One heart's darkness
Disclaimer: I still don't own POTO, although I am working on some ingenious plots to get it, some of which involve a time-machine with a flux-capacitor, but unfortunately, I don't own the rights to that either.
OH MY, can it be... an update? WOW, somebody pinch me!
Erik: Ok! (pinches authoress)
Me: Ouch, not so hard!
Erik: Well, you asked for it. Really!
Me: You know, you should be lucky you're a bastard in that evil-yet-seductive kind of way, or I might one day be really miffed at you!
THANKS to ... do I still have reviewers? Is anyone still interested in this? I hope so! Because I actually WANT to finish it!
Ok, so here are my excuses for not updating: last week, I was sick with a fever and everything and Erik had to nurse me back to health with lots of tea and muffins and hugs and cuddle sessions, so I wasn't all THAT keen on getting better... no, honestly, I was really sick. And the week before that, my muse was on vacation. As far as I know, Erik spent the week with Mystic Darkness (Yes, my Erik-muse looks like Gerard Butler, so be happy.) who of course also gets her Erik plushie. There you go! (hands her a plushie)
And you too, annoying spirit, you get your nice plushie thing! (hands her a plushie) Who gave you that name, anyway? I love your reviews! One could almost say that you are like a sister to me!
One short warning before we start with chapter thirteen: Those of you who liked Jean and were hoping for quick fluffly romance: Sorry!
Chapter Thirteen
Dinner turned out to be not as dreadful as Erik had feared. True, there wasn't much of a conversation going on, other than the playful argument Julie and her father had about the several hidden meanings in the opera 'Aida' which Erik could have commented on but chose not to.
Christine was merely picking at her food, which consisted of a perfectly cooked duck with a fine assortment of vegetables and a slightly too-well-done potato gratin. Instead, she kept shooting uncertain but happy glances at Erik, as if she couldn't believe he was really by her side. Now and again he would grasp her hand and squeeze it fondly. When she was staring at him in that wide-eyed way, she reminded him of that chorus girl she used to be more than ever.
He wasn't particularly hungry, himself, and was more interested in the wine, although he didn't drink more than one glass, the flavour was exquisite.
He swirled the deep ruby coloured liquid in the glass, watching the play of the candlelight in the little waves it created.
"You know," Julie said, noticing his interest, "that is actually a wine from the Des Cars vineyard. They are very rare!"
Erik raised an eyebrow, although that went unnoticed behind the mask.
"How so?" he inquired.
Raoul put down his fork and picked up the napkin he had deposited on the dove grey pants of his dinner suit.
"Well," he began to explain, "about ten years ago, there was a terrible fire at their estate. Everything burned down, the mansion, the vineyard, the other buildings, everything. Two of the four Des Cars children died, their mother as well, and, you could say worst of all, although that would sound heartless, all the money they had invested in the house was lost, all the priceless paintings burnt to ashes, the golden ornaments melted and many documents and a lot of paper money went up into flame. The family was virtually left with nothing but a name and a huge amount of debts. Five years ago the old Des Cars died. Since then, Jean Des Cars has rebuilt some of the vineyard and a much more modest version of the mansion. Things are looking up for them, but Suzette still won't relinquish her position as a dancer at the Opera."
OooOooO
Monsieur Richard's cackle was one of evil glee as he poured his partner Moncharmin and himself another cognac.
To Jean, they seemed like a couple of vengeful schoolboys. He was already regretting the deal he had made with them, but there was no helping it.
"I knew it was her! It knew it! As soon as you said she was ugly beyond words but with a pretty voice I knew it! And once she trusts you, so will he! And then we will be rid of those bothersome wraiths!" Moncharmin cried excitedly. Richard nodded vigorously.
"Just continue to feign affection," he instructed the young aristocrat, "she will take you to their lair eventually. Remember what's at stake for you, dear Count," he teased, "it would be bad if you couldn't count on your business associates anymore, or come here to see an be seen!"
Jean sighed. "But only because I have no choice! Be assured, messieurs," he said icily, "that I find your behaviour despicable!"
He stood and left the office quickly, slamming the mahogany door behind him. The red velvet and gold atmosphere of the overly decorated room had almost choked him.
The young man was at a loss. He had faced many hardships in his life, but somehow he had always managed to keep his honour as a nobleman. Now that, too, would have to be sacrificed.
His musings were interrupted abruptly when something closed around his throat. A thin rope, it appeared, was pulled tight and yanked him into a side corridor. He felt his back pressed half against the wall's wood panelling, half into another man's chest.
His attacker was about his size and seemed very strong.
As Jean's air supply was cut off and he felt himself choking, his hands clawed weakly at the thin strip of leather.
A cold voice hissed into his ear, "I will teach you to play with my daughter! To use her as prey!"
His lungs were burning, his knees grew weak. The rope was pulled even tighter. Darkness swirled in the corner of his eye when he heard a female voice saying urgently, "NO, Erik, don't!"
Jean's strength waned. He felt his
eyes slide shut and his knees begin to buckle. Just before he
fainted, he heard Madeleine's voice cry out, "Papa, no!"
Then
darkness claimed him.
OooOooO
A sharp slap across the face brought him back to his senses. He opened his eyes and, after adjusting to his surroundings, which appeared to be a prop storage, his gaze focused on Madeleine, who was standing next to his makeshift bed, hands on her hips and the golden eyes too cold for comfort.
They stared at each other until finally Madeleine spoke.
"I really really wanted to believe what you said back then. I have never in my whole life wanted to believe anything as much as that! The whole day, I spent crying and hoping, and by the time my father came home, I had convinced myself that you had been honest. That this truly didn't bother you!" She yanked off her mask. Jean couldn't help but flinch, and the tears that been gathering in her eyes started to fall.
"I stopped my father from breaking your neck out there because I want to hear it from you, personally!"
He sat up, rubbing his neck which showed red burn marks from the rope.
"What do you want to hear?" he asked, his voice tired, his eyes fixed on the floor. "Do you want to hear how I planned to betray you and your… your father, then. Do you want to hear how the managers approached me with that horrible plan, or that they offered me money and connections with others, such insignificant and worldly things you and your noble friends and family would never consider abandoning your honour for?"
Madeleine was sobbing openly now. Her thin shoulder twitched under the blouse of her midnight blue muslin dress.
"No," she answered, her voice breaking like glass, "I want to hear from you that you lied back there, that none of it was true! I want to know if everything you said in that dressing room was a lie to get my confidence. I want to know if I recklessly gave away my heart to someone who really truly didn't deserve of it!"
He met her gaze finally. A few curls had fallen out of the chignon she had swept her hair up in. Their deep chocolate colour was a stark contrast to the paleness of her skin. His heart wanted to break at the tears in her amber eyes, but he knew he owed it to her to be truthful. So he took one of her slender hands in his, ignoring their coldness.
"Yes," he said, "it was all lies. I can't look at you without fear. Your voice is that of an angel, Madeleine, but to look past… that… I would need more time! And I doubt you would give me that chance again!" She yanked her fingers out of his grip and covered her face with both hands, her sobs even more heart wrenching. Jean took her shoulders instead. "You did give your heart to someone who didn't deserve. One day, someone will. And then you'll forget what I did to you! You will forget!"
He stood up and left the room, glancing left and right in fear of the vengeful father returning. Behind him, Madeleine's sobs, only slightly muted through the door, had taken a note of desperate anguish.
And yet, while walking swiftly to the exit and out into a rainy afternoon, Jean kept repeating to himself, "You will forget!" while hoping that someday, he would forget the heartache in Madeleine's eyes, or the stabbing pain he had felt himself. And once again, he longed for more courage and a second chance at getting to know that extraordinary woman.
OooOooO
Erik and Christine were waiting for their daughter in the music room of the underground house. It was the most comfortable room of all, decorated with an assortment of instruments from all over the world and, of course, a massive black piano.
Two comfortable armchairs and a couch stood in front of a fireplace to which Erik was tending when Madeleine entered.
One look at her daughter's face was enough to make Christine forget about the apology she had prepared. She simply got to her feet and held out her arms.
And Madeleine took up the offer. She flung herself into her mother's embrace, sobs once more shaking her. Christine held her crying daughter tightly.
"It might not be that bad," she said soothingly, but Madeleine pulled away.
"Oh Maman, you don't know what
you're saying. I was foolish to ever expect anything, as he is
nothing short of beautiful."
"Is he?"
"Like an angel sent from heaven to make a lonely heart weep in joy. He has the softest hair in the world, like black satin or the sky at midnight. His eyes appear blue from afar, but green when you get closer. It's a stormy green with a little grey, like that picture I saw of the ocean. His voice wraps around you like a blanket of velvet, and his lips…" she buried her face in her palms, "oh mother, no woman can look upon them without longing to be kissed."
Christine stroked her daughter's hair in comfort. Erik had come over and wrapped an arm around his daughter as well.
"I know I'm being foolish," the girl said quietly, "after all, I've only ever seen him from afar and talked to him once, but somehow… I had a feeling that I was meant to love him. Somehow…" her voice cracked.
"Those things happen," Erik said softly, "it's called love at first sight. It will pass, my dear. You will forget!"
"I should," Madeleine answered weakly, her eyes fixed upon the stain her tears had created on the shoulder of her mother's taffeta blouse, "that's what he said, as well…"
A/N: Poor Maddy. I know how she feels right now... No fun... Anyway, some might think she's overreacting slightly, with saying she loved him and stuff, but keep in mind that she didn't have the opportunity to vent that we have nowadays! So this is the first guy she ever fell for and she knows there won't be many who'd even talk to her! Plus, you have to remember that 'Jean' means Gerry-Butler-hotness! I would cry over losing that! So REVIEW and tell me what you think!
Love you all!
P.F.A.