A/N: -blinks- Well, this chapter is as much if not more of a surprise to me as it undoubtedly will be to everyone else. For those of you who know what I originally had in mind for this chapter, fear not— NEXT time! It just seemed like a good place to stop, and I don't want to cram too much into a chapter. For those of you who DON'T know… well, let's just say things are about to get interesting. This will be the last chapter under the PG (or is it K+ now?) rating— haha, TOLD you things are going to get interesting! (Un)Fortunately, it's only going to be a PG-13 (-sigh- T, whatever)… er… make that PG-16… for sexual content.
OH! And I should have you all know that I am on a Christine warpath— I now officially loathe her. Why, you ask? Well, I was finally allowed to see Phantom for the FIFTH time (tee hee!), and at the very end… well, for those of you who love Christine and don't want to hear this, just scroll down and ignore this next part. But I can now tell you that the rumors are, in fact, true… to my utter horror, she DOES mouth "I love you" to Raoul right before turning to Erik and singing her "Pitiful creature" line. –fumes- Anyway, Christine torture is on the way... I need to get my aggression towards her out somehow!
Disclaimer: This little episode is my idea… Erik, Christine, Raoul, the managers and César are property of Gaston, but this chappie, at least, was compliments of my muse, who decided to return from her rather lengthy trip to the Bahamas and grace us with her presence. –snorts- Even SHE couldn't resist the temptation of pudding!
I did not move from my spot near the compost pile, horrendous as it was, until nightfall.
The whistle of a steam engine in the far distance startled me from my despondent trance; for hours I had merely laid in the snow, numb to the cold, unable and unwilling to get up. I fumed and simmered for awhile at the intrusive actions of the repulsive vicomte; Christine was incapable of resisting his boyish valiancy, and found comfort in the memories she shared with him of her pleasant childhood. I understood and accepted this—at first, it did not bother me, for her soul was still undeniably mine. It was not by accident that I had referred to myself as her master; the child needed reprimanding as well as consolation for her hasty departure from the Opera House. But, as usual, the de Chagny boy's timing could not have been worse. I still had not found the opportunity to explain the events surrounding Buquet's death, and the young vicomte had undoubtedly begun to fill her head with lies, tainting her and turning her from the only comfort she had known in these past ten years. Christine was confused and thought herself abandoned and betrayed by me, while Raoul lingered by her side with his soft, gentle voice and open arms. What choice did she have, with her mind clouded by doubt, but to cling to the one other happy time in her life— a time that involved her deceased father and Raoul de Chagny exclusively?
No, the fault of this little setback did not rest with Christine. She would obey my command to return to the Opera Populaire. I had won this time, driving her to obedience through fear. I hated it—loathed lying to her and playing this horrible little game. I wanted her to know and love me as myself, as Erik, a man of blood and flesh, not as her father's spirit, but I would take whatever form of affection she could afford to show me at the moment. The vicomte's persistence left me no other option but to continue the Angel of Music façade; if I did not act quickly, I would lose her forever.
My anger died down to a discontent acceptance after awhile. Above all else I loathed feeling powerless, but there was nothing I could do at the time being but wait. I drifted off into a fitful sleep, curled into a ball in the snow, using the violin case as a pillow. Seeking shelter at the inn was completely out of the question, and while I could have sought refuge from the biting cold at the little café, I neither wanted to hold another nauseating conversation with the waitress (kind as her intentions were) nor risk being seen by Christine or the vicomte.
When the train whistles blew in the distance, hours after I had settled into a numb reverie, my body gave an involuntary lurch, my fevered, glassy eyes attempting to focus on the world which spun mercilessly around me.
"Christine," I whispered hoarsely, my pulse quickening. I attempted to scramble to my feet, but my weary muscles launched into violent spasms, my knees buckling beneath me. A wave of nausea swept over me; trembling vehemently, I bent over to vomit into the snow. With a moan of pain, I brought a shaky hand to wipe at my mouth, and yelped in surprise; my cheeks burned with fever, but I could not feel the pressure of my gloved fingertips against the unfeeling flesh.
"Damnit!" I cursed, pounding my fist into the ground. Frostbite, a fever… I needed a doctor, and I knew it. A deep growl rumbled painfully in the back of my parched throat. I loathed doctors almost as much as I loathed the vicomte; visiting the clinic was a last resort, and I stubbornly refused to do so unless I was clinging to life by a thread (which, fortunately, had only occurred once in my lifetime). Again, more slowly and cautiously this time, I climbed to my feet, insistent upon proving my health to an invisible audience. I wobbled in place for a moment, the world spinning around me, but managed to keep myself from collapsing again. With a satisfied smile at my accomplishment, I began to totter unsteadily toward the train station, occasionally stopping to grasp at a tree trunk or fence post until a wave of nausea either went away or wrenched bile from my empty, smarting stomach. My progress was slow, but consistent, and I managed to stumble onto the platform just as the conductor made the last boarding call.
"Here," I rasped, shoving my crinkled, mud-splattered note and return ticket into his hand. The conductor eyed me curiously, his eyes lingering just a little longer than polite on my mask, before nodding to the boy who allowed me entrance into my compartment.
I did not bother to remove my cloak or boots before collapsing onto the soft bed. With a weak moan, I buried my burning face in the cool fabric of the pillows, nestling under the covers. My entire body ached and shook uncontrollably; I cursed myself repeatedly for being so foolish— what had I been thinking, lying motionless in the snow for hours on end? Dozens of "should-haves" raced through my throbbing head: I should have thought to get up and walk around, should have snuck back into the shelter of the little church or the inn's cellar… My idiocy rivaled that of the godforsaken managers! I certainly could not win back Christine's heart if I could not move from my own bed! Uttering several moans of pain and self-loathing, I mentally ridiculed myself for my stupidity until finally, with the help of the lulling motions of the train, the fever overwhelmed me and I slipped into a long, restless sleep.
It was the second time I had slept the entire train ride between Perros and Gare Montparnasse. The station at the latter was much noisier than the small seaside village, and a screaming baby woke me as the steam engine sputtered to a halt. The combination of grinding metal and the wailing baby were enough to wrench a cry of pain from me; my head seared, the pain causing the edge of my vision to blacken and smudge slightly. I fought stubbornly for consciousness, keeping Christine at the surface of my mind. My muscles trembled with fatigue as I attempted to rise to a sitting position, and after several failed attempts I collapsed on my pillow, soaked in sweat, my lungs burning from the effort.
An insistent knock came at my door, and I turned my head weakly to look.
"Monsieur! Monsieur, I'm afraid I must ask you to come out… the next passengers are ready to board."
I cleared my throat and attempted to sound composed. "Very well. Tell the stable boy to have my horse ready. The black stallion, César. I shall be out in a moment."
"As you wish, Monsieur," the voice replied, followed by the click of heels on the steps heading away from the compartment. I closed my eyes and balled my fists, summoning the last ounces of strength from my ailing body. In one quick, strained movement I pivoted upwards and to the side, kicking my feet over the edge of the bed. A sudden bout of nausea nearly overwhelmed me, but I swallowed and remained deathly still until it passed, then slowly rose to my feet, grasping at the end table for support. My legs wobbled and threatened to buckle beneath me, but I paused, focusing upon the image of Christine, and managed to steady myself enough to take one hesitant step forward. Then another.
It occurred to me to pause at the door and glance quickly out of the curtain window for any sign of Christine, just to be safe. It would be disastrous for her to spot me after all this time. Fortunately, she was nowhere in sight— with any luck she was already in a carriage, on her way back to the Opera.
My heartbeat quickened at the thought. I needed to hurry; if she arrived back before me, the consequences would be dire. What would she think if she followed her angel's commands, traveled all that way, and found my lair empty? It would mean an eternity of solitude for me, and victory for the vicomte.
With a fresh surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins, I managed to make my way down the iron stairs and down the platform in a decent amount of time. To my relief, I found the same stable boy holding a saddled, bridled César where I had left him a few nights before.
"I paid extra special attention to this brute for you, Monsieur, just as you asked me." The boy beamed as I approached him, patting César's well-groomed neck. His eyes widened as I pressed a crisp bill into his hand and snatched the reins from his grasp.
"Help me mount," I hissed without making eye contact, leaning heavily against my patient stallion. My current state was humiliating, but it could not be helped. My muscles trembled from the effort of making it down from the train, threatening to collapse; I needed help.
"Yes, sir!" the boy cried, his grin widening as he pocketed the money. He bent low to the ground and clasped his fingers together in a sort of sling. I stifled a sigh and placed my foot reluctantly into his hands, grasping each end of the saddle with both hands. "On the count of three, then, Monsieur… One, two—" He hoisted me upwards with a surprising amount of strength for such a young lad, and I swung my free leg over the top of the horse, settling down in the center of the saddle and taking up the reins. I still refused to look down at the boy, but nodded my head curtly as I wheeled César around and dug my heels into the warm flesh of his sides. He reared slightly and took off at a quick canter away from the deafening noise of the train station.
By some miracle, I managed to cling to his sides and stay in the saddle throughout the ride to the Opera House, but his jarring pace made my throbbing headache mount to the point at which I once again had to fight for consciousness. Reluctantly, I slowed him a bit as we drew closer; surely Christine would not have arrived yet…
But at the sight of the Rue Scribe entrance, I once again kicked him into a breakneck gallop, around the crumbling brick corners of a bakery, down a narrow alley of damp stone, and finally through the partially hidden arch that led to the catacombs of my domain.
Upon entering the dark labyrinth, my tense, trembling muscles relaxed, and I fell forward on César's neck, resting my head on his coarse mane. He knew his way home, and trotted daintily through the dim passages, his ears pricked in delight at the familiar surroundings. I closed my eyes and rested all of my weight on his shoulders and neck, my abdominal muscles drained completely of their strength to hold my head and torso upright. Despite the pain that coursed throughout my body, I smiled into his mane. Christine would be here soon…
When César finally came to a halt in his stall, dropping his head to munch on his waiting supper, I nearly tumbled forward onto the hard cement ground. It was reflex and instinct that propped me upwards and allowed me to slide sideways off of my horse, for my muscles no longer had any strength left to give.
It was there, on the floor of César's stall, that my weary mind and body finally gave in to cool, comforting darkness.
A/N: -raises baton- Come, let's chorus together: "POOR ERIK!" I know, I know, but don't worry… he'll -clamps hand over mouth- Well, you'll have to just wait and see, won't you?
Hriviel: Hmm, chocolate pudding is my favorite. LOL… no, there shall be no Raoul fainting in this story. –shrugs- Sorry, dear; remember, I'm quite fond of him. DJT is on its way, along with the "flaming sexy" (amen!) Red Death outfit. Yes, it was playing near my dad's house, and after much pouting and quiet sulking and shoulder rubbing (he can't resist), he allowed me to see it AGAIN! YAAAAAAAAAAAY! –does happy dance- Mmk, I'm obsessed, so sue me! LOL.
Number356: I know, he does tend to ruin perfectly awesome E/C moments. –sigh- But never fear, for the next one will NOT, in fact, be ruined by Raoul. Thanks for reviewing, as always:)
LePetiteChristine: -sigh- CHILD! LOL… what to do with you? Tormenting me over reviews isn't very nice. –pouts- Sentence fluency and good grammar… haha, well at least you got the compliments in there. I'm still mad at you. –glowers- Until you sing "Wishing," I'm gonna sulk. Lol.
StrangeGirl: Join the club, hon. I was SO mad that no one was updating; haha, I'm such a hypocrite, I know, but I love reading phanphic as much as writing it, if not more. So a note to phellow phanphic writers: UPDATE, DANGIT! LOL. Glad you liked it… I know, it's sad. I hate the fact that Erik suffers so much. :(
Hicdracones: Ahhh, a Gaston phan! Well, I wanted to give the original version as much of a nod as I possibly could, but I will include the "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again/Wandering Child" sequence, as this story is based off of the musical, and I'd have a whole bunch of reviewers coming after me with pitchforks and Punjabs if I were to leave it out! LOL.
Sakume: Aww, you're so cuuute! How could I have ever forgotten you? –kicks self again- Thanks for the continued support… you're such a sweetheart. –hugs-
Opal Gimstone: OMG, I was laughing so hard at that review! Too funny… aw, leave poor Raoul alone! It's CHRISTINE that's the evil one! –glares with dangerous glint in eye- Ahem… yes. No need to poke my Dad; I did plenty of that, and he finally let me go. –squee!- So happy. Anyways, thanks again… you're freakin' hysterical!
Lady Golodwen: Allo, dearie. –sighs and laughs simultaneously- What to do with you? NO, Erik should not DIE, or I wouldn't very well be able to continue this story, now would I? –cuddles him protectively- Now remember, you PROMISED no Erik bashing in this chappie! –glances at twin- I warn you, my dear, Noelle waits with sword drawn if you are to go back on your word… LOL.
Joanieponytail: I always look forward to reading your reviews; they're very helpful! –grins- I'm so glad you like the relationships I've set up… I try my best. –blushes- I'm afraid neither man has what one would consider a "healthy" relationship with Christine… one is possessive and controlling, the other is constantly submissive. –sighs- What to do with these boys? LOL… yes, the timing on your last few posts was rather hysterical. Sorry, I'm afraid it was coincidence, not magic. ;)
Venus725: LOL… Aww, thanks hon! I'm glad you liked the ending. –blushes- "So… PHANTOM" Haha, yes, that's the general idea! –giggles-
LoneWolf2005: DANGIT! Now you've got the James Bond theme stuck in my head! LOL.
Thanks for all the reviews, guys! –sings Rod Stewart song- Have I told you lately that I love you?