"Nicole…" An ethereal voice quietly spoke her name, breaking into her sleep. Impertinent servants! Someone would surely suffer for this disrespectful act. To wake her in the middle of the night, addressing her by her first name no less!
"Nicole…" the voice called from behind the door. She sat up with a huff, her down-filled blanket falling to her waist. The voice spoke her name again, but this time it called from beside her window. Nicole looked about her room fearfully. There was no one there but herself. She rubbed her eyes, convinced that she had dreamt the voice, and laid her head back against her pillow.
"Nicole…" She jumped with a start as the voice whispered into her ear. Now it called to her from under the bed. She pulled her covers tightly up to her chest, her eyes straining to find a form in the darkness.
"Who is there?" she called weakly.
She became suddenly rigid as two icy hands closed around her neck. A pair of gleaming yellow eyes bore into hers. She felt she would die simply by looking into those eyes. Had death itself come to claim her? She dug her nails into the hands at her throat, clawing at the putrid flesh. Her attacker appeared to feel no pain. Her attempts to escape seemed only to further his lust for her blood, as with each strike she made his grip only tightened. The figure leaned his face in closer to Nicole's. If she had any breath, she would have gasped in fear at the sight before her eyes. His deformed, twisted features were unlike anything she had ever witnessed. His malformed lips curled up in a malicious sneer.
"I know the darkness that lends itself to obsession, Mademoiselle," the voice spoke menacingly. "But your actions have invoked the wrath of an unforgiving malevolence. How shall you make atonement for sins?"
Nicole's eyes widened in horror and her mouth moved wordlessly. She tried desperately to take a breath, her face beginning to match the blue hue of her blankets.
"Your life, for the life of her child? Though I hardly think you sufficient penance. What? Do you wish to speak?" the voice asked calmly, releasing slightly his hold on Nicole's neck.
"Please," she sputtered hoarsely. "Please."
The yellow eyes seemed to laugh at her entreaty. The man clucked his tongue at her. He spoke with an amused tone, "Is that all? I had expected something more."
The hands closed once more around her throat. Nicole felt as though her lungs would explode. Every muscle in her body tightened, crying out for relief. Silent tears spilled down her cheeks. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she grew weaker and weaker. Her struggling ceased as her body went slack and her arms fell limply at her sides. Erik moved his fingers to the side of her throat. No pulse. He gently lowered her eyelids down over her green bloodshot eyes.
He frowned slightly at the finger-shaped bruises around her neck. He had hoped to avoid drawing too much attention to her demise, but his hands were the only instrument of death available to him. As he reflected on it, Erik realized that he had never killed someone with his own hands. He had developed several methods of stealing life while he was in Persia, but he was always removed from the death, a spectator. With the Punjab lasso, he could be near his victims while they slowly perished, but it didn't hold the strange intimacy he felt as his hands gripped Nicole's throat. He had delighted in her death. There was a sweet revenge in destroying the woman who had harmed his Christine.
Outside the door, a floorboard creaked. The soft glow of a candle threw shadows under the door. With quick strides, Erik moved to the window. He threw it open, the breeze ruffling the lace curtains. He let himself slip down to the cobbled street. As he walked in the direction of the de Chagny manor, the sound of his feet falling upon the stone was interrupted by a horrified scream.