Disclaimer: You know the drill, I don't own the thing.
Yes, I am updating this the same night, but as I said, I am not going to be around for a week. Therefore you must not read this unless it is Monday, August 22 or later. Or no cookies!
Savy: wow. it wasn't that good, was it? and, erm, thank you, I guess, though the correction sounds much better. There's no fluff in this chapter, really, but Erik's not awake either, so you can't have fluff without Erik, as I have said before. And I'm sorry it will take me so long, really, but there are no computers at camp! oooooh, i get a crown? coolness.
PhantomLover: I"m glad you liked it, but those, er, sidenotes, were completely unintentional! I had them in there originally just because i was joking around with my editors, and I forgot to take them out! And I love Kahveh, he's such an antogonist, and so blunt. I think you'll like him even more in this chapter! Has your friend seen Gerik? how can she call him ugly? ugh, I punjab her! not really. she's entitled to her opinion, but I as almighty authoress say he's hot!
Ten more reviews until I get to fifty, chocolate pudding and cookies still up for grabs!
Midnight Horrors
Madame Giry was closing the door on her daughter's room when a knock sounded at her door. Who on earth would be calling at this hour of the night? It was just after two in the morning, she herself would have been asleep hours ago, had not Meg wanted to keep vigil for Raoul's safe return with Christine. Mme. Giry had only just convinced the girl to go to bed and contact the absent couple the following day.
Could it be he? Perhaps Monsieur Ghost was calling to give her new orders? Or maybe he came to bid her farewell, to thank her for her services, and to inform her of his removal to another Opera, with another beautiful soprano? On this train of thought the ballet mistress opened the door.
And promptly fell into the nearest chair at the sight of the Persian, with Raoul over his shoulder, both of them rather bloody.
"Come now, Madame Giry, no time for fainting spells! The bloody fool is half dead and I wish to remove him immediately. His blood is doing a marvelous job of ruining my clothing."
She was astounded. The least expected man in the world had brought the most anticipated boy, but under the most shocking circumstances. "Kahveh, what happened? Is Christine all right?" she questioned as she led him to the spare room. Thank goodness Meg is not awake to see this horror; it would surely give her a turn. "Just lay the boy here, Kahveh, I'll see to his care. Go sit yourself in the parlor; I'll be out in a moment." So saying, she bustled around, procuring the necessary items for Raoul's care.
"Certainly, Madame, I hope you don't mind me helping myself to the liquor, then, seeing as your busy?" The Persian asked, his glass already partially filled.
"Do I have a choice?" she snorted.
"Well, you could always simply snatch it from my hand while giving me a lovely lecture on manners, accentuated by cane-tapping," he retorted amiably.
Incensed, Mme. Giry did nearly that. "Out, Kahveh, out! If you must remain, for heaven's sake stay out of my way! Now, get into the parlor and stay there or I shall force you to." Her cane left no room for protest.
"As you wish, my dear," he stated, extravagantly bowing himself out. "So good to see you again, and under such lovely circumstances."
Oh the man, the man….I'll have his head someday! Shaking her head to calm herself, Madame Giry turned to Raoul's body.
That certainly was a nasty wound in his stomach. The bullet would have to be left for now though, she had neither the tools nor the expertise to extract it. She did a double-take. The bullet? Erik did not use firearms, she knew that, that gunshot drew far too much attention to the murder. As she pondered these thoughts, Madame Giry continued tending to the damaged fop, not hearing the light step behind her.
"Mother? Mother, what are you doing, why are you still awake?" Meg cocked her head in an attempt to see what was on the bed that was so important. Suddenly she turned a ghastly shade of white as she caught sight of the body, nearly fainting at the bloody view. Staggering backward in shock, Meg slumped against the doorframe, slowly wagging her head back and forth in disbelief and horror. "Say it isn't Raoul….Please, tell me it isn't him, Mother!"
"Marguerite, I have never lied to you, and do not intend to begin the practice now. It is Raoul, Cheri, but he is not dead. The Vicomte is in mortal peril, but if I can staunch this, he has a much greater chance of survival." Here she furiously jabbed a cloth into the ragged hole, hoping to slow the bleeding. Wrapping further strips of fabric around the wounded area, she continued, "It will be your duty, Meg Giry, to tend to the boy during his recovery. See to his needs, change the bandages, and the like. Yes, you will have a formal excuse from your lessons, but I will have you go through an hour of routines as soon as I return from the Opera."
Pushing her revulsion aside, Meg grasped at the chance to be near hear beau nearly constantly. Attempting to appear nonchalant, Meg queried, "But what of Christine? Surely she would prefer to be by her fiancé's side while he recovers?"
"I do not know of Christine's whereabouts, Meg, only Kahveh seems to know anything of what's going on. Go ask him, he could use some pestering. He bother's me enough, it's time he got a share, Madame Giry thought wryly.
"Kahveh, Mother?"
"Yes dear, the Persian, what!"
"The Persian? M-mother!"
"Marguerite, just because one is Persian does not mean one is evil or dangerous. Monsieur Tallis simply gets too much pleasure out of baiting others into cockfighting. Now go, inquire of him."
Meg went.
XXXXX
Nightmares. A vortex of horrible imaginings swirled through Erik's head. Memories haunted him, turning his fiery thoughts to the past.
'Devil child! What did I do to deserve a monster like you? I was a good child, a proper woman, a devoted wife. And God saw fit to curse me with a living corpse for a child!' His mother ranted at him, cursed him, all the while refusing to look at him. 'And now my husband is leaving me, he does not want to be associated with the woman who gave birth to a demon! Curse you! May you live a life of torment because of what you've brought upon me, this disgrace that a creature like you has brought on my head!' Madeline finally looked at him, and what the boy saw terrified him even more than what he saw when he looked in the mirror. Loathing, hatred, malice, revulsion, all showing blatantly on the face of his mother. She despised him, even beseeching the Creator to strike him down, so that he would no longer be a thorn in her side. 'Or, does he not see fit to do so, I will end this living Hell myself!' she declared.
Erik fled in fear.
He cowered in the corner of his cage, watching the gypsy-torturer approach him with menace. The man kicked him in the side, transporting Erik to the center of the crowd in one swift move. 'Come! Come and see the Devil's Child!' He snatched the flour sack from Erik's head, displaying his horrible visage for the world to see. He yanked Erik's hair, forcing him to look into the faces of the jeering crowd. Erik stared coldly back at the faces, refusing to show his pain. A life of torment indeed. Erik trembled with anger and pain as he was brutally beaten all for the layman's enjoyment.
Screaming, shouts of confusion and terror. The prisoner ran around the mirror-chamber in a maddened frenzy. Soon he would reach for the tree, the iron tree with the noose, and hang himself. It was almost boringly predictable.
Erik relished the feeling of having the poser of life and death. Now he was the one in charge, the one calling the shots, the one watching as others endured pain and suffering. He was no longer the prey, but the predator. Thos who had laughed and jeered at his torment were now below him, the commoners who found his torture to be entertainment were now the ones being made sport of. He was above them now.
Erik yelled and tumbled in the swan bed, his dreams betraying his greatest fears, rather than his memories.
'No! Christine!' he screamed as the sword found its mark. Christine collapsed into the water of the lake, a sword skewering her frail body, slain by the jealous Vicomte. Erik ran to her, taking her lifeless form into his arms, and weeping as never before. 'You killed her, you fool, she's dead!' Raoul smiled an evil smirk. 'If I can't have her as mine, no one will.'
"Christine!" Erik cried out in his semi-unconscious state of mind. "Christine!" He tossed, mummifying himself in the silk sheets of the bed, until he felt a loving hand take hold of his.
"Hush, Erik, I'm here, be still."
Feeling her touch, Erik relaxed, and lapsed into dreamless sleep.
Sorry if there are any terrible errors in here, I didn't run this by my editor because I wanted to get it up ASAP. I beg forgiveness.
Until next Monday, then. I expect bunches of reviews, and more from the lurkers too! (do I dare ask 30 for these two chapters?)