A/N: Sorry for my lack of post yesterday. I was gone most of the day and didn't get the chapter finished until this morning. Forgive me.
Timeline questions: To clarify some of the timeline questions that I have been getting, Christine and Raoul were married for six years after the opera fire. Then Christine showed up on Erik's doorstep and two more years have now gone by since then. (Eight years total - Christine would now be 25 and Erik 42.) Thus, Erik's escapades with George and Jacques, as well as his later restoration of Porto Dell' Angelo have been taking place simultaneously with Christine's emerging fame at the Teatro Comunale. Erik spent most of the first year traveling, and then shortly after the "Jacques" incident, he made his way to Italy and found his new home in Florence. In my mind, he has been there about a year before Nadir shows up and alerts him to Christine's presence. Erik has understandably been avoiding anything opera related since the opera fire and the events of that ill-fated night; thus he is unaware of her growing fame. Also, remember that I have mentioned once or twice that Christine is known by her stage name in Italy. Bear that in mind as well.
Florence twist: For those of you who didn't see the Florence twist coming, see my comments to Dark Wolf Girl15 below.
Erik's newfound domestic side: I also feel it necessary to explain Erik's domestic side that emerged in the previous chapter. I hope you don't feel that Erik is acting outside his character. His darker side is still very much intact, although he is no longer able to "kill without a thought" as he once did. Don't be fooled, however, he is still able to kill when necessary, which will become clear later on once again. But Erik has always been a multi-dimensional character. (See my remarks to erikfan below.) What I hoped to portray in this chapter, was that Erik had been using his time traveling abroad to do some reflecting on his life. He is in his 40s now, and it seems logical that he would begin to be confronted by his mortality and the fact that he has never had a real home or a normal life. Even without Christine, it seems to me that at some point he would desire those things. And perhaps, unconsciously, he is still attempting to make himself worthy of her love, in the event that she may one day offer it to him at last.
Special thanks, BTW to erikfan, a former native of Italy who has been offering assistance with any Italian that appears and has been consoling me after my first botched attempts at the language. I still haven't fully recovered from my shame. My muse seems to be suffering a bit, as the chapters aren't coming to me quite as quickly all of the sudden. My cat Oscar still loves me though. He is purring contentedly on my lap as usual as I type. I hope he can raise my spirits.
darklady5289: Ah, you see where I am heading with this, don't you? I hope it doesn't seem out of character for him. See my author's notes on the subject at the top of the page.
phantomann: Hurry back! I love your emails, but it isn't the same as having your encouraging reviews in my mailbox every morning. My muse is suffering in you absence. (Sniff) And in all honesty, every side of Erik is attractive, at least to me. Dark and violent, loving and gentle, strangling the life from someone or cooking in the kitchen, I would take him every which a way. (Boy, I may need some professional help after this. It just occurred to me how twisted that sounds.) I did change the last line. The first one inadvertently sounded to me sort of seedy or something. Very un-Nadirlike if someone were to read it that way.
Kagome1514: Erik gets to see Christine perform in this chapter. I am honored that you would take even a moment of your time to review. Thanks!
Hearts Aflame: Wait no longer. Here it is.
Twinkle 22: Ah yes, the mystery of Christine's stage name. You have picked up on my subtle hints and understand that it will be of great importance. You will be relieved to find that it is revealed below. Sorry for the delayed post.
erikfan: Thank you so much once again for your help and support! In response to your lovely compliments, I do see Erik as a very complex man. In a way, his face is symbolic of his personality, split in two conflicting personas. One is very dark and hardened, the other is sensitive and has a great capacity to love; in my mind, he has just never been shown how. And I do try to have Christine grow and deepen in character throughout the course of my fics. Her character in Leroux is so passive and flighty. I try to give her a depth worthy of Erik by the end of the fic. Otherwise, in truth, I wouldn't be able to stand her.
xxphantomphanessxx: Three cheers for Nadir! Our hero. But will Erik take this opportunity, or will he allow his insecurities to once again keep him from his love? Tune in next time for "When Fate is Denied". JK – You will know the answer by the end of the chapter. Oh, and for answer to your timeline question, see the AN above.
Captain Oblivious: Ah yes, Fate is indeed cruel in her ironies. But as I mentioned before, she will take a kinder turn for a while.
Pertie: I hope this chapter meets your expectation. The good stuff is still to come, though. I left you with a bit of an evil cliffie. Forgive me.
Dark Wolf Girl15: Sorry, I misunderstood. As to the Florence twist, I did hint toward it twice earlier in the fic. The first was in Nadir's letter to Christine where he mentions that Erik always spoke fondly of Florence's beauty and unique architecture. Thus it should seem logical that he would return to it during his travels. The second was when he was seeking revenge on Jacques. He mentions that he is setting out on the last leg of his journey. If you look on a map, Geneva, Switzerland, where the "Jacques" scene takes place is very close to both the French and Italian borders. Florence is not too far away, so it would make sense that he was already heading that direction and sought to meet the messengers who were coming from Paris at that centrally located position close to both borders. Hope that clears things up!
Jema Moda: LOL! When you mentioned how your husband says he doesn't stand a chance against Erik because we all just make him what we want him to be I nearly fell off my chair laughing. That is sooooo true. (Tell him not to worry; we all love him for his understanding.) But everyone can change and grow over time and that is what it is happening to Erik in this fic. See my author's note above. And I would let you have him if Christine didn't want him since you have loved him devotedly for like twenty years, but I am afraid she will in fact still want him even after all the time that had passed. Sorry! Say "hi" to phantomann. Our prayers go with her in her current exile from internet.
xo-little-lotte-xo: I thought you would like that. I felt a little warm myself as I wrote it. Erik tan and shirtless – OMG, what a glorious sight. You see what I mean when I say that my Erik phantasies creep into my writing every once in a while. But since most on this site share them, it seems to work out well. In my other fic, I have him taking a bath and stepping out with a towel around his waste, another one of my weaker moments when my love affair with him takes over. (sigh)
Sabrina Fair: You do indeed sense an impending reunion. And it takes place in this chapter. Yay!
Ch 14 – Of Red Roses and Black Ribbons
Erik seated himself carefully in the shadows of the luxurious foremost box of the Teatro Comunale. He glanced at the box number printed on the stub of his ticket: box number five. How appropriate, he grimaced inwardly. Though the Comunale was newly built and certainly grand, it did not match the opulence of the Opera Populaire. Then again, he reminded himself, the Opera Populaire was now a burned out shell of a building, owing ironically to the last time he had set foot in an opera house of any kind.
Though his heart leapt at the thought of hearing Christine's voice once again, he was strangely irritable. He felt undeniably ill-at-ease in the all too familiar surroundings. On one hand, the familiarity was comforting; after all, an opera house had been his home for over twenty years. On the other, however, being here reminded him uncomfortably of past sins that he would much sooner forget.
He looked back now with disgust at the way in which he had once allowed his emotions to control him. It had not been strength and power that had driven him to manipulate and terrorize in the name of his supposed love; it had been fear and weakness. Only after Christine's kiss had he suddenly found himself awakened to the unmistakable difference between single-minded obsession and the selfless agony of what it truly meant to love a woman enough to put her happiness before his own.
Now, eight long years after the dawning of that realization, here he sat at last with the purest devotion in his heart and nothing but revulsion for the actions of his former self. But that knowledge could not change the fact that he had irrevocably altered Christine's life by those actions, a life she had very nearly ended as a result.
In the past, he would have eagerly seized upon any opportunity to speak with Christine, regardless of the consequences. But now, it suddenly felt wrong somehow, even though it was she who had initially requested his audience. Though he had originally intended to seek her out following the performance, perhaps it would be better to simply make her aware of his presence and then leave the choice up to her as to whether or not she still wished to see him after all the time that had passed.
Erik leaned back in his seat, relaxing slightly now that his decision was made. He glanced down at his program for the first time. The production was "Faust" by Charles Gounod: a tale of an old man who makes a pact with the devil in order to obtain the love of an innocent young maiden, but in the end his tainted love brings about her ruin. Erik sighed. How he tired of the constant ironies that plagued his existence.
His eyes scanned the page until he came to the part of Marguerite, and then moved across to the location where Christine's name should have appeared. Another name met his eye instead, obviously the stage name the Daroga had mentioned. Looking at it closely, he read it curiously– Signora Angela de Renoir.
For a long moment, he sat motionless, staring at the playbill in stunned disbelief. It had to be a coincidence, and yet, the more Erik thought about it, the more he became certain that it was not. Both the Daroga and the vicomte knew of his full name and both had contact with Christine in his absence. She would most certainly have known of it by the time at which she had made her mysterious choice.
Erik had no further time to ponder the significance of this fact, however, for at that moment, the overture began and the curtains drew back at last. He felt the familiar thrill of excitement, and easily became lost in both the story and the music.
Erik could identify with Faust's pain perhaps a little too closely, as the Doctor fought his tormented mind, searching for an answer to the empty riddle that had been his life. The Devil then made his entrance as Méphistophélès, offering the aging Faust in return for the pittance of his soul, youth, handsomeness, and the embrace of a maiden who had filled his heart with longing. Erik could hardly condemn the Doctor's decision to take what was offered. After all, at one time he had done the same, though the voice that had called him to eternal damnation had been of his own mind rather than that of an impudent figure in scarlet dress and a feathered cap.
As Act I drew to a close and Act II began, Erik sat up a bit straighter in his seat. Marguerite would soon make her first appearance on stage. His attention wavered from the drama before him in his impatience to see Christine, and his mind began to fill with thoughts of all that might transpire after the final curtain fell. Suddenly, his eyes snapped back to the stage at the appearance of the lovely Marguerite at last.
She is still so very lovely he thought, drinking in every detail of her thirstily as she made her graceful entrance. She was truly a woman at last, and no longer the little girl she had always seemed. But to his adoring eyes, the strength and maturity he saw in her now only served to make her even more appealing.
She looked positively radiant. The familiar auburn curls cascaded down her back, tied by a blue ribbon that matched the soft blue of her costume. There was an unmistakable sparkle to her eyes and her cheeks flushed with the exhilaration that he knew she only felt when on stage.
When at last she sang, it seemed as if time stopped entirely, out of reverence for the perfection that was her voice. Even in its years of disuse following her marriage to the vicomte, her golden voice had not diminished in its quality. Rather, the enchanting, heavenly sound had taken on a richer, smoother quality as she had matured, caressing his ears now like liquid beauty. He touched his unmasked cheek and realized that it was damp with the tears he had shed without noticing.
Anger and hatred colored his mind as he thought again of the vicomte's foolish attempts to keep Christine from the stage and her music. Any fool could see that she belonged in the adoring gaze of the stage lights, and to separate her from that which brought her so much joy would be like seeking to part her from her own soul.
Erik sat leaning forward slightly, entranced now by the movements and sounds coming from the stage. Christine was magnificent. Even the most unbiased observer, of which he certainly was not, would have to admit the triumph of her performance. Erik had always known the potential of her voice, but he was amazed now by the depth of her acting as well. She threw herself heart and soul into her art: demurely resisting Faust's first advances, declaring passionately her love for him from the window, yielding to desire at last, then lamenting in remorse and shame as Marguerite was crushed beneath the weight of her sin and abandonment.
In the final act, as Marguerite was at last granted redemption and Faust was left to his eternal damnation, Erik once again began to ponder the events that would take place after the final curtain. Now that he had seen Christine again, he doubted his own ability to follow through with his plan. If she would speak with him just for a moment, he felt it would be enough to sustain him through the remainder of the lonely years of his life. And yet he knew without a doubt that one moment in her addictive presence would never be enough. He was torn between his aching desire to know why she wished to see him and the stubborn belief that it would be wrong to seek her company after he had caused her so much pain.
The final curtain did not await his decision, but instead swung closed all too quickly following several ovations for the superb cast, of which the applause for Marguerite was by far the most enthusiastic. As the audience began gradually to mill away, Erik drew in a sharp breath. It was now or never. As he contemplated his next move, he thought once again of the curious stage name that Christine had chosen.
Signora Angela de Renoir – the words sparked hope in his heart that somehow he might have misunderstood her feelings for him. If she truly feared him and wished never to be reminded of him, why would she have chosen to adopt his surname? Of course, there was always the possibility that it had been merely a coincidence, another one of Fate's cruel ironies, but somehow this time it didn't seem that way. No, he had the sudden thrilling feeling that Christine had been trying to send him a message by choosing that particular name. Turning to slip from the box into the shadows of the hall, he resolved that tonight he would find out exactly what she had meant by it.
Christine fought her way through the sea of admirers and well-wishers littering the foyer of the Teatro Comunale. She normally would have taken the backstage hallway to her dressing room after a performance to avoid exactly this kind of unwanted attention, but tonight she was looking for someone in the crowd. She murmured her thanks distractedly to a handsome young man who gushed lavishly over her performance, and quickly extricated herself from the adoring faces.
She began to climb the stairs, desperate for a better view. Scanning the faces anxiously, she looked for the flash of white among them that would reveal his location. Christine was nearly certain that he was there, though she hadn't yet seen him. Her voice tonight had once again possessed that enchanted quality that she hadn't found since the last time she had been in his magical presence, performing eight years ago upon the stage of the Opera Populaire.
Her heart filled with crushing disappointment as the foyer began to empty at last, and she realized that he was either already gone, or had never truly been present at all. She stepped back down to the lower level and began the long walk to her dressing room, the full skirt of her costume rustling in the silence of the corridors.
She had been so sure this time! She had poured her heart and soul into her performance tonight, eager to please him. But once again, her triumph was empty, as he had not been present to hear as she offered her heart and soul to him.
Christine couldn't help herself. The anguish of waiting for him to return to her against all odds had finally become overwhelming. Tears began to stream down her cheeks as she allowed herself at last to admit defeat. He had known of her desire to see him for nearly two years now and yet he had never sought her out. His answer was clear.
The tears came hot and fast now as she entered the final hallway and pulled the key from her pocket to unlock her dressing room door. Stepping inside, she turned to lock it behind her, and then made her way miserably past vase upon vase of expensive flowers to change.
Suddenly, her eye caught something crimson atop the surface of her dressing table. At the sight of it, her heart ceased its beating for one long moment. There on the table lay the single perfect red rose tied in a black satin ribbon that she had been awaiting so long.
She stood staring at it in disbelief at first, then reached for it cautiously, as if fearing it would disappear upon her touch. Holding it reverently in her hand she raised the fragrant bloom to her face, bringing the velvet petals to rest against her lips. Her eyes closed and she smiled. "Angel," she whispered in relief.
All at once, she felt the gentle touch of leather on her cheek, brushing away her tears. Her eyes flew open wide. There he stood in all his dark glory and masculine grace. The striking blue-gray of his eyes met her own with the same inner fire that she remembered so clearly.
Christine's breath caught as Erik drew closer, leaning his mouth down to her ear. Her blood leapt at his familiar scent and warm breath against her skin. She trembled visibly, awaiting eagerly the touch of his lips, but instead he whispered softly, "Can I assume from your reaction, Signora de Renoir, that you have missed me in my long absence?"
