Author's Note: Thanks to all the reviewers! I've gotten some good ideas from your feedback! I hope you enjoy this chapter.
To monroe-mary: I appreciate the review. I'm glad that no one seems to have minded Chap 12. I thought, too, that the police gave up kind of quickly on Erik, but as far as the mob goes—the French have always been suckers for beautiful crying women.:) Even the mob after Louis XVI shut up when Marie Antoinette came out! And the police were just scared.;) As far as Andre and Firmin—they haven't really forgiven him, they don't like him any more than they liked Carlotta, but see him as a means to an end, I suppose. Hence the "Grovel.":P Thanks for the input!
Also, I went back and altered some of the chapter titles, I'd been trying to name them all after track titles in the movie, but there weren't enough that really fit. I'm trying to do as many as I can like that, but a few just aren't going to work. Thanks to Lily for pointing that out, even though I didn't change the chapter that she pointed out. :)
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Chapter Fifteen: Matters of Buisiness
Andre pulled Erik to the side for a moment and discreetly handed him a small white card.
"On this is the name and address of a close friend of mine. He will be able to procure you a place of residence, and may also be helpful in other matters as well. He will advise you on the best courses to take."
Erik nodded and pocketed the card. Andre returned to the small gathering.
"I trust, Viscomte, that your patronage is not deterred in any way by these new developments?"
Raoul hesitated only a moment. His eyes met those of Christine, and the lack of expression in them cut him more deeply than any words could have.
She doesn't love you. Madame Giry is wrong. She doesn't love you at all—not even as a childhood friend. It's all over. You've lost and the monster has won.
Raoul forced away the crippling thoughts. A coolness spread over his face, masking his emotions.
How appropriate.
"Of course, I will still continue to patronize the Opera Populaire. Also, gentlemen, I can be assured that with my donations—which will, of course, be sizeable—I will be given more place in the decisions made in this house? Or do I presume too much?"
"Of course not, Viscomte!" Andre exclaimed, speaking hastily to assuage any harmed feelings. "Your opinions have always been held in the highest of regards."
"Very well." Raoul tore his gaze reluctantly from Christine. "I must be on my way now, good Monsieurs. I will come by later in the week to look into plans for the rebuilding of the Opera Populaire. I look forward to its continued success." He shook hands with Andre and Firmin and tipped his hat to Madame Giry. "Good day, Madame."
Christine bit her lip as he turned away. "Good day, Monsieur de Chagny!" she called, suddenly overwhelmed with sadness at what seemed the loss of a cherished friendship.
She did not see the tightening of Erik's features when he heard the tremble in her voice, or the worry that sprang up in Madame Giry's eyes.
Raoul paused and turned slightly. "Good day." He then spun on his heel and strode briskly out of the doors to his carriage.
It was not until he was out of earshot that he looked back and whispered: "…Christine."
-
Erik watched the disappearing figure of the boy with no small amount of distaste in his eyes. He turned to Christine, his manner brusque.
"I'm certain that there are many matters of business that you will need to discuss with Monsieur Andre, Monsieur Firmin, and Madame Giry. I will leave you to tend to them while I attend to matters of my own business."
"Erik, I…"
Erik pulled Christine aside. "Never fear, my love." He forced gentleness into his tone, not wishing to frighten her, however black his mood had become. "Monsieur Andre has given me the address of a man who will help in finding us a home. I am going to speak with him. I will return in a few hours."
Christine nodded. "Be careful, Erik."
"Always." He bent and kissed her cheek, then nodded to Andre, Firmin and Madame Giry, and exited the theater.
-
Madame Giry wasted no time. "Andre, Firmin, would you excuse us for a few minutes? Christine will be along to your office presently."
The two men nodded their assent and left.
Madame Giry turned on Christine, her normally gentle expression one of frustration. "What sort of foolish game are you playing, Christine?"
Christine stepped back. "I don't understand."
"Good day, Monsieur de Chagny!" Madame Giry mocked Christine's high-pitched voice. "I won't let you do it, Christine, I won't!"
Christine stood, completely baffled by the woman's outburst. "Madame Giry," she tried gently, "whatever are you going on about?"
Madame Giry took a step closer to Christine. "Erik has lost too much in his life, Christine. He has suffered things no man should ever have to endure. He has been denied love all his life. Now he has found love, and I will not stand here and see it taken away!" Tears had begun to run down her face. "I don't care if I burn in hell for it, Christine, I won't see Erik denied again."
Christine understood, then. "Oh, Madame Giry." She put her arms around the sobbing woman. "I'm not going to leave Erik, Madame. Not now…not ever."
"He thinks you will." Madame Giry pulled away from Christine. "Since the day he met you, that alone is what he has feared. He doesn't believe that you will stay with him—he feels too unworthy to trust in your love." She drew in a ragged breath. "Don't think that I do not understand, Christine. I understand more than you will ever realize. I know that you want Raoul's friendship, even if you cannot embrace his love. I know that you want to cling to him as a reminder of the days when you were a carefree child, before your world spun out of control. I know that a part of you wishes that you could go to him and be free of Erik. I also know that you love Erik, too, and that because of that love, so different from the love you hold for Raoul, you will stay with him."
Christine was speechless. She began to stammer some sort of reply, but Madame Giry was not finished.
"I know that you have been bound to Erik since the first day that he began to tutor you. I prayed, Christine, I prayed so long and hard for the Viscomte to take you away the night of the masquerade. I knew that for him to take you away while your love for him was so new, so fresh, was the only way you would ever be free of this place. But he did not, and when I saw you and Erik together on the stage, I feared that it would only end in disaster."
"That's why you took Raoul to the lair." Christine whispered, half-fascinated, half-horrified at the manner in which the normally reserved ballet mistress was now speaking to her.
"Yes." Madame Giry said shortly. "That is why I betrayed the trust of the man who had known love for the first time through me. I betrayed him for you, Christine. I betrayed him because I wanted better for you than a life of solitude and darkness. But it seems that your light has triumphed over Erik's years of darkness, Christine. He is trying so hard to become a part of a world that has never shown him anything but contempt and hatred. He is trying because he loves you, Christine, and I fear for him. I fear that the world is too cruel to harbor such love and gentleness as there is in his soul. I fear that once again the world will be deprived of a man who has been gifted with talents nearly inconceivable, because they cannot look past the superficial." She caught Christine's hand in her own. "You are the only one who has been able to bring Erik from his darkness. He loves you, Christine, and that will be either his salvation, or his damnation."
Christine was silent, the burden that Madame Giry's words had placed on her shoulders heavy.
Madame Giry took Christine's face in her hands and turned it so that Christine's eyes were looking directly into her own.
"Erik has found light for the first time in nearly forty years of a miserable existence. God help me, Christine, I will kill anyone who takes it from him."
-
Erik took a deep breath as he dismounted his horse and approached the imposing door of the home to which Andre had directed him. He touched the mask to ensure it was still there, his heart pounding. For a frightening moment, he had an urge to turn, remount Cesar, and return to the opera house. He could tell Christine that he had been unable to find the address…he could return to the labyrinth…there was safety in that solitude…safety that he could never find here.
He summoned up the image of Christine's face for strength, recalled the feel of her lying in his embrace. Behind that door lay the key to the continuation of those newfound realities. After nearly forty years of solitude, the Heavens had at long last smiled on him. Before last night, perhaps he could have turned back and found forgiveness in some new manner, or simply condemned himself to waste away in the darkness. But last night, Christine had given him more than her heart, more than her soul. She had given him her innocence. Last night he had lain in the arms of an angel.
To turn back now would be to spit in the face of God.
-
Business had been bad of late for Jacques de Gaulle. Crime had fallen considerably since Madame Guillotine had been more forceful in her demands for justice, depriving him of his honest living as a lawyer, and there simply wasn't enough poor blackguards looking for false identification to grant him a dishonest living. He had even been considering selling off some of his more considerable properties in Paris and moving away to the country. If not for the charity of his good friend Andre…well, he would have been far gone by now. But the dreadful tragedy of last night was sure to cut off that bit of providence, too, he thought miserably.
A hesitant, then stronger knock at his door caused him to raise his head and peer out the window. A strange masked man was standing at his door. At first, he thought with some measure of fear that some government emissary was coming to haul him away. But the man's mask was white, and he hardly looked imposing. In fact, he looked almost…frightened. As if he needed something desperately.
Jacques rubbed his hands together in glee. Perhaps fortune had decided to take up residence in the de Gaulle home again.
-
"You are acquainted with a Monsieur Andre, I assume?" Erik directed this question to the small man at the desk, lounging comfortably in the armchair that had been proffered. This Jacques de Gaulle seemed more than eager to help him, and Erik wondered if the world had grown kinder in the years that they had spent apart. This man didn't seem at all deterred by him.
Then again, he has never seen what lies beneath the mask.
Jacques nodded. "Monsieur Andre is a close friend of mine. I am Jacques de Gaulle, as I'm sure he has told you." He proffered a hand, and Erik shook it.
"I am Erik."
Jacques raised an eyebrow. "No surname?"
Erik shook his head. "That is why I am here to see you. You see, Monsieur de Gaulle…"
"Please, call me Jacques."
"Monsieur Jacques, I am a man with no past, at least not one worth mentioning, and a very mediocre present. However, God has recently granted me a future, in the form of my lovely young fiancée. However, I fail to see how I am to wed her without property or even a name to gift her with. Monsieur Andre told me you could assist with both."
Jacques found it difficult to resist the urge to laugh out loud. The man was obviously desperate. Love could be played upon for many a fine coin, and from this man's bearing and dress, he was obviously wealthy. He foresaw a good deal of money returning into his hands. He would finally be able to break free of the bonds of charity, and return to his place in society. His wife would be able to hold her head up in polite society again. The fear of tax collectors at his door would be at long last assuaged. Glory be to God. He made a quick and silent promise to go to Mass that week for the first time in years, and light a candle for his good fortune.
But for now, to the business at hand.
"No surname." Jacques looked for the proper papers and a fresh ink pot and quill. "What was your father's name, Monsieur Erik?"
"I do not know."
Jacques looked perplexed. "Your mother's name, then?"
Erik started to reply, and then stopped. The woman who had borne him, the woman who should have held place as his mother, was not deserving of that holy title. The woman who had borne him was the same woman who had screamed in terror when she first saw him scarred, who had thrust a mask at him and refused his admittance to her presence unless he wore it.
She was the woman who had gifted him with the same present every year for his birthday—a new mask, until at last she had died and he had been turned out onto the streets, to finally become a sideshow freak.
Even the gift of a new mask would have been welcome then, but he had received nothing. He had not been a person, he had been a creature, a monster, a thing.
Things did not have birthdays.
No, she was not his mother. When the word 'mother' came to mind, another face came into his head, a face much younger than what hers would have been, the face of a young girl who had rescued him from the most wretched existence mortal man had ever been committed to, and brought him to an existence at least marginally better. The face of a young girl who was now a woman, with a child of her own, but who still loved him nonetheless.
What had her surname been? He closed his eyes, trying to remember. What name had she told him on that night when she had brought him to the cellars where he had spent so many years?
"You needn't fear me, little boy. I'm just a ballet rat, not of any importance. No one will ever think that it's I who has helped you escape. I'll show you a place where you will be safe."
"What is your name?"
"You may call me Mademoiselle Couturier. What is your name?"
"The Devil's Child."
"That is no name."
"I have no other."
"I will call you Erik, then. I had a little brother named Erik once."
"What happened to him?"
"He died."
Erik didn't even realize that tears had begun to fall silently from his eyes at the memory. He looked up to see de Gaulle staring at him strangely, and he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure.
"Your mother's name, Monsieur?"
"…Couturier. Mademoiselle Couturier."
-
Erik rode back to the opera house at a near full gallop, anxious to see Christine. He barged headlong into Andre's office, causing the manager to become instantly annoyed and Christine to leap up and embrace him, her eyes widening at the ecstatic expression on his face. Madame Giry remained where she was, watching Erik quizzically.
"I've found us a home, Christine!" Erik exclaimed.
"Where? How?"
"Monsieur Andre's friend has agreed to sell me his home. It is not far from here, a modest home, but still very lovely. He has decided to go to the country, and is selling me the house for a decent price. There is a moderate amount of property, and a small stable where two or three horses could be kept. You told me once how you loved to ride with your father, Christine."
Christine nodded, her face alight.
"He has also written up papers giving me a surname, Christine! When we are wed, I will be able to give you my name!"
Christine smiled at him, knowing how much this meant to him. The simple detail of a surname, something which every other inhabitant of France hardly noticed, was something he had never been granted.
"What name will you give to me, Erik?" she asked.
He pulled the precious papers from his pocket and showed them to her. "Couturier. Erik Couturier."
"Seamstress?" Christine chuckled softly at the name, surprised at his choice. She heard a muffled cry behind her, and she turned to see. Her eyes widened in further confusion.
Tears were streaming from Madame Giry's eyes.
Awww. Writing this almost made me cry! I'm starting to develop an affinity for Madame Giry...if you hadn't noticed. :)
Next chapter in the works!