Chapter Summary: Erik struggles with the darkness of the lair that always calls to him. Christine struggles with the her own darkness - and cousin Henri. And the family receives word of what has happened to Raoul.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Erik looked at the small black gnats dancing across his music paper, scowling at them as if they were disobedient children who could understand his anger. He looked at them as if by mere thought he could force them to do as he wished. No, Erik shook his head; to make them do what he was being paid to make them do.
"Ahhh!" Erik screamed through clenched teeth as one arm swept the pages off the piano to scatter onto the floor where they joined their brothers. Erik got to his feet, every line and angle of his body telegraphing his fury and irritation. He stalked back and forth across the living area of the garret he called home, his long strides easily covering the small distance. His arms lashed out at the few personal items he had collected in the last two years, his feet kicking at the papers littering the floor. He finally paused in his irritated rambling to look out one of the dormer windows, his lips pursing into a thin, tight line.
It was daylight. The sun was shining outside the windows and he was stuck in these damn rooms that nearly floated amongst the clouds. Erik stomped over to the two windows, pulling the heavy shades closed, each in turn. He eschewed the gas fixtures and, instead, walked to the small stove. He yanked a straw from the nearby broom, lifting a heavy cast iron lid from the stove, placing the straw into the dwindling fire. Erik carefully withdrew the lighted straw, cupping the flame with his hand and began to move about the room. Anywhere he found a wax taper he lightly touched the straw to the wick. Soon the whole room was bathed in the soft glow from flickering candles. Erik looked around himself and sighed as he blew out the flame at the end of the remaining straw. Now he could work. The light was gone and he was back in the dark.
He was back in his lair.
Erik walked across the room and, once again, took a seat at the piano. He retrieved the quill from the inkwell, holding it in his hand, staring at the paper.
"Shortly Meg and I will be celebrating our first wedding anniversary," Valery had told him. " I would like to present her with something unique."
Erik lightly touched the tip of the quill to the paper.
"Would you be so gracious as to compose a piece of music that I might give to her as my present?" Valery had asked.
Erik closed his eyes, the tip of the quill tapping lighting against the paper.
"Something that is light and airy and joyous." Valery had smiled. "Much like my little Meg."
Erik tried to shut out the world much as he had shut out the daylight from his lofty perch.
"I will pay you handsomely for your efforts," Valery had assured him.
Erik drew forth a picture of Meg in his mind. He saw her with her bright smile and laughing eyes. There was a scratch from the quill. He saw her swirling around, her blonde hair flying about her, as she danced on the stage. There was another scratch. He saw her happy in her life. Another scratch. He saw her compassionate side as she always reached out to those in need - to him. Another scratch. He heard her giggling as she shared secrets with another young woman with long dark hair ... and dark glowing eyes ... and the voice of an angel ... The point of the quill broke through the note paper.
"Damn it," Erik muttered as he opened his eyes. "Damn it, damn it, damn it." He flung the quill away in disgust.
Erik stood and blew out all the candles as he crossed the room. He paused by the door, reaching for the fedora hanging on a hook. He placed it on his head, drawing the brim down over the right side of his face. He had heard whispers from young ladies on the street that wearing his hat in such a way made him look "rakish". Erik did not know that he wished to be considered a "rake" but he was anxiously content to be able to move about in public and if a simple hat allowed him to do just that, then so be it. He slipped on a light jacket and left the small attic garret he called home. He walked down the back stairs, pausing at the bottom to listen to the hum from the small shop that took up the first floor. It sounded busy and Erik currently wanted no part of the world so he slipped out the back door.
Here in the shadows created by the buildings lining the alley, Erik felt at home. It was cool and it was shaded and it was dark. Erik felt a strange comfort began to envelope him as he moved down the shadowed alley. He would always be grateful for the care and kindness shown to him, the effort put forth to drag him from his own depths, raising him up to live near the clouds. Antoinette and Meg had done their best to protect him and to guide him and to teach him about the world he had so long been denied. They had tried but Erik was still not comfortable with the world, with their happiness, with the light. He, too, had tried to be like other people; but the pull of the darkness, the echo of the memories that lived within the darkness still reached out to him, keeping their cold tendrils wrapped tightly around his soul.
Erik continued to walk, exiting the alley and quickly crossing the small, sunny park at the end to enter into the woods that led to Madame Giry's house. Whenever he felt the world closing in upon him, Erik would head for the sun-dappled woods. The woods represented a compromise between the dark of the lair that called to him and the bright universe the beckoned to him. There were bright spots of sun mixed in amongst the shadows - much like his current life.
"My life," Erik snorted as he paused to lean back against a sturdy tree, closing his eyes, seeing the last image he had seen before storming from his garret. "Christine," came the pained whisper as Erik slowly slid down the tree to sit on the cool ground.
He opened his palms and looked at them, slowly curling them into tight fists. He wished he could close his ears as tightly as he closed his hands for he could hear Christine's angelic voice ringing in the corridors of his mind. The sound of her drowned out all other thoughts, her face covered all other faces. Erik could not think of Meg, could not see her face, could not hear the song that was her life over the one face, the one song that always haunted him. He closed his eyes, bending his head to his knees, giving in to the music that haunted the corridors of his mind. Erik listened to the soft melody that gradually swelled to harmonics that could make the angels cry. He fought down the urge to press his hands against his ears as the harmonics crescendoed into screams that felt as if a thousand demons were dancing in his mind.
"How long must you haunt me?" he muttered painfully through clenched teeth. Erik knew the answer even as he spoke the words.
The memory of Christine would haunt him until the end of his days. She would be there in his arms, the easy in and out of her breathing matching his own. Her voice would sing in his mind, finding its way into every note he would place onto paper. He would see the twinkle of her eyes in the stars that shone overhead each night. The softness of her lips would touch his skin in the gentle breezes that blew past. She would dance through his dreams at night and walk by his side during the day. Christine would always be with him. She would be his every heartbeat, the very life blood that flowed through his veins. She would be there because he loved her. He had loved her and lost her. Erik would always wonder at what he could never have and knew that was why Christine would haunt him till the day he died.
"Christine." Erik opened his eyes even as he opened his hands. "I love you." He willed away the tears that always accompanied her memory, forcing down the emotions the physically shook his body. It took a few moments but Erik finally composed himself. He sighed, rising to his feet, feeling the ache in his knees as he finally straightened. Erik ignored the pain as he - once again - began to move through the woods, his strides long and purposeful.
Erik moved quickly through the woods, his long legs easily covering the ground between the village and Madame Giry's home. He moved quickly through the shadows that grew darker as the canopy overhead grew thicker. He fought down the urge to run for he knew he could not outrun the monster that nipped at his heels; Erik knew he could not outrun himself. He continued to walk through the woods, the normally comforting music of Nature unable this day to break through the music that pounded insistently inside his mind. Erik paused for a moment in the deep shadows at the center of the woods letting the cool, damp darkness wash over him in a strange comfort. He inhaled the damp mustiness of continual decay, the familiar odor calming the throbbing in his veins. Erik spread wide his arms as if to gather the moment to himself, to hold to it, to hold to something peaceful and reassuring. As his arms slowly lowered, a smile crossed Erik's face as he finally began to hear the music of the woods, the darkness unfolding the pain about his soul, opening it up to the world that waited..
He began to walk from the darkness at the center of the woods, heading for the light that beckoned at the edges. Erik moved slowly but with no less purpose, the monster at this heels slowly disappearing back from where it had come. He welcomed the sun as it broke through the leafy branches overhead, enjoying the warmth of it on his cool skin. There were still shadows on the ground to match the shadows on his heart but the light was breaking through, chasing away the painful memories that tormented him and leaving only the aching lightness of hopes and dreams that could never be.
Erik had reached the edge of the woods and he paused to look into the expanse of the back garden that reached toward Madame Giry's house. He stood in the remaining shadows, knowing he was not visible, watching the scene of every day life that played out before his eyes.
Antoinette, dressed in her ever present black, had a long basket over one arm and she was bending over a well-manicured flower bed. Her hands reached in and a long flower was snipped and placed in the basket, adding to the riot of color that gleamed against the darkness of her clothing. She straightened and turned to the girl who knelt on the ground behind her. She must have said something that Erik could not hear for Tallis raised her head and smiled up at Antoinette.
Erik closed his eyes at the brightness of that smile, his hand reaching out for the strength of a nearby tree. He opened his eyes again to see the two women laughing, the sound of it carried along on a stray breeze. Erik studied Tallis as the music of her laughter penetrated the music that had played in his mind all morning, chasing away some of his ever present pain. He noted the way the sun gleamed off the golden highlights in her brown hair, making it seem as if she wore the halo of an angel; Erik shook away that memory. His artist's eyes admired the way her chin gently flowed into the curve of her neck; his eyes tracing the lines of her body as they swelled into the softness that caused her bodice to move easily with each breath. Erik smiled as Tallis lowered her head only to toss it back, her loose hair flying about her shoulders, a wide smile on her full lips. Antoinette extended a hand to the young woman and Tallis took it, rising to her feet, brushing the dirt from the knees of her skirt. Erik's fingers curled as he remembered another day in the garden, a man and a woman brushing dust from themselves. The blood began to rush through his veins again and Erik turned away from the two women who were walking arm-in-arm back to the house; he felt evil for watching them.
"I cannot do this to her," he said in an angry tone to the surrounding woods. "I cannot do this to another human being again." The sound of a door closing reached his ears. "I will not do it to her." Erik turned his back on Madame Giry's house and garden, walking back into the dark depths of the woods.
The dark depths of his own soul.
And the woman who so haunted Erik's every waking moment, forever pulling him into the darkness was also feeling the darkness pulling at her as she paced back and forth across a thick Persian rug. It was the darkness brought on by the fears that always held her so tightly. It was the darkness and the fears from which she did not know how to escape. The darkness and the fears from which only one person had ever been able to rescue her.
"Why has he not come home yet?" Christine asked for the hundredth time as she paused to glance at the mantle clock. "It is been hours!" She resumed pacing.
Monique watched the younger woman, a worried look on her face. She and Xavier had arrived an hour ago to have dinner with Philippe and his family. They had entered the house expecting to find the usual warmth that always welcomed them only to find tension exuding from the very walls. It had taken but a moment with Philippe to discover that Raoul and Christine had had a huge disagreement that morning, Raoul storming out, leaving his wife in tears. Xavier and Philippe had disappeared into his study and Monique had sought out Christine in the hopes of offering some comfort to the distressed wife.
"Raoul has always found comfort on the back of horse," Monique tried. "I am sure he is just riding until the anger disappears."
"It has been over five hours!" Christine exclaimed and sank into a nearby chair, a hand going to her neck. "What if something is wrong? What if the horse threw him? What if ..."
Monique stood and walked over to Christine, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You must not do that," she said. "Raoul is a grown man and one of the finest horsemen I have ever known." She gave Christine a small smile. "He can also be stubborn and impossible, as I am sure you are perfectly aware and may not know how to apologize for raising his voice to you. I am sure he is just finding the words to say to you as he walks the horse home."
"Do you think so?" Christine's eyes were wide and full of worry.
"I am sure of it," Monique tried, her attention distracted by the sound of a door opening. "I shall go," she quickly told Christine and crossed the room. Monique opened the parlor doors and looked out into the hallway. She sighed and closed the door, turning back to an anxious Christine. "It is just Henri and Didier."
"Oh Lord," Christine whispered as she placed her head into her hands. "Raoul, please come home!"
The door to the parlor opened and Christine raised her head, her hopeful look quickly disappearing as Didier entered the room. He paused in the doorway, the fading feeling of expectation assailing his senses.
"I am sorry," Didier said. "I did not know anyone was here." He looked at Christine whose chin was trembling and then at his aunt who looked decidedly displeased with him. "I will leave."
"One moment," Monique told him as she crossed to his side, lowering her voice. "Where is Henri and how much have you both had to drink this day?"
Didier looked in those stern violet eyes and knew better then to attempt a lie. "I have spent most of the day riding - not drinking. I do not know how much Henri has had to drink for I only met up with him as I began to climb the front stairs. And Henri was drawn aside by Monsieur Weldon as we entered."
At that moment Henri was sitting in a wing chair, his legs crossed, studying his fingernails with feigned disinterest. It was only the angry glint in his hooded eyes that betrayed what he was truly feeling as a servant dared to lecture him.
"And if I ever hear another word that you pressed unwanted attentions upon Madame," Arthur was saying, "I shall see to it that Monsieur le Comte hears of it."
"If any of this is even true," Henri began and raised his eyes, a smirk on his face, "how would you know they were unwanted?"
Arthur leaned forward from where he rested against the edge of the desk. "I know more than you realize," he replied softly.
Henri stood, the anger on face glowing dangerously. He raked his eyes over Arthur. "What makes you think my cousin will believe anything you say? You are a servant!"
Arthur also stood. "I am trusted in this household. Can you say the same?"
The two men stood quietly, glaring at each other.
"Fah!" Henri spit out, a hand waving in annoyance. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door open, the sound echoing in the still house.
Another door flew open and Christine burst into the hallway, her eyes desperately searching for a familiar figure. She found only Henri striding toward her. Christine tried to back-pedal from the man who had accosted her the previous afternoon but she was not quick enough and Henri took her arm, pulling her into a nearby room, closing the door behind them. Henri grabbed the frightened woman by the shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh, his back against the door, blocking the way out.
"Let me go!" Christine ordered Henri. "You are hurting me!"
Henri pulled Christine to him, placing his face next to hers. "I am going to do a good deal more than hurt you," he hissed.
"You have been drinking," Christine said as she turned her face.
"That is none of your business!" Henri replied as he quickly whirled Christine around, slamming her back against the door. He pinned her to the door with his body, one hand releasing an arm to grab her face, forcing her to look at him. "You said you would say nothing to anyone about what happened yesterday! I have just been lectured by that damn Weldon fellow and he warned me to stay away from you." He glared at her. "I should kill you now."
"I am going to tell Raoul and he will kill you!" Christine managed to tell Henri past the panic that gripped her.
"You think so?" Henri said as his head moved closer so that he could whisper in Christine's ear. "You are a barren little, low born slut and I do not think there is a person in this family - including my sainted cousin - who would miss you if you were gone."
Christine burst into tears. "I hate you, I hate you," she kept repeating in a whisper, feeling her own anxieties growing in proportion to the hateful words that slipped from Henri's lips.
Henri drew back. "There is a fine line between hate and love," he told Christine, before flinging her to the side and disappearing through the door he opened.
Christine felt the world spin about her and bent over, her arms wrapping protectively about her abdomen. She closed her eyes as the familiar nausea began to roil in her stomach. "I should have let you go," she cried, the falling tears dampening the run beneath her feet. "I should have let you go," Christine repeated and slowly straightened, her eyes opening. The room had stopped spinning but the nausea had not fled. Christine inhaled and exhaled deeply through her nose, feeling the worst of the nausea slowly begin to fade. Her arms had never left their protective position and Christine lowered her gaze to them. "Now it's too late." She shook her head sadly. "Too late, too late." She stood still in the silent room, dark memories crawling forth from the deep recesses of her mind. Christine did not close her eyes for she did not wish to block them out; she knew she could not block them out.
In the lengthening shadows cast by a sun that was beginning to set Christine could see two faces - one haunted by a lifetime of anger, the other haunted by a fear that could consume a lifetime. She could feel the blood begin to pound in her temples as she remembered being ordered to choose between the two men she loved in vastly different ways. Christine raised a single hand to the pulse that throbbed at her temple before allowing it to move to her lips, her fingers playing across the soft skin. She remembered the feel of other lips, hungry, seeking lips, lips that demanded in their desperation. Christine placed two fingers in her mouth, tasting the saltiness of her own tears upon them, remembering the taste of saltiness upon other lips. It was the taste of mingled tears as they had found their way back into each other's arms, cheeks touching, lips meeting, freedom but a few steps away. And she had taken the freedom that was offered by both the men she loved, the freedom to walk away from the darkness and the freedom to love and to be loved.
"I should have let him go," Christine said again. "I should have told him to leave and never look back." Her arms once again wrapped about her abdomen. "What have I done? Oh God, what have I done!" She looked out the window at the shadows being cast upon the well-manicured lawn, seeing the masked face of an angel in their lengthening depths. "How long must you haunt me?" she asked.
"Christine." a voice called to her.
Christine looked toward the open door and saw Monique standing there.
"Are you well?" Monique wondered.
Christine could only shake her head.
Monique crossed the room and took Christine's arm. "You had best come with me," she said.
"Raoul?" Christine asked, the hope evident in her tone.
"Come with me," Monique repeated as she lead Christine into the hallway and toward the entry foyer.
Christine could feel her heart drop as they entered the foyer. Philippe was standing there, Xavier next to him, a hand on his arm. One of the stableboys stood behind them, his head lowered, his hat being run through his hands. Christine's eyes flicked to Henri who was standing at the bottom of the staircase, his back turned to her, Didier at his side. "Oh God," Christine breathed. "Where is Raoul? What's happened?" She let go of Monique's arm and went to Philippe. "Please, Philippe; what has happened?" Philippe would not raise his head and Christine looked down, trying to catch his eye when she noticed a piece of paper in his hand. "What is that?" she wondered. "Philippe?"
Philippe finally raised his head and Christine knew the fear in his eyes was mirrored in her own. "It is a note that was pinned to the saddle of Raoul's horse."
Christine was confused. "What?"
"Raoul's horse came back without him," Philippe replied. "And this note was attached to his saddle." He reached out a numb hand to rest on Christine's arm. "It is a note demanding money for his safe return."
Christine saw the world growing dark before her eyes. "What?" she heard herself ask from a million miles away. She did not feel Monique move up behind her, taking her lightly by the arms. She could barely see Xavier give her a wan smile or his hand tighten in comfort on Philippe's shoulder.
"Christine," Xavier began softly. "It would appear that Raoul has been abducted."