A/N: You will notice in this chapter that Raoul has hardened quite a bit over the past six years. Although I think by the end of this chapter you will understand why. Jealousy is a powerful emotion, and the changes it brings in us are not usually for the better.
Jema Moda: I know. I love the irony in making Erik noble as well, especially since he now outranks the good Vicomte! I have always imagined him secretly of noble blood. He seems too refined to be some commoner off the street. And don't worry. You won't feel sorry for Raoul at all after this chapter.
erikfan: It is so nice to see another familiar face. I love my Erik too. As I mentioned before, bitingly sarcastic Erik is my absolute favorite to write. And you are right. I haven't mentioned something very important. But all in good time, dear reader, all in good time...
Ch 6 – Desperate Lies
Erik seated himself at his desk opposite the vicomte. He surveyed the young man before him with deepest distaste and loathing. Raoul shivered underneath his icy scrutiny, but he did not at first offer any information. Erik's brows drew together slightly, but he took it upon himself to begin the exchange.
"Good sir, would you care to explain what exactly went on earlier this evening that brought Christine to my home in such a state?" Erik's manner now was business-like, as if he were conducting an interrogation. He had decided on forsaking the verbal sparring for the moment, in the interest of finding out all that he wanted to know. Besides, the vicomte was a most unworthy opponent in such dueling – there was hardly any sport in it at all. So instead, he awaited his explanation with rapt attention, his cool eyes fixed upon the vicomte's face with a steady glare
"She was upset. She found your address, and for reasons utterly unfathomable to me, she sought you out." Raoul bit his lip in the vain hope that Erik would accept his simplistic explanation.
"Ah, yes. I see." Erik smirked. "That was a lovely attempt, good Vicomte, but unfortunately stating the obvious will get you nowhere nearer to your precious wife. So, you will indulge my curiosity satisfactorily, or your wife will remain in my home until I can find such answers on my own." Raoul's jaw tightened, and Erik continued unfazed. "I was under the impression that Christine, like the rest of Paris, believed me to be dead."
Realizing he had no choice, Raoul reluctantly begin to expand on his explanation. "After that night beneath the Opera Populaire, I have had made it a personal priority to always know of your whereabouts." He stood and walked over to stare out the window onto the street below. "Christine did believe you to be dead up until yesterday when she discovered the information that I had kept concerning your location."
Behind the vicomte's turned back, Erik's mused over his words, smiling slightly. He was proud of Christine. She had not blindly accepted all that the boy told her as truth, but had obviously defied him and sought the truth for herself. And the fact that she had set out to find him the very day in which she had learned he was alive gave him an oddly hopeful feeling. It certainly seemed to explain why she had come. But there was still the more pressing matter of the ghastly manner in which she had arrived.
Raoul stepped back from the window and returned to the sofa. He lifted his face, and the pain in his eyes was clear to see. "How is she?"
Erik regarded him for a moment. "She is sleeping now. The doctor visited her earlier and has said she will live."
Raoul gave a sigh of relief, his features relaxing. "I suppose I should thank you."
Erik's mouth set in a grim line. "I would die before I allowed any harm to come to Christine. It was for her that I acted as I did. Do not presume it was in any way for your benefit."
Raoul's temper flared. He looked away from the intensity of Erik's stare, feeling he had somehow been admonished like a child. It wasn't as if he wouldn't be willing to die for Christine. If he thought for a moment it would chase away the demon that haunted her, he would give his life a thousand times over.
"You still have not answered the question, Vicomte, and my patience is wearing thin. Christine was half-dead when my servant found her. Surely you have an explanation?" His mistrust of the vicomte was growing even deeper by the minute. He was hiding something, Erik could sense it.
Raoul's hatred of the man opposite him begin once more to consume him as he thought of what truly answering the question would mean. He would be damned if he would admit the real reason behind Christine's frequent bouts of melancholy. Oh, he was sure the arrogant bastard would love to hear that his wife regretted her choice of six years past. It would please him to no end to find that only three days after the opera fire she had calmly informed Raoul that she had made a mistake and that she could not live without her 'Angel'. Raoul's fists clenched in anger. How the creature would laugh to know that she had returned to the sewer beneath the opera house to find her 'Angel' gone, and believing him dead, had attempted to end her own life, slitting her beautiful delicate wrists in the bathtub of the Raoul's extravagant home. And he would no doubt feel great triumph to learn that from then on, every anniversary of the date on which she had left her lover had become kind of twisted suicide watch for her desperate husband.
How it had all gone wrong, Raoul didn't know. But she had chosen him rightfully on that night six years ago and she had married him of her own free will a few months later. She belonged to him now. She was his wife, and he would fight for her any way he was forced to.
Grim resolve began to flow through his veins. There had to be a way out of this nightmare. Turning to study Erik from the corner of his eye, Raoul begin to form a plan in his mind. This creature adored Christine and felt himself unworthy of her. That was why he had released her all those years ago. He could use that to his advantage.
A fire burning in his own eyes now, Raoul brought them at last to meet the icy glare of the man behind the desk. Erik sensed that they were locked in mortal combat, a battle of wills and minds. He was ready for the challenge, in fact he longed for it.
"I assume you noticed the scars on her wrist then?" Raoul said softly. He had decided the best approach was to appear that he had nothing to hide.
"Yes," Erik replied simply. He was somewhat surprised to hear the vicomte admit the information so easily, but he awaited the remainder of his explanation.
"And tonight, she attempted to end her life once again?"
"It appears that way."
"How did she do it this time?" Raoul tensed in spite of himself, hoping desperately that she had not taken a knife to her lovely skin once more.
"It seems she took a large amount of some kind of medication."
Erik was still hesitant to reveal too much. He felt that while he held the information concerning Christine's condition and exact whereabouts, he had the upper hand.
Raoul nodded. "She has tried that once before," he said softly. Walking toward the opposite window, he began to lay his trap. "Do you have any idea what significance yesterday's date might be of to her?"
Erik wondered uneasily what the boy was playing at. Of course he knew what had happened on yesterday's date six years ago – the night of the opera fire. She had betrayed him on stage and left him for the vicomte. As if he was likely to forget!
"I have no idea," he lied.
Raoul smirked out at the glass. He pictured in his mind the pathetic creature howling in anguish on the shores of the lake as he had sailed away with his prize. There was not a doubt in the vicomte's mind that Erik knew exactly what had transpired on that day six years ago.
Still keeping his face carefully turned away, he began to plunge the dagger in. "Every year on the anniversary of the opera house fire, Christine descends into a sort of melancholy." He kept his tone conversational, almost confiding. "At first, I was utterly at a loss as to why such a happy, angelic creature would suddenly become so encompassed in darkness. Then the nightmares began."
Something didn't seem right. Erik sensed somehow that his adversary now felt he had gained the upper hand. He was speaking with far too much confidence, not at all the beaten boy he had been only moments before. Erik's eyes narrowed as he watched the vicomte saunter through his study, a look of unbearable smugness on his face. But for now, he had no choice but to await the answers he craved.
"Do go on," Erik drawled in a false tone to match the vicomte's own, making it clear that he was aware that something was amiss in his tale.
Raoul still kept his face turned away, pretending to study a particularly fine piece of art on the wall. "It was in those nightmares, you see that I discovered the source of her fear and sadness."
Erik shuddered inwardly at the thought of his hated enemy lying next to Christine in their marriage bed, but still he waited.
Raoul knew that in order to make his story believable, it would be necessary to become something of a performer himself. He would have to be very convincing in order to fool the cunning master of deception who awaited his words. Thus, he was certain that he could no longer avoid eye contact. Taking a deep breath, he rounded on the man behind the desk with all the pent up frustration of a husband who knew that he had been his wife's second choice for the past six years.
"It was you, you filthy beast," he spat the words out angrily. "It was you whom she feared, you whom she felt she would never be free of. You poisoned her with your darkness and she lives terrified that you will come one day and snatch all of her happiness away." His normally reserved face was livid and his words were snarled rather than spoken. Raoul was shaking. He had delivered his lie with all the righteous indignation that he had buried for so long. His words were what the reality should have been. His wife should have been screaming in fear of this evil bastard rather than calling out for his touch in the night.
Although his expression remained unreadable, inwardly Erik felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. Christine had always been so innocent, so good and cheerful, delighting in the world around her. To think that he might have infected her with his evil somehow and driven that beautiful creature of the light to take her own life was more than he could bear. He had hardly dared to touch her in the ten years in which he had been her angel for his fear of that very thing.
How could he have been so selfish as to ask for her love? His own mother could not bear to touch him or even look at him. She too had taken her own life in guilt shortly after his birth, feeling responsible for the evil she had created. He had thought that by releasing Christine to the vicomte he could undo the damage to her that he had invariably done. But now it was clear that the mere contact with his polluted soul had irrevocably tainted hers with darkness.
Uncaring about the power it gave to his adversary, Erik lowered his head into his hands in defeat. Seeing his enemy's surrender, Raoul allowed himself a tiny smile of victory. He had once more brought this powerful man low, and he relished the display of weakness he had wrought.
Erik's eyes were bright with unshed tears as he raised his face. His voice was low and breaking when he spoke at last. "Christine is upstairs in the second bedroom to the right. Her medication is on the bedside table, and her personal items are in the wardrobe." Raoul nodded and turned to leave, but Erik's desperate voice called after him.
"Vicomte, wait, there is one request I make of you." Raoul stood with his hand on the door.
"Tell Christine that she has my word that I will never...I will never seek to see her or harm her ever again. Tell her that I...I truly wish for her happiness, and I will leave the city if that is what she wishes in order that she may feel...safe." Erik's face was filled with wretched misery as he once again turned his beloved over to the hands of his enemy.
Raoul was shocked at the sudden obvious humanity of the figure before him. Up until now, he had always seen him as a monster, devoid of any virtuous human emotion. But as he looked upon his broken form, he realized that this was indeed a man, and a man that truly loved Christine in his own misguided fashion. His feelings for her were not simply the obsession of a madman, as he had always believed. And as Raoul nodded and turned to leave, he realized that made him all the more dangerous.
He left Erik in the den and proceeded quickly up the staircase. When he reached the doorway to her room, he hesitated for a moment and then stepped inside. She was turned on her side now, curled like a child on the bed, her sleeping face relaxed and peaceful.
Raoul walked over and looked down at her, brushing her hair back from her face. She did not open her eyes, but smiled at the touch of his hand. He felt his heart begin to swell. God help him, he loved her despite it all. He wrapped the blankets tightly around her and scooped her into his arms. She did not wake, but leaned her head easily into his chest, snuggling into the fabric of his coat.
As he carried her down the staircase toward the front door, he could see out of the corner of his eye a dark figure in the shadows. He could not help but allow a look of triumph to cross his face as he thought about the anguish his rival must be feeling watching him carrying his beloved away snuggled happily in his arms. Perhaps his victory would not be empty this time. Perhaps now Christine would love him with her whole heart at last. She seemed so content in his arms, pressing into him with unusual affection.
As he stepped out the door and heard it close behind him, she stirred, murmuring something against his chest. He smiled and leaned his ear down toward her mouth to hear what she was saying. His eyes closed in pain as he made out one heart rending word – Angel.
He knew then that the only person he had truly deceived that night had been himself.
