Let's hear it for chapter 5!
This will most likely be the last chapter I write before I head off with my Dad for three weeks and then off to New York City for 1 ½ weeks. Hopefully after that I will get around two to three more chapters done before I have to go back to band camp. After that who knows. School starts the day after band camp gets out and mainly depends on my teachers and my homework schedule. But rest assured this story will be updated until I finish it.
Disclaimer: I own nuttin. All is property to other people beside myself. Accuse me of stealing it and I will curse your mind with images of Andre and Firmin in a thong. Images that will never leave your mind until the day you die.
Your reviews really do mean so much to me. They really do. Keep it up.
Warnings: Violence in this chapter as well as language and sexual content. If that offends you people don't read. Don't flame me about it because I've warned you. I can't say the number of times that morons do that to me, flame me about the content I write when I CLEARLY write warnings. The story ratings should be enough in themselves. But no, people insist on being stupid. Anywhoo, I'll get off my soapbox and let you read.
I hope this chapter is better than the last one which royally sucked.
Enjoy…
MXIXVXIXM
Outside the velvet sky was speckled with bright celestial stars. Even above the bright city lights of Paris they still twinkled vibrantly above all the Earthly hubbub. Inside of her hotel room, Christine was tossing and turning in her bed. Severe insomnia ailed her and, for the likes of her, could not return to the blissful dreams of sleep that took her away from harsh reality. To her right, Raoul slept soundly—his chest heaved up and down in a steady repetitive motion. Christine envied her husband's easy sleep as she again churned from side to side. The feeling of guilt racked and ruined Christine's mind, not leaving any merciful room for the merest hint of sleep. Every time her eyelids closed the image of Erik popped into her mind and when they opened again she would see her husbands sleeping form next to her. Christine didn't know what to do. Nadir's words plagued her mind. Why had she really returned to the Opera Populaire? Was it really to torment Erik with the life that Christine knew he could never achieve? Was it out of pity? Or was it something more? Christine knew that she still harbored feelings for Erik; after all he was her teacher, mentor, her Angel of Music, her best friend (next to Meg Giry) and her love until Raoul had come into frame again. Did the yearning desire to return to Erik's underground lair lay so deeply molded into her soul that she did not even know it?
Christine's cerulean eyes surveyed the room. Maybe her eyelids would simply become so heavy with exhaustion that they would just drop shut and she wouldn't be able to open them even if Erik's face showed again. After several minutes this theory was quickly put to rest as increasing weight was put onto her eyes but they still refused to shut. Having enough of it, Christine sat up in bed and breathed a sigh of annoyance. She lifted the cotton sheets from her body and strode over to the sliding glass door that led to the small balcony. Knowing the air would be chilly, Christine grabbed the nearest cloak she could find and draped it across her shoulders. Carefully so as not to wake Raoul, she slid the glass door and stepped out into the cool night air. It was refreshing against her lack of sleep. Down below her she could see a middle-aged couple walking down the street arm in arm, smiling fondly down at each other. Christine wondered that if in twenty years she and Raoul would still be the loving couple they were, even if their love was based more from a friendship standpoint than that of a husband and wife. Or instead, would Raoul become the vicious money obsessive man like Firmin and Andre? Would she turn into some sour old woman like Voletta deCour, a woman who hates theatre with no energetic spirit to liven up life? The thought churned Christine's stomach. She would rather live a sort life filled with love, vibrancy, and music than walk the Earth a thousand lifetimes as a quiet underling to a man with no say and hatred towards anything jubilant. Sighing again Christine looked again at her sleeping husband in envy.
Looking through the glass door Christine nearly gasped at loud at what she saw looming above Raoul. A pair of golden orbs embedded in black shadow. No! Christine thought. Even he wouldn't be that bold, she continued. But was she really so sure? After all, hadn't Erik nearly blown the Paris Opera House to the ground with hundreds of barrels of gunpowder? However to kill Raoul in front of her! Christine nearly collided head on with the glass as she rushed inside her room. However as soon as she crossed the threshold of the door, the hazel disappeared and became blackness all over again. "What?" Christine said aloud. Raoul stirred a bit, but just as soon fell back into the peaceful bliss of dreamland. She rapidly looked all around the dark room. No sign, nothing. Was she going mad? Christine would have sworn on the grave of her father that she saw Erik over the bed. In an instantaneous flash they were back again hovering above Raoul's head. Wait a second, Christine mused. No person, whether or not they were known as a phantom could maneuver themselves that quickly. Again they flashed away leaving nothing but darkness. Christine turned towards the window and felt a wave of stupid vulnerability wash over her. The lights from the pub across the street were flashing in bright bursts of golden hazel. They were being reflected through the window.
Christine closed her eyes in relief that it had not been Erik. But as soon as she closed them his face, distorted in angelic purity, came again into her head. She opened them again and sank back against the cool glass. Did she miss Erik so much that his face would forever haunt her? She knew that in kissing him and then leaving with Raoul, she had done nothing more than rip out his heart piece by piece leaving Erik to collect the bit askew. In that moment of ecstasy, Christine had chosen Erik. She chose to live with him, to be his wife, to die with her Angel. She had done it all only to revoke it, leaving him in his dark hovel. She had been inhumanly cruel to him, just as had the rest of the world. No! Christine tried to console herself. She had given Erik a chance to live. If he had killed Raoul it would have been worse off for everyone. Her heart sank when a voice in her said are you really any better? Was what you did, ripping his soul from his body and leaving him to catch it any better than what everyone else had done? Christine knew the answer, but she did not have the boldness to claim it to be true. No, she had been worse. She had given Erik everything he ever wanted in the world, a life with someone he cared for (unlike the thousands of men who wanted fame, riches, stardom and a whole host of women groveling at their feet). She had done it all, only to take it away and give it to Raoul. I am a cruel woman, Christine thought to herself. I am no better than those bastards in his past that persecuted and abused him so. Erik was worth more than anyone in the universe. He had done so much more with his life, even being shunned by society, than what most people did in their lifetimes. It was cruel that his face had been chosen to cursed, marred and scarred.
Christine swallowed the bitter lump of sadness and regret in her throat. Crystalline tears lined her eyes and threatened to spill over. She closed her eyes to keep them from falling but in vain. A sharp pain was felt in the middle of her back and Christine rummaged though the long black mantle to see what it was. She gasped out loud as her finger was pricked. Her hands had clasped right around the middle of the rose's stem. A lone thorn pricked her finger in protest of being moved. Christine ignored the small trickle of blood and drew forth the flower. Some of its petals were wrinkled from the sudden pressure she had forced upon it. Another streak of moisture fell from her blue eyes. Of all the small trinkets she stuffed into her cloak why did it have to be Erik's rose? Why? Dear Lord WHY? Madame Giry had been correct in giving Erik his renowned nickname, The Phantom of the Opera. He was indeed like a phantom; his presence never left you no matter how many times you prayed for it to vanish. It was in that moment that Christine knew that she would find no rest at all that night nor would she ever sleep again if her feelings for Erik still existed. Leaving the following morning would not help either. Slamming her fist against the wall, Christine rose from her spot. There would be no more rest for her unless she and Erik would find some sort of resolve. Apparently leaving a matter to sort itself out for over two years did not work.
Christine threw off her thin cotton petticoat and went to gather some proper clothing. Because of the eve weather, she chose one of her heavier skirts and a plain white blouse. Christine was tempted to say to hell with it and leave off her corset, but what if someone stopped her. It would not make a very good impression if she, the Vicomtess de Chagny, was seen wandering the streets of Paris at night without her corset on. The scandal would be all over every single news paper within a thousand miles. On the other hand, she left her mahogany tresses down. Grabbing her jet cloak again, and pocketing a room key Christine left in search of resolve.
VIV
Apparently even at night the Parisian streets were bustling with life. All around lights flickered on and off excitedly and people walked amuck in talkative groups. As a child her father refused to let his daughter out once the sent had set and Madame Giry, with a much stronger iron reign than her father, would sooner be caught walking in broad daylight nude than let out one of her ballet girls after dark. Christine maintained a quick pace to the Opera Populaire. The streets were no where near as crowded as they were during the day and made for much easier movement.
Soon the Opera house came into view. Even at night it was just as grand and splendid in the artistic baroque style it conveyed. Christine slowed her pace to a dull walk so as not to be discovered. Just because she was once the infamous La Daae, it did not mean that she had a free 24 hour all access pass to the Populaire. Just as she reached the first of the marble steps that led to the front doors a voice crackled from behind, "Well well, what do we have here?"
The last thing Christine remembered was a hand striking the back of her neck.
VIV A/N: Trust me; the temptation was great just to leave it at that. But no, I am not that mean.
Christine awoke with her head pounding painfully against her skull. She groaned in pain. She felt like she had collided headfirst into a brick wall while running full speed. Her eyes were heavy but she forced them to open. A strange humid sensation enveloped Christine but her vision was blurred so she could not see what her current environment was. It took a few moments for her vision to adjust to the ill lighting. "Ohh my head," Christine said quietly; she knew it would have been wiser not to say anything at all but the painful throbbing made it impossible. She made an attempt to move but was abruptly stopped.
"It would be in your best interest not to do that," the same crackling voice said in very poor and broken French. He was very thin and bony with tuffs of black hair growing from the most unusual places on his body. His face was very square and had a wide nose. Dirt and mud soiled his face and ragged scraps of clothing. Christine shuddered as his cold grey eyes tore into her face. It was as if the eyes held no emotion. Tattoos depicting perverse and violent actions were dotted all along his arms. She mentally smacked herself for being so stupid. Oh why had she left that damned bed? All for a flashing yellow light? Christine could not have felt more the part of a fool.
Christine did not have the courage to further inquire her surroundings. The man looked away. Her eyes darted around the walls of the strangely humid surroundings. Christine would have gasped if she had not been in such serious trouble. She was under the Opera house. The water in the air came from the underground lake. Several sharp points of pressure pressed against her back which proved to be the hard rock surface. What was going on? Did Erik plan this? Or were they just simply thieves looking for a hiding place. Christine dared a glance at the man sitting next to her, for she was lying on her back. She wiggled off the rough rock surfaces for the pain was hard on her back. The man looked down at her again, "Did I not say it wouldn't be wise to do that?" he said tonelessly.
Gathering what few amount of wits she had, only one word was formed on her tongue, "Why?" she managed to say.
The man looked down at her coldly, meeting her eyes, "Let me put it in a way your pretty little head can understand…if my rough face makes you tremble the one of my superior would have you shaking so hard you would faint in your expensive little shoes," he said simply with no real emotion. "Although I must admit, the boss surely was wise in choosing you. There is no doubt your husband will pay handsomely so that his little woman is returned in tact," he added.
Christine knew better than to respond. Fear coursed through her veins. She may have been living the life of the rich and wealthy aristocrats but she had not forgotten what men would do for money. A chill was sent up her spine at the phrase 'in tact'. Another wave of fear was sent over her, fear for her sake as a woman. She closed her eyes in fear. Christine couldn't look anymore. Again she damned herself for leaving that bed, for leaving the hotel room, for returning to Paris, for harboring feels for Erik. Everything was her fault.
Approximately half an hour later, by Christine's poor reckoning of time, her captor rose at the presence of another man. The second man was well built with grizzled red hair and whiskers. He conversed with the first man, Christine learned that the first man's name was Maslin and the second man was called Jacque. However they did not speak in French, but instead in English. Christine cursed herself again for not being as fluent in English as she should have been. In her two years with Raoul she was obligated to learn the basics but anything beyond that was out of her range. Both men eyed her lewdly and smirked. Christine just wanted to shrink into a little ball and disappear. Why did she leave? Why?
Maslin resumed his seat next to Christine and Jacque sat himself on the other side. Like his companion, Jacque wore torn cloths and was tarred by dirt. Upon closer inspection, he was missing several yellowed teeth and was minus one eye. Christine prayed with all her might to every God and higher being she had ever heard of in her life. Please let me make it through this alive, she thought with every nerve and fiber in her shaking being.
Little more happened for the next six hours or so. Christine nodded off here and there although not willingly. The men took turns guarding her and making perverse glances in her direction, each one sparked a whole new fear in her mind. However a faint glimmer of hope remained. Christine knew she did have an advantage that the other two men did not. She had been down in the cave and knew the system well. It was clear when the sun rose the next day for the cave was illuminated much better in the daylight. As it turned out, she was placed just near the brim of the lake which stood eerily still like black glass. Again, she would have gasped in shock if the situation not so serious when she saw that she was lying dangerously close to the Rue Scribe entrance. These men did not know what immanent danger they were in. Erik did not tolerate unwanted visitors. For most of the six hours that Christine had spent awake she thought mostly of Erik. She thought of every single aspect of him, as well as her feelings. There was no issue left untouched and yet Christine's heart sunk deeper each second that passed that she would never see light outside the cave again.
A good time later, Christine saw that the dark man with the tattoos, Maslin, had left for reasons of his own leaving Christine alone with Jacque. Mist swirls rose and fell at Christine's feet which were just inches from touching the surface of the lake. Many times she had caught herself pleading for Erik to come and save her as he always had done. But what reason would he have for returning? She had left him despite all the gifts he had freely bestowed upon her. She had been so selfish not to even see the endless love that was right in front of her face. How could she not see it? But no, Christine thought it was God's way of punishing her. More and more she would begin to believe she would die in the same lair of the man she had abandoned to pick up the pieces of his life that she had scattered to the four winds. Throwing her pride aside, Christine cried freely. She sobbed into the cold hard rocks, knowing better than to expect sympathy from her captors.
At the sound of her sobbing, Jacque hovered above her from and slapped her hard across the face, yelling at her keep quiet. The sheer force of the blow had been enough for Christine to hold in her despair inside. "Keep quiet wench if you value your life," he warned, slapping her again. Christine shrieked at the second blow, feeling even more helpless. Another solitary tear feel before the brute raised his fist as third time. This time Christine braced herself from the blow, but Jacque smirked in satisfaction leaving her to her helplessness. She could feel blood swelling on her face and a bruise forming. The pain was not as searing as it had been before, and Christine did and said nothing. She went to touch her hands to her sore check but only to find that her hands were bound. An urge to scream in anger, pain and defeat came over her but with great effort she suppressed it. They must have done it when she nodded off. Now there was truly nothing she could do without the usage of her hands.
Approximately another hour later Maslin returned to his post and Jacque went off. Maslin resumed his seat next to Christine, restricting even more what she could or couldn't do. As soon as Jacque had vanished to the outside world Maslin said, "Apparently our little leverage took it upon her to wallop in self-pity," he sneered.
"What do you want with me?" Christine pleaded at barely more than a desperate whisper. Maslin had not struck her and she felt slightly more acute to having Maslin around than Jacque, although by all means she hated them both and just wanted to somehow escape.
"Oh it is not us Sweetling. We are simply in for the money and perks. There is no doubt that your beloved Vicomte will pay very well for your release," Maslin sneered.
"How did you know who I was?" Christine asked, careful not to overstep her grounds that would result in another bruise and a stream of blood trickling from her mouth.
"Surely even you can figure as much? There is no one who dose not know the Vicomtess. Although I must admit, you must have been possessed by some bug of stupidly to run about at night," Maslin continued. He began fumbling in his rags for clothing, "but I must say a secret lover will do that to anyone," he laughed and pulled out the rose. The black ribbon had been torn and frayed, but it was Erik's rose none-the-less. "Imagine the look on the Vicomte's face when he finds his beloved wife has been frolicking with someone else. I would imagine he would disown you," Maslin looked positively delighted at the thought. "And if you are this willing to fool your husband of a high position who is to say that you won't pleasure even someone else," he said, rising slowly.
Christine swallowed the all-too familiar lump of bile that rose in her throat. No, she would not allow this to happen. In the man's eyes before her was the crazy look of lust in his eyes. He walked over slowly, taking advantage of Christine's tight bonds. She maneuvered herself into the tightest ball that her body would allow. This couldn't be happening. No, she would not allow it. She would die before allowing it. The man's ghoulish skin brushed up against Christine and she shuddered. As he leaned further and further over Christine did the one thing she could think of…taking careful aim and despite the ropes bound around her ankles, Christine rammed her knees with all her strength into every man's weakness. Maslin screamed out in pain as he doubled over clutching his damaged gems. Christine rolled as far as she could away from him, knowing once he gathered his senses again, which would be sooner than she wished, he would come after her full force. "You bitch," he spat out.
To her horror, Maslin rose faster than she thought he would and kicked Christine hard in the ribs with all his might. She cried out in pain and agony feeling several of her ribs crack. Again and again he kicked her on the face, on her breasts, again in her ribs. Tears of pain poured freely down her checks not caring anymore for her pride. He pulled her up by her bounds on her wrists and began striking her face and letting her drop to the ground again painfully. Christine cried out as she coughed up a pool of her own blood. Maslin forced himself on top of her and began tearing at her cloths furiously. Christine cried and screamed as hard as her full soprano range allowed her. He struck her again in the face silencing her. "Don't, please no," she cried out, not putting in any effort to hold back her tears.
"Shut up," he exclaimed, slapping her again. His hands tore at her blouse, ripping at the buttons furiously and in an animal like sadistic rage. Christine moved her hands in vain to stop him only to earn another kick sharply in between her legs. She cried out again in pain. To her utter shame and humiliation, Maslin managed to get her blouse open and began assaulting her viciously. Again Christine begged him to stop and for a moment he did but only to beat her more severely.
With one more blow to the head, Christine passed out into painful darkness that she willingly embraced.
VXIXV
"CHRISTINE!" Raoul cried, running down the streets of Paris madly. Where had she gone to? What had happened? "CHRISTINE" Running like a madman Raoul did not see the solid uniformed barrier he ran head first into.
"Sir, are you alright?" the police officer said.
Raoul looked up, "Officer, Thank the good Lord. Please, my wife she's gone missing," Raoul pleaded.
"Missing! Sir Come with me," the officer said, all the while flagging down a carriage.
"Christine," Raoul whispered.
MXIXM
Images wove in and out of her mind. She knew not who she was, only that she was enveloped in completely darkness. Her mind was swirling in confusion and distress. Many random images appeared to her: a man in a white leather mask, an old woman with inky black hair in a bonnet, the thickly Spanish accented shrieks of a woman on stage, her husband with his bronze hair and sparkling blue eyes, a little girl with brown hair, a man with black hair…a wave of panic shot through her, bring Christine back into conscious reality. "NO!" she yelled as she woke and shot up straight only to regret it instantly. Her ribs cried out in pain and left eye was swelled shut. Without the usage of one of her eyes, Christine did her best to survey herself. Bruises throbbed painfully against her arms and legs and she could feel a cut from her lower lip bleed down her face. Her breasts were black and blue and heaved up and down very painfully against her flesh. A searing pain came across her ribs once again and a fresh pain that was emitted from between her legs. "Oh God," she said, as the memory came upon her of what had happened. Christine prayed that the pain in the junction of her legs was only from when he kicked her and had not accomplished his goal. Fresh tears streamed down her stained face. What had happened?
MXIXVXIXM
END CHAPTER.
MUAHAHAHAH I am just so mean aren't I? You will just have to wait until the next chapter to find out what happened. However I think that most of you can guess what happened :D
You better have enjoyed it and the fact I uploaded two chapters in 1 day. It is three in the morning when I finished this. I must go sleep now.
Remember, if you review I will have the next chapter out much faster. (Hint hint nudge nudge)
I remain, readers, your obedient author,
E.M.