Whispers in the Night
Chapter 6
Fool. Erik thought, laughing to himself. Now she's mine, for the whole day! He was approaching the Vimomte de Chagny's villa, knowing Christine was sleeping peacefully relaxed him slightly. It meant he had time to double check the house, in case the boy was smarter then he gave him credit for.
He snuck into the kitchen, silent as the night, and searched the rooms, all except Christine's. I am an opportunist but I am not completely a monster. He soon settled on the armchair in the living room. Ahh. It is nice to be seated where the boy seats himself. I could settle into this life. Christine sitting in front of me by the fire, looking pretty as she always does. No need to wear this mask. He stopped this track of thought as a brilliant idea came to mind. My mask! My goodness, it's filthy!
He got up off the armchair and went into the bathroom, two rooms next to Christine's, and quietly turned the taps on, washing his mask. Heavens, it's the colour of my face! Hideous, just like me.
Once he had finished cleaning it, the mask had returned to almost the same immaculate condition as before.
Now, sort the hair out Erik. You must make an effort if you want your life back.
He took his mask and shirt off and ran his hands under the water, and began to clean his body. He helped himself to some scents belonging to Raoul and greased his hair back.
He stared at himself in the mirror and sighed. Starting to look normal now. Ha! Normal, as if I could look normal.
He heard a noise coming from Christine's room and his head spun to the door. He quickly put his mask and shirt back on, turned the taps off and made his way back into the living room.
He heard Christine's door open, and footsteps approaching. His whole body tensed, and his stomach began to lurch and he felt giddy. Compose yourself fool!
Christine walked into the living room, and stopped. She didn't gasp, she didn't call for help. Nor did she smile, laugh or run up to him. She just sat down opposite him and stared.
This is worse than her screaming for help. He thought.
"Christine?" He called to her softly.
"Where is he, Erik?" She asked.
"Safe" He told her. Well, it's partially right; I'm just not telling her I've drugged him. Nothing wrong with that…
"Really? Do not lie to me." She told him.
"I would not dream of it, my love," he lied.
Her body relaxed more, and she gazed into the fireplace.
"What do you want, Angel?" She asked.
"To see you. To love you once more." He replied.
"NO!" She screamed, standing up and knocking an ornament to the floor, "No! Erik, no! Do you know how foolish of an action that is? Do you not understand? He will kill you Erik." She exclaimed, running to Erik and throwing her arms around him.
He remained silent, shocked at her arms around his neck. His hands slid to her waist, and her breathing returned to its normal pace.
"Why do you care, Christine?"
She paused.
"I don't know, Erik. I just never wanted it all to happen. Why did you have to become so jealous?" She asked.
JEALOUS!
"Why do you think? I LOVE YOU CHRISTINE!" He shouted, anger momentarily flooding his mind; "I could never let you go! Never! The grief would only tear me to shreds."
She released her grip from him and stared into his eyes.
"How did you do it, my Angel? How did you escape?" She whispered.
He grinned at her, and tapped his nose;
"I am a genius; you think I would not put up a fight?" He asked, amused.
She laughed. And in that moment, Erik saw an old flame reignite in her eyes. He smiled at her, stepping forward to stroke her face.
It was as if nothing mattered. No more questions, no more need for words.
No, we are not going to kiss, or embrace each other once more, but this moment is special and I will not spoil it, with my want for flesh. My Angel has returned.
"Christine?" He whispered in her ear.
She gave a sigh of want, straining her ears to hear him; "Yes, Erik?"
"Will you not return to the Opera, my love?" He asked her.
She said nothing.
"Would you like something to drink?" She asked, forgetting the question and hurrying into the kitchen.
He sighed in frustration. How am I meant to get her to sing once more?
He followed her into the kitchen, watching her busy herself with making herbal tea. His eyes fell upon her flesh, where her nightdress had slipped from her shoulders. He blushed in spite of himself. And yet he could not take his eyes off of her.
Who is under whose spell?
"It was you last night." She said, Erik guessed she was referring to last night's performance.
"Perhaps."
She giggled. "I am glad you did it, Erik, I was so bored listening to her shrill voice." She admitted.
"Carlotta? Yes, something tells me she won't be singing for too much longer." He said.
She turned round to look at him; "Where are you living? In the Opera House once more?"
"No, I am still searching for the passage into the cellars. Then I will make my own path, find some sort of cave, and make sure the foundation can hold me" he explained.
"I see. How long will that take you?" She asked.
"Well, the walls should be easier to manipulate, seeing as they are brand new. I would think weeks."
"Where are you sleeping now, Erik?"
He looked at the floor. Damn. Why did she have to ask that?
"The streets." He said quietly.
She smiled at him sweetly; "We all have to begin somewhere."
"Indeed." He admitted.
"Can you take me somewhere, Erik?" She asked.
"Anywhere, anytime, my sweet." He smiled.
"Can you take me to see my father's grave once more?"
DAMN!