A/N: As always, thanks to my beta, Le Chat Noir – especially for the ballet scenes!
Episode 44: Hard Lessons
By: Elektra
Giry's office – Saturday morning
"Mmm… Hello?" Giry heard a sleepy female voice muttering into Erik's cell phone.
"Christine? Where is Erik?"
"OH! Madame Giry. Sorry. Hold on." She heard Christine trying to wake Erik up, followed by a rather annoyed grunt as the phone was finally handed over.
"Yes, Antoinette?" Erik answered sharply. She could practically hear the scowl in his voice.
"You were sleeping?" Giry asked.
"I am tired."
"Really?" she frowned. "Well… I was just going over your report on the latest run in with… Martine?" she asked. "At the DuBois manor last week."
"Yes. Martine Robichaux. That is her name." Erik answered.
"Right. Well, there's an annotation here regarding Raoul and Meg."
Giry lifted the paper in front of her and read:
"'I observed Raoul DeChagny's behaviour with a one Megan Giry unbefitting for such a societal function. They seemed to be dancing far closer than proper, his hands slipping inappropriately towards the young girl's backside.
'However, I saw no signs of demonic possession, and concluded that it was indeed the boy's own lustful behaviour guiding his actions.'"
She put the paper down with a sigh. "Why did you write that, Erik?"
"I was simply reporting that his actions were not demonically induced," Erik replied innocently.
"In other words, you disapproved of Raoul's behaviour towards my daughter," Giry pointed out.
"Yes. It was improper."
"Do you realize, Erik, that I have begun to consider Christine a second daughter?"
He was silent a moment. "Well… that is very nice, Antoinette."
"Yes, it is. Now, would you care to tell me why Christine answered your phone and why the two of you seem so very tired this morning? Surely you were not … as you put it… improper with her last night?"
"I…" he paused, then spoke again. "I choose not to answer."
Giry sighed. "Why am I not surprised?"
Three Weeks Later – Monday Afternoon
Meg, Jammes, Sorelli and Christine dressed themselves quickly for the first day of classes at the Populaire. They were talking excitedly about their expectations and how they were all looking forward to the program, what their goals were, and where they hoped to go afterwards.
"LADIES!" a loud female voice boomed from outside the dressing room door. "Move!"
The four Ravelle students quickly made their way out with the various other students who had won a position in the summer program.
Giselle LeFleur, their ballet mistress, instructed each and every one of them to stand in front of a wall of mirrors in the next room. They did so without question. " Off with the leg warmers, shoes, skirts."
The students exchanged nervous glances.
"Do you have a problem with my instructions?" Giselle demanded.
They quickly answered in the negative and did as they were asked.
Giselle let them glance nervously at themselves in the mirror for a few quiet minutes, until most eyes were downcast. "Very few of you have the proper body for this type of profession, you understand. Very few," she continued, as she paced behind them, "should remain at their current shape and weight. Everyone in here should be consulting the nutritionist to determine weight management or reduction plans."
She stopped behind Christine. "And some of you simply lack the correct proportions. The neck: too short. The torso: too long. The legs: not nearly long enough. Pilates can help lengthen some of your muscles," she said as she stepped behind Jammes, "and possibly increase the elegance of the épaulement, but many of you just won't make it through a real audition season without serious work."
Christine wrapped her arms around her middle, fighting the urge to cry.
"Put your legwarmers on, if you feel the need. No skirts. You need to be reminded of your instrument's properties and,"—Christine was certain Giselle stared right at her —"its faults."
Nadir Khan's Apartment – that evening
Erik looked over the array of photos and files on the table in front of him: various victims of the mysterious strangler, along with what little information the police had found out.
Madeline came into the room quietly, placing a cup of coffee beside Nadir and a hot tea beside Erik.
"What is this?" Erik asked as he looked warily at the drink.
"You used to like lemon tea with a little bit of honey," Madeline replied, then offered a small smile. "You never did like hot chocolate."
Erik shook his head. "I should be off. The things that go bump in the night will not hunt themselves," he muttered as he stood up.
Truth be told, Christine was busy with her dance workshop, and Erik was finding he had far more free time than he wanted. He had since taken to walking the streets at night and searching for any signs of the strangler, or various other creatures that needed a good dusting.
Erik never thought he would be one to get antsy without the regular attentions of his beloved. Perhaps he would go by the Populaire along the way.
"Erik," Nadir spoke. "At least have your tea?"
Erik looked over to Madeline, seeing the hopeful expectation on her face. It would serve her right if I simply left it! .
However, being that it was Nadir's apartment, and that this tea was, no doubt, bought with the man's money, Erik realized he would seem a poor guest indeed to waste it.
He grabbed the mug and finished the tea in one go, refusing to admit that he had enjoyed it thoroughly – and finding it odd that his mother remembered such a small thing after so many years of estrangement.
Erik wished a goodnight to Nadir – and even Madeline, for once – before heading out into the dark to do what he did best.
Hunt.
Populaire Dressing Room
Christine lay on the couch in the Populaire's dressing room, staring aimlessly at the ceiling.
Today had been as close to Hell as she had ever been. First, getting belittled for her imperfections, then finding herself falling behind the rest of the class as she attempted combinations that had left her on her rear more than once.
"Hey, Chrissy?" Meg began as she sat in a chair beside her. "I'm heading to the studio for some extra practice. Mom arranged for me to get a key." She smiled. "It's nice to have connections. Want to come?"
Christine shook her head. "I'm just going to go back to our apartment and curl up in the fetal position, thanks," she muttered. "I've had enough ballet for today."
Meg nodded sympathetically. "Poor gal. You'll get the hang of those combos, I'm sure."
"Thanks, Meggy." Christine said as she pushed herself to her feet. "Don't be too late. Another early day tomorrow."
"Gotcha." Meg winked.
Giving Christine a tight hug goodbye, she quickly headed off to the studio.
Outside the Populaire – Fifteen minutes later
Adam crouched in the shadows outside the Populaire as he looked through the window of the dance studio. He found himself hypnotized by the girl whirling in a blur of strawberry-blond hair before him.
She wore very little in the way of clothing, moved with the grace of a cat, and could stretch her lovely slender legs in a way he had never seen.
He had watched this girl before. Several times, in fact, when she had been attending Ravelle College, and knew she was close with his older brother's Christine.
Her name, he now recalled, was Megan Giry.
Adam clutched at the windowpane as his body ached in response to her. Surely this girl knew he was watching! Surely she was dancing for his benefit!
A pretty thing, she was. He hated pretty things. But this… this pretty thing was different. THIS pretty thing he wanted to keep all to himself.
His fingers desperately tried to find an opening between the window and the frame. He had to go to her. Had to touch her.
A firm grip clamped down hard on Adam's shoulder, swinging him around to come face to face with...
"Erik!" Adam gasped as he looked up to see his ungrateful sibling.
Erik cocked his head, golden eyes cold as he regarded the younger boy. "Who are you and how do you know my name?"
Adam said nothing, simply shaking his head.
"WHO ARE YOU!" Erik demanded again, his free hand reaching out in an attempt to snatch the mask from Adam's face.
The younger man tore himself away from Erik with a primal scream, mask still in place as his hands desperately reached into the pocket of his cloak.
The rope was around Erik's neck before he could blink.
Adam glared at the taller man before him, pulling, tugging. Watching as Erik desperately tried to get his fingers beneath the rope.
Adam smiled as the man's pale skin grew blue, the whites of his eyes filling with blood.
But that was not all he saw as he watched the man's suffering, for there was something else. Something wonderful.
This was the emotion that gave Adam power. THIS was the emotion he so enjoyed feeding off of.
Erik fell to his knees and yanked hard on the rope, sending Adam off his feet and stealing away the boy's moment of triumph.
"No… you … you can't deny me!" he cried out. He tried to tighten his grip, but it had slackened enough for Erik to get two fingers beneath the noose and pull the rope over his head.
"I SAW it!" Adam pointed out desperately as he hugged the neglected rope against his chest. "I SAW it in your eyes. For only a moment… but I SAW!" He wagged a finger in shame. "Oh, Father would not approve of his older son! Oh no… no he would NOT APPROVE."
Adam continued muttering to himself as he stumbled off into the darkness, glancing back once to see Erik attempting to climb unsuccessfully to his feet, only to collapse unmoving upon the ground.
The prone man quickly faded from view as Adam made his way back to Laramie Drive.
Erik's basement – the next night
Erik was startled awake by the ringing of his cell phone. "Hello?" he began, his voice rough and raspy.
"Erik?" came Christine's worried response. "What's wrong? You sound terrible!"
Erik swallowed through the constriction in his throat, a hand going to his neck. "A cold," he lied.
"A cold? But you've never been sick before!"
"I am now!" he snapped harshly, the raising of his voice only resulting in pain.
"I… I'm sorry, Erik…" Christine replied softly. "I just-"
"No… it… it's ok, angel…" he wheezed softly. "Forgive me. I … I'm just not used to being ill."
"Want me to take care of you?" she asked. "Our workshop is over for the day. I can be there in an hour. I'll bring you some chicken soup or something."
"No, beloved. I do not want you to get ill as well. It's best you stay away until I'm healthy."
"But-"
"PLEASE, Christine," he gasped out. "Just be a good girl. Don't worry about me. I've nursed myself through much worse." He broke away to cough harshly, then turned back to the phone. "Promise me you'll do as I say?"
Christine was hesitant. "O-ok, Erik. If you don't want me to see you until you're feeling better, then I won't." She was silent a moment. "I love you."
"And I love you."
"I'll call you tomorrow, ok?"
"Of course." Erik replied. The two said their good-byes and disconnected.
Erik pushed himself to his feet, grasping onto his night table for support as he headed into the washroom.
One look in the mirror almost made him ill.
It was enough he looked like Death on a good day, but now, his golden eyes were stained red with broken blood vessels, the sockets looking more sunken in than normal.
Wincing, he ran his fingers over his throat, the dark black bruises blotting out his pale white skin.
Despite the wrenching pain in his body and blinding headache that threatened to tear apart his skull, Erik was alert enough now to realize the boy who had attacked him was the culprit in the recent murders.
The rope and the fact he was watching Little Meg Giry through the window all but proved that.
Erik only wished he had been on his guard, for though he wanted to stop executing, just this once he would have gladly ended that boy's life.
Populaire Dance Studio – the next week
"Christine, the pirouette should be to the left, en dedans, and landing on the count of four, not five," said Giselle with a sigh.
Christine nodded, her heart heavy. When she wasn't in the same group as Meg, she found it difficult to relax and count. She worried that other people were watching her, specifically watching her make mistakes. Ms. LeFleur had already corrected her during the adagio section and the center tendu combination. No one was getting as much attention as she was, and the negativity was wearing Christine out.
"Really Christine, you need to think. Use your head! You can't just come in here and prance about in front of the mirror with a pretty leotard on and hope to have some kind of career!"
Christine saw Meg clasp her hands and look down. She nodded again at her ballet mistress and kept her gaze averted.
"Perhaps you should be in the back of the group next time, so that you don't accidentally land on one of your classmates who can count?"
Giselle waved the next group on, and Meg tried to give Christine a comforting squeeze as she ran out to the floor. Christine wished the ground would just open up and swallow her whole.
Air ducts
Erik made a fist with his right hand as he watched the scene below him. Christine wasn't showing it, but he knew she was trying very hard not to cry at the emotional abuse she was receiving.
How DARE this Giselle say such things to his beloved?
Christine had told him her ballet mistress had made it her mission to point out every little physical imperfection since the first day she had arrived.
Erik had had to remind Christine that there was nothing wrong with her body - he had, after all, studied every lovely inch of it extensively and had found no flaws whatsoever.
Regardless, he was sure to have the girl crying on his shoulder tonight now that he was able to see her, his injuries having finally healed after a few days of recuperation.
He was grateful no one was the wiser as to the reason for his sudden 'illness' and had since informed Antoinette of his suspicions and the possible danger to her daughter.
That was one problem. The other problem still stood below him in the dance studio.
Giselle LeFleur.
A cold smirk played upon Erik's lips.
Perhaps it was time the Populaire had found a ghost of its own.
Populaire housing apartments – late that evening
Meg walked into the apartment she shared with Christine only to find Erik sitting upon the couch in front of the television.
"Erik? What are you-"
"Never fear, Little Giry. No one saw me," Erik interrupted quietly.
It was then that Meg noticed a sleeping Christine currently lying on the couch and using Erik's velvet-covered leg as a pillow.
"Of course," Meg replied, realizing that no one would ever see Erik arriving - or leaving – unless he wanted them to. "Is Chrissy ok?"
Erik looked down at his sleeping angel and soothingly ran his fingers through her blonde locks. "She called me in tears tonight. I came immediately. I do not recall ever seeing Christine cry like that before."
Meg nodded and sat on the chair to the left. "Giselle was pretty hard on her today. I'm surprised Chrissy didn't go running from the room." She then smirked a little. "Although something funny happened after class. Giselle found her bag – pointe shoes, street clothes, everything – dumped in the shower and soaking wet. She had to go home in her leotard."
Meg let out a soft laugh. "When she asked who did it, everyone denied it - we were all in class at the time. Someone made a joke that it must have been a gho-" She stopped, her eyes immediately going to Erik. "HEY!"
"Well, you know those old buildings." Erik replied. "Is it any surprise that there are ghosts about?"
"Erik!"
"And I might suggest you don't make a habit of practicing too late, though that is a completely unrelated concern."
"What do you mean?" Meg asked.
"I think you have found yourself a dangerous admirer. I caught him watching you through the studio window last week.," Erik explained.
Meg nodded. "Oh, yeah… Momma mentioned something about that." She glanced at Erik nervously. "What did he look like?"
"He wore a mask." Erik replied simply.
Meg furrowed her brow. "You mean, there's some creepy guy OTHER than you running around with a mask on?"
"I am quite serious, girl. Heed my advice. I may not be around should he come back again."
Meg nodded. "Ok. I'll take your word for it. If you get bad vibes from this guy, then he must be bad news."
Erik did not feel the need to tell Meg that the aforementioned boy had recognized him. That alone was enough for Erik to find concern.
"Come, Little Giry. Help me put Christine to bed. She was exhausted and I do not wish to wake her." Erik slid Christine's head off his lap as he pushed to a stand, then bent over the couch and lifted her carefully. "Which room is hers?" he asked, indicating the two bedrooms – an added bonus for Meg and Christine.
Meg led him to Christine's room and he placed her gently on the bed, stepping away and turning his back. "Help her change. Let me know when you are done."
"Like you haven't already seen her naked," Meg muttered.
Erik froze, a hand fisting at his side. "This is the second time you have made a comment eluding to my physical relationship with Christine," he hissed. "I was not aware she had told you."
"She didn't come right out an say it, no," Meg explained. "But I saw the look on her face the day after you had your little tussle with Bobby. I mean, Chrissy spending the night in your room was nothing new, but it didn't take a genius to figure out you two did a lot more than just snuggle that particular night." She then offered Erik a small smile. "Don't worry, I promised Chrissy that I wouldn't tell Sorelli or Jammes."
"I see. Thank you for that then," he answered.
Meg shook her head. "You're something else, Erik. The guys I know would be shouting it from the rooftops."
"The 'guys' you know are hormonally driven college boys who have no sense of discretion," Erik noted.
"Good point. I need to take a page out of Chrissy's book and find me an older man," Meg joked. "Now help me here. I promise I won't tell her you looked."
After a few minutes, Christine was in a fresh pair of pajamas and tucked comfortably in her bed. Erik crouched down beside her, brushing a strand of golden hair off her forehead.
"What is it?" Meg asked when she noticed Erik contemplating Christine.
"I am just amazed how she can be a mature woman one moment, and yet seem so child-like the next," he mused softly.
"Yeah. Chrissy's funny like that," Meg replied, then glanced over to Erik. "That's one of the things you love about her, isn't it?"
Erik was saved from answering as Christine's blue eyes fluttered opened. "Sorry. Did I fall asleep?" she asked.
"You were completely out. We took good care of you though." Meg winked.
Christine furrowed her brow and looked down at herself, noticing her change of clothes.
"Oh… man… I feel like I'm five again," she muttered.
"I'll leave you two alone," Meg said as she headed to the door. "But I don't want to hear any funny sounds coming from this room!" She nearly withered under Erik's icy glare and quickly made herself scarce.
With a sigh, Erik sat upon the edge of Christine's bed. She crawled out from under the blankets and curled herself up in his lap.
"Erik, I need you to be honest with me." She met his eyes. "Do you think I have what it takes to be a professional ballerina?"
"You wish me to be honest, Christine, and I will be." He brushed his fingers gently over her throat. "THIS is where your greatest talent is – in your voice."
He slid his arms around her waist. "If you are looking for a profession, then I suggest you look towards opera." He shrugged. "But ballet is a healthy interest, and the skills you acquire will be useful to you on stage."
A small smile played upon Christine's lips. "Not to mention it makes me really flexible too."
If it was possible, the visible skin beneath Erik's mask grew even paler. "Yes… well…" he cleared his throat nervously. "Flexibility is important. For many reasons."
Christine let out a small laugh and hugged him. "Can you stick around for a bit?"
"Doesn't your workshop start early?" he asked.
Christine nodded, a small frown upon her face. "But I'm wondering if it's worth it now."
"At least it will get you familiar with the lifestyle of a performer at the Populaire. If you wish, I will secure Box Five for the weekend so you may see how rehearsals are carried out on stage."
"Right. I forgot you can do that." She said, then lay her head against his. "You didn't answer my question."
"I will stay until you fall sleep, then leave. I will not have you become victim to Giselle again by being tired in class." He kicked off his boots and lay down.
"Erik?" Christine spoke softly as she curled up beside him. "What really happened to you last week?"
Erik was silent, unsure how to answer.
"You didn't have a cold, did you?" Christine continued as she reached over to slide his mask off his face. "The truth now."
"Occupational hazard," he answered nonchalantly.
She shook her head. "Not good enough. Your voice is still a bit hoarse." Christine ran her fingers down his neck, "And there are faint bruises here." She then touched the darkened spots around his sunken eyes. "And here too."
"How can you tell?" he asked.
"Because I know your body and I know YOU. Something's different today. Something's… off." She said. "What happened, Erik?"
Erik glanced away, realizing now there was nothing he could keep from Christine.
He had never anticipated such a possibility – that someone would ever pay close enough attention to him to notice when something was wrong.
Christine's intuition would be heightened now that their relationship had progressed to the physical. She knew him as no one else ever had - or ever would.
Erik closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again and met her eyes, he realized he had to tell her. "Christine…"
"Yes?"
He gathered her against him and buried his face against her neck, his voice barely above a whisper.
"For the first time in my life, I feared death."
END OF EPISODE 44