan Police Force. I informed them of situation, and they promised to be there quickly. With a sigh a replaced the receiver, and eyed the library, should I go back in there?
No, I decided to question the sniveling butler, and discover what else he knew.
"Brooke!" I bit out.
"Yes sir?" he asked weakly.
"Did you see the man?"
"Well . . .kind of" he said in an unsure voice.
"Good god man, either you saw him or you didn't, which is it!"
"Well . . . you see, he was wearing a black cloak that completely covered him. I did not even see his face."
I stood there stunned. I had seen my own brother's murderer coming from the crime scene. Reggie's blood no doubt, still on his hands.
The man with the glinting white face.
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Christine
I was sitting in the parlor reading when Antoinette entered, a letter in her hand.
"Christine, this has just come for you by messenger boy."
She handed me the envelope, and I thanked her. She stood looking at me for just a moment with a curious expression in her eyes before leaving the room.
I saw the letter was from Erik, and unbidden, my heart beat quickened.
I swiftly broke the seal, and began reading.
Christine,
I am writing to inform you that a certain gentleman who has been bothering you need trouble you no longer. I have taken measures to make sure he will never worry you again.
I wish to offer you my deepest apologies for the misunderstanding between us, and, I hope that, in time, you will come to forgive me. You need not worry that I will trouble you any longer. I intend to quit this country, and return to France, I have stayed here too long.
Your Obedient Servant,
Erik
What did it all mean? He had "taken measures" to ensure that Reggie would not trouble me again? With Erik I must assume the worst. Even as I read this letter, Reggie must be dead.
I felt a glorious feeling of relief flood through me. Not only was I financially free now, but I was also free of the secret that had plagued me for so long. And all thanks to Erik. Erik had done this for me! I felt a rush of affection towards him, and abruptly remembered the second part of the letter.
Erik was leaving! I hesitated, what should I do?
At that moment Antoinette walked into the room.
"Well, what did he say?" she inquired.
"He says . . .he says what I can only assume means that Reggie is dead. Here read it for yourself."
I gave her the letter, and averted my eyes as she quickly read through it.
"So Erik has dealt with him. It is as I had hoped."
"You hoped? How did you know?"
"My dear, the most elementary knowledge of Erik should tell you that he would not let your blackmailer, the tormenter of the woman he loved, live."
I looked down, and said in a low voice, "Our elementary knowledge of Erik would seem to differ, you believe he loves me."
Upon my words, Antoinette did something I had never seen her do before, she rolled her eyes.
"On that subject we shall continue to disagree, however I will admit I had some prior knowledge. Erik wrote asking me for Reggie's address."
"What! And you did not tell me! After reproaching me for keeping things from you?"
"I did not wish to raise your hopes, however that is beside the point, are you really going to let Erik leave London without you?"
"Without me? How . . .how could I go with him? He has not asked me!"
"He would take you on feeblest excuse my dear, and he would be gladly take Belle as well. I have a suspicion that he has formed an attachment to your daughter."
"I don't know. I mean our house . . ."
"You have been planning on moving as soon as you were able for many years now. This is the perfect opportunity. In fact, leaving London will be very wise, just in case there is any trouble over Mr. Grantham's death."
"I . . .I will think about it."
"I suggest you do not think about for too long, or you will find Erik gone."
With those words she left me to ponder the situation. I trembled. Did I dare ask Erik to travel with us to Paris? Did I want to? Wasn't I still angry with him? But as hard I tried to remember the fury of the night before, my happiness at finally being free of Reggie--and knowing Erik was my rescuer--seemed crush the anger, and all I could call up was a faint echo.
But Paris? Could I really return to that city which held so many memories? But I realized that this city held many bad memories as well. I did not have to live in Paris; we could live in the countryside. I could take Belle to France, and expose her to her mother country while she was still young.
But would I do all this with Erik? Would Erik want to?
(a/n)Hehe, I almost called this chapter "Nothing says I love you like a murder." Thanks for reading. Review! Review! Review!(a/n)
