When Raoul entered the drawing room, his eyes glancing around with paranoia and eagerness, I had already been standing as a silent and grim figure for many minutes. I had to breathe in, anxiously pinching my gloved fingers in an attempt to ignore the sickening thudding of my heart. Erik had been gone for some time, and except for the rare glimpse of fiery red I had not seen him since. He had decided for me that it was necessary to separate. After all, if I were recognized, my reputation, although already somewhat tattered, would be absolutely torn to shreds. He believed that somehow, in all of their incompetence, the managers would know, and the Opera Ghost and his protégé would be revealed.
Raoul had done exactly as told, but I didn't recognize him only by his white domino. The long, boyish locks I had grown so accustomed to seeing over the years fell gracefully along the sides of his mask. God preserve us, I thought, forcing my legs to steady and walk towards him. Gently, I squeezed the tips of his fingers. He spun in my direction, jogging up to me while asking frantically:
"Is that you, Christine?" I cringed at his carelessness, and stopped for a moment to motion for his silence.
We were nearly to our destination when the scare of my life grabbed me by the throat, stealing my breath. Far into the ball room stood Erik, draped in his macabre suit and standing coolly among a crowd of enthusiastic admirers. Raoul stood still, leaning forward ever so slightly as though he meant to charge towards my angel. I grabbed him quickly by the sleeve of his coat, dragging him up two flights of stairs. What on earth had possessed him to still like that? Had Erik seen him? Had he…had he recognized him? My head throbbed painfully with panic.
When we reached the private box I pushed him to the back, shushing him and warning him not, under any circumstances, to reveal himself. I put my ear to the door, listening intently for the sound of Erik, but remembered with dismay that he carried no sound with him. No, his movements were light and cat-like; even his boots would not give him away. Opening the door ajar, I looked across either side of the hallway, and in a final check scanned the steps above me. All I saw was a strip of Erik's flaming cape before I shut the door, breathing raggedly and muttering rather loudly to myself:
"He went up higher! He-he's coming back down!"
"It's him!" Raoul cried, striding towards me and making for the door. "This time he won't escape!" My friend was terribly angry with whomever he thought I was speaking of, and I could only narrow my eyes in confusion.
"Whom do you speak of? Who will not escape you?" He tried to push past me, but I flung my arms across the door. If Raoul went for Erik I knew beyond a doubt that he would be killed. And I…Well, I did not want to think of how he would deal with me after such a betrayal.
"Who?" His eyes flashed. "Don't play games with me, Christine! It is your friend, your angel of music! The one who hides behind that grotesque mask of death, and whose bony face was my final sight at the Perros graveyard!" He paused to draw in a shaky breath. "I will unmask him, mademoiselle. And we will stand face to face with no veils or lies, and I will finally know who loves you and whom you love!"
My eyes widened at his last bitter statement. Whom I love? What had made him say such a thing? I felt no love for my captor! I-I…But even my mind I could not say that I hated Erik, not even that I disliked him. My mind quickly drew the over used conclusion of pity. Yes, I felt pity for Erik and nothing more. That was I had returned, and why I would continue to do so. Pity for poor, unhappy Erik.
Raoul dodged once more for the door, but I had made a barrier with my arms and would not budge for all the world. "Raoul, if you love me at all, you will not try for this handle again!" He took a step back, glaring at me with a mixture of hurt and annoyance.
"I loved you once, mademoiselle Daae, or I believed I did." He gave a terrible, almost drunken laugh. "Can you imagine? There was a time when I had only one goal in life: to give my name to a common ballet rat!" He sunk the floor, blinding out the world around him by sticking him palms to his eyes. "Oh, I'll die of shame!"
Tears were flowing freely down my pale visage, sticking between the velvet of my domino and my own flesh. He loved me…and he thought it shameful. I felt a surge of anger.
"I risked my life to see you tonight, and you have done nothing but berate and mock me." My voice was as cold as my trembling body. "Farewell, Raoul. I fear I will never see you again." He continued his sarcasm by catching me at the door.
"Oh, but you must let me come and applaud you from time to time!" I froze, and turned coolly to face him.
"I will never sing again," I shot back, thinking of my confinement.
"Really?" he asked satirically. "So, he has decided to take you off the stage? Well, you have my congratulations, but surely we will meet again for an evening in the Bois!"
"No, my friend, not in the Bois or anywhere else. I will never see you again." He seemed to calm, or at least pour out a few drops of concern into his next words.
"Ah…will you tell me then, at least, to what darkness you are returning? For what hell, or should I say paradise?" I nearly scoffed. Now he would settle for information.
"I came here tonight to answer that question. I came here to put your inquisitive mind to rest because I care about you, and I do not like to think you are worrying. But I see now that you have lost faith in me, my friend. I will not ask you to share my burden. Farewell." His mouth parted as his eyes filled with an angry concern.
"Can't you at least tell me what all this means? You seem so free, going for carriage rides and coming to this ball. Yet, your frightened, constrained. Who is this angel of music?" His voice began to rise. "Mama Valerius believes your tale because she has never expected you to lie to her, and I was as taken in as she! But you are deceiving us, Christine, and it isn't fair! What is the game you're playing?"
"This isn't a game, Raoul, this is a tragedy!" Tragedy— Such a fitting word. Erik was a tragedy, our encounter was a tragedy, and now my confinement had raised the bar. I took off my mask as I sunk against the door. His gasp startled me, and I looked to him.
"Oh, my darling!" he moaned. "I-I am sorry!" Did I truly look so terrible? Perhaps my face was paler… and I hadn't gotten much sleep…
"Can you forgive me?" He pleaded with me, and I knew I had no choice but to forgive his harshness. After all, these past two weeks must have startled him, and who knows what had gone through his mind from the first time he heard me speak of my angel.
"Yes…" I said softly, gravely. "Now, farewell." To my surprise, he did not follow me as I fled down the hallway. Once I had turned the corner I let out a painful moan. I had risked my life only to make him more confused, but what else could I have done? Raoul was still only a boy, I realized. He was rash and unthinking, and I could not have trusted him to keep my secret.
I made my way to my dressing room, sat in the little stool near my mirror, and waited for Erik's arrival. I was exhausted, mentally and physically, and I let my head fall against my arms, resting them on my dresser. My eyes had been shut for some time before I heard a soft, lulling melody from inside the walls. Though faint, I would recognize it anywhere.
"I'm here, Erik," I reassured him, and then smiled sleepily. "You're the one who's late." His singer grew louder, perhaps bolder, and I swayed lightly to its familiar tune. Then the clink of the mirror opening reached my ears, and I got up.
Destiny has chained you to me forever!
His voice rang out clear, and he repeated the line with possessive force until I stood before him. His hand had been outstretched, but he retracted it, as always, figuring even his gloved hand would disgust me. My eyes softened at this revelation. Poor Erik!
His eyes glowed as bright as his costume in the surrounding darkness, and I knew that he did not wear the death mask. For a moment we looked at one another in the silence I decided to eventually break.
"Did…did you have a nice time?" My voice was frail, nervous, and I felt suddenly silly. He nodded stiffly.
"Yes, it was rather…interesting. And how did you fare in the world of the living?" His voice was gentle, joking.
"My night was uneventful," I lied quickly, feeling my cheeks growing warm.
"That is understandable. There were few activities, besides the occasional dance. I am sorry I took so long in getting back." He paused. "Perhaps next year we can goas a couple. Will you promise to save me a dance, mademoiselle?" He mocked me, I knew, but there was a strange longing well concealed in his voice that made my heart soften.
"Of course," I said softly, taking a step away from the mirror and closer his side. His eyes bore into me, but he broke the contact with a quick:
"We should head home."
I nodded, and as we walked down the catacombs I could not help but notice his heavily gloved hands. They teased me, seemed to reach out to me with every swinging moment to ask, "May I have this dance?" They were dark and lonely, but strangely inviting. Poor Erik, his own mother had never been so kind. Has he ever been held? I caught myself thinking, and also, gloved hands are not death hands; they are not sickly, are they? No, I answered, they are not.
Quickly, without thinking of a motive or consequence, I gently snaked my hand in his, leather on silk, and entwined our fingers. He jerked around so suddenly and with such force that my breath caught in my throat, and I stumbled slightly. Had I offended him? I tried to drop my hand, but he held to it like a lost child clinging to their favorite stuffed toy.
We were both at a loss for words, and I looked helplessly to Erik who continued to stare at our hands. It was one of the few times I had ever seen him rendered speechless, and although I felt no fear, my heart pounded with an uncomfortable feeling. When he finally did speak, his words were so slow and quiet I could hardly comprehend him.
"Why…why would you…"
"I'm sorry," I said quickly, "I didn't—" But he didn't let me finish, and continued almost pathetically:
"You would…take my hand?"
"Well, yes," I said frankly, unwilling to say it had been because he wore gloves. He nodded softly, almost tremulously, and his palm rubbed against mine as he pressed our hands together. Even in the darkness I knew he was weeping silently, and when I heard his last words before we began our journey again, I was crying, too.
"Thank you."
A/N: Um, hey guys. -Laughs nervously- I know you all probably hate me right now, because it HAS been forever in a day since I updated, but I don't know what to say except sorry. Losing interest isn't exactly an excuse, but it is what happened, so… Anyway, I'm back now. I got over my Star Wars obsession, and my hatred of Christine and new love for Erik/Meg fics, lol. I don't know what to make of this chapter except that I found it awkward, probably OOC especially towards the end, and I realize that I am veering from the original story now. Raoul wasn't in it very much, because I didn't want to write about him and I'm lazy, so sorry for that. ;) Anyway, your feedback on this chapter is really needed, so please review! Thank you all for being patient and continuing to read!
Quiet2885—Thank you so much, I'm glad I got more into Leroux with that last chapter. Also, you were I think the only one to be nice about Christine's reaction to Erik's mask, so hugs for that! –hugs-
Allegratree—Lol, I didn't even realize Nadir was a Susan Kay name, but he's the daroga. Thanks for being too tired to flame! ;)
Caroline—Okay, I am going to flame YOU for being an IDIOT! What the heck kind of a review was that! You're obviously ignorant, or unable to read, because I posted in the summary that this is a Leroux based fic. Now, if you know anything about Phantom, which you obviously don't, you would know that Leroux's Erik only had a full black mask. Don't like, don't read—it's that simple. I don't care what your preference is, and I certainly don't care if you read this story or not. Alright, I'm done with my honorary B fit.
Reading Redhead—Thank you! And yeah, if you thought I was evil before, I'm pretty sure you think I'm the devil by now. Haha!
Wendela—Lol, I click the review button too quickly a lot, so I sympathize. I'm sorry I deleted your fav line, I'll go back and put it in for you, because I do think she would be lonely, despite the reason for her return. Aww, of course you can save this story, thank you! Yeah, I know the mask thing was hokey, lol, but I'm too lazy to think of a scene to replace it. ;) You wrote a Leroux based fic! I am SO reading it! Please give me the link, or can I find it on here? I'll go look!
Blaze—Yes, as a matter of fact, I DO believe you made the record book! ;) I giggled at my own stupidity after reading this review. Yes, Erik's a liar. Lol. I'll have to go back and change that. And I also went back and re-read the part where Christine kind of accuses Erik of murder, and I hated it. It went really fast, was random, and your right when you say that Christine never had a reason to believe Erik was a killer. So, I should have it changed by the time you read this. About his Red Death costume…cough Well, Gerry's was hotter. ;) Ack, be nice to Raoul, I know…hehe. Well, I kinda sorta tried, but I have a feeling this chapter will be heavily critiqued anyway, so lay it on me! ;)
Miranda7911—Thank you, you made a really good point with Christine's nonchalant response to the doorbell ringing near the end of the book. I've gone back and changed it, so yeah…
Also, big thank you's to: Red Rose, Chocolate Covered Icicles, Clever Lass, H. Sibelius, and Mini Nicka.