Chapter Seventeen
She had come with him, only this time willingly. All through the descent she never let go of his hand, nor did she try to run away in terror. But he could feel the blood racing and her pulse beat hard against her fingertips. She remained also as calm and cold as he was. Erik had felt the mischievous urge to lead her through the passages full of cobwebs or rats, just to test her. But he soon came to admire her courage rather than tease her for it. Such a strong brave girl. Erik wondered how long it would take for her to crack and finally give in. Or perhaps she already had, and she was trying not to show it. Still, she couldn't yet admit that here in this opera house, he controlled everything.
He was determined to not let her forget that. Again he managed to lead her into his home without letting her see too much. She stepped into his awaiting living room, glancing about in curiosity once more. Erik removed his long cloak, placing it neatly over the arm of a chair. "Welcome home." He said, and watched as her skin crawled at his words. She turned her head around to glance at him. Even then, Erik found the sight of her fascinatingly beautiful. Her natural blond hair fell down to the middle of her back. Her cheeks were flushed but only slightly and she starred at him through blue eyes that had turned into icy daggers toward him. A thin shirt hung lossy over her shoulders and even her large jeans could not hide her shapely figure. She kept looking at him, wondering when he would say something to her. She thought he only meant to make cynical comments at her and degrade her further. But it was just the opposite. Erik stood there gazing at her, all the words in his mouth had dried up.
She finally looked away, and noticed something different on the wall. Over the mantle of the false fireplace, hung the large portrait of Christine. Erik had totally forgotten about it and over these long years he had carelessly lost it. Until Jessalyn had stumbled across it in the cellars. Just the fact she had found it, was proof enough for him. It was simply destiny that had brought her back to him. He loved that picture. It was the perfect image and essences of Christine.
Jessalyn however was put off by it. She shuddered and turned away. "The resemblance is uncanny, is it not?" He remarked, coming behind her. He kept an arm just hovering around her waist, not yet touching her. "Christine wasn't a classic beauty, and that's what I loved about her. She was no more than a simple country girl in fact, with massive potential and inner beauty inside. She shined, already a star before she stepped on stage." He explained. "I taught her because I loved being around that inner beauty. She loved and cared for everyone. She was kind and gracious. That what made her so stunning and attractive to me." Jessalyn sighed gracefully. Erik could see in her the exact same attributed he had described about Christine. Only it seemed she was more isolated with those feelings. He wanted to reach out and stroke her hair. He could spend a life time touch her silky locks and be perfectly content. But he refrained from doing so, knowing that his touch would only cause her to shake in terror.
"You must have loved her very much." Jessalyn stated, letting her head sag down. "More than life itself?"
"I would have died for her." He replied.
"Or murder for her?" She snapped quietly. That stirred his anger. She, like Christine, was very good at trying his patience. But he would not lash out at her. He instead walked away, leaving her to stare bewildered. Even in this room, so close to each other, she could not sense his unshakeable devotion to her. In silence she glanced around, knowing that behind her he watched her every move, until she took a seat on a large chaise. Her body language portrayed signs of frustration and defeat. "Erik, how have you stayed alive for so long? And why don't you want anyone to find you? I must know." She asked him.
Erik expected she would ask this. "Why?"
Jessalyn couldn't even look him in the face. "I need to understand." She begged, in a plaintive voice.
"Are you sure it is you or him, who wants this understanding?" Erik loved her, but he did not trust her. But he was partly to blame for that, he frighten her even though she tried not to show it. And fear had turn Christine against. She had told all the secrets Erik had intrusted to her, to none other than her lover. He didn't want to risk betrayal again. So he remained silent.
"I see. You don't want to tell me. And you'll just make excuses until I stop asking." She retorted. Erik walked slowly toward her, circling under the couch to stand behind her. His hands ready to fly to her shoulders or neck, whichever one tempted him first. Erik hated to admit it, but he was taking advantage of her from a ceratin view. She was brave enough not to run like a scared child away from him, so he used that freedom to get as close to her as he dared. "Than either you are a coward, or you think I'm a threat to you. Me, a mere girl."
Erik leaned closer, letting his hand finally slip over her shoulders, grasping them tightly. "Well, perhaps you don't know how threatening you and your friends are to me. And neither do you seem to realize how much danger you are in right now." He whispered into her ear. She turned to face him, not quite able to free herself entirely of his grip.
"What are you afraid of then? I've kept your secrets as best I could." Her breathing had become heavy, and Erik was so close to her he could feel the waves of warmth she produced caress his neck. "I know what you would do to me . . . " She said timidly now, a lump forming in her throat. "If I betrayed you. Isn't that enough proof that you can tell me what I asked of you? What I need to know Erik." Erik leaned down closer, the tip of his forehead barely touched the top of her hair. He let one of his long slender hands snake down her arm as she stiffened to attention and erect goose bumps greeted his touch. At that moment she knew she was his. She was Beauty, trapped in the Beast's lair and at his command, she would sacrifice everything to him, only to save the lives of her friends. Her tender lips seemed to beckon him closer. He wanted to throw aside the part of him that was still afraid of her. He wanted to kiss her passionately on those gentle lips, consume her with the love and desire that consumed him.
Seeing no evidence of a verbal response from him, she boldly spoke again. "Then why? Why do you delight in torturing me? I need to know the truth!" She demanded.
"Torturing you?" he remarked dryly, knowing that it was she who was torturing him. His hand came up from her arm and went to cup her chin. "I believe you are mistaken." Erik watched as she looked up with him in amazement. Her eyes were so wide that he could see part of his reflection in them. And now he was lost in her gaze. If only her eyes could learn to look at him out of love, not fear.
Then Jessalyn shut her beautiful eyes fiercely as if in pain. When they flashed open again, a hoarse plea came from her parted mouth. "Damn it! I can't take this anymore." And she turned on him like lighting. Before Erik even knew what had happen, Jessalyn's hands had managed to sneak their way right under his mask, touching the scarred flesh underneath and trying to pull it off. Erik's fingers immediately reacted by clenching down on her wrists. She gave a cry of pain but did not stop. Erik could have broken her bones if he wanted. They both realized that fact.
"Please . . . " She intoned. But he would not listen to her childish request. He was absolutely livid with anger. Jess in her effort to try and pull the mask off, she had only pulled Erik closer to her, his elongated torso stretched over the back of the couch. He was almost on top of her, his chest pushing against her soft breasts, crushing them.
"Let go!" he roared at her in fury. In the midst of the struggle, Jessalyn's fingers had managed to explore underneath the mask and shocked dawn on her face which each new deformity they found. The stretched thin skin, and the protruding skull underneath, the raw scars and wounds and the hole where the nose should have been. She had felt what she had not seen. Erik pressed harder, not caring what kind of pain she was in. He felt the strings that held his mask in place start to loosen and then finally snapped off. Jessalyn fell backwards from the pressure, still clutching his mask. Erik turned holding his hands over his face, cursing her. Hot salty tears flowed down his face. She talked about how she would never betray him. How wrong she was. He could hear her crying as well and through his fingers over his eyes, he could see her coming up to her feet and crossing round the couch to see his huddled form.
His mask rested in her hands. She was shaking all over and tears flowed freely down her cheeks, forming drops on her chin which eventually feel to the floor. He was certain she hadn't seen anything, but she knew. She opened her trembling mouth, trying to speak. But he would not hear any of it. "I....I...."
"Give it back!" He demanded in a fierce growl that resonated making her jump. She tip-toed toward him, holding out the black piece of leather in her hand. It trembled in her grasp. "Drop it there." He instructed. "And go away!" Without hesitation she dropped the mask feet in front of him. But she did not look away, until he glared at her as best he could. "Go away!" he repeated. She turned her back toward him, a remorseful look in her eye. Certain now she was not looking at him, he grabbed his mask back swiftly replacing it over his face.
"I'm sorry. " She whispered. "Truly I am." Erik didn't know what to say to her. He got to his feet, still having to hold the mask in place by his hand. "I'm not afraid." She admitted, taking a deep breath and straightening herself.
"Lair . . . " he hissed under his breath. He stood, his back crouched over and then turn his head to her, slowly and sinisterly. "You mademoiselle are a terrible liar." He spat at her.
As he expected, she took offense, trying to brush away her tears. "I didn't mean to. I just wanted you to trust me . . . " she stopped, lost in thought. "Forget it. I don't know what to say anymore." She mumbled defeated.
Erik walked away from her, going toward his room, wanting to retreat into his inner sanctuary forever. "I don't want you to trust. I want you to leave me alone!" His hand close over the knob, and at that moment all his emotion burst and he couldn't hide the truth any longer. " I can't bear to have my heart broken again!" And at those words, a look of realization spread across her face. Her eyes turned from fear and anger, to sorrow and pity. Erik held his ground, ready to retreat at any moment. He kept on hand holding his mask firmly in place. He could hear her quick footsteps coming in his direction. His back still turned away, he held out his free shaking arm as a warning. "Don't . . . " he growled, threatening.
But instead of hearing her run away, and the certain sound of a door slamming, he felt soft fingers close around his. Her angelic sign of affection, eased his tense grip. But now his whole body was shaking as he turned to look at her. She waited there willingly, starring at him with wide-eyed hope, that she could truly understand his suffering. What kind of invitation was this? He pulled his hand away from hers, not sure if he could control what his body desperately wanted act upon.
Sighing deeply, he reached over and gently let his index finger wipe away a tear that trembled on her cheek. She closed her eyes peacefully and gave a small smile. She didn't shudder or turn away. "When Christine left me, I wanted to die." He said, finally ready to reveal to her a story he had told no one else before. "I welcomed death. But I was a coward. I tried starving myself and other things, but nothing worked. And I couldn't take my own life. I thought if I am to life, then let it be so I can know she is happy." He turned and walked slowly toward a large high back chair near the center of the room. He pointed to a chaise nearby. "Please sit down . . . and don't look." He whispered. Erik let his body collapse into the chair's lap. After a quick glance in Jessalyn's direction assured him she couldn't see him, he slowly removed his mask. He kept the back of his head facing her, letting the black piece of leather rest on his knee.
"I went to see her in secret, even after she was married. Even though she wasn't aware I was watching her. She never returned to the stage, even though the mangers had signed up to sing the lead roles for the next season, and the public was clamoring for her. I would sit in Box Five for hours recalling all the times I had heard and seen her on stage. But the Vicomte was impatient for an heir and she was whisked away to the family estate outside Paris." He laughed. "You probably think I'm a real fool. I cared for her welfare more than her husband. She was lovely, a beautiful bride and a perfect wife." Tears started to form in his sunken eyes as he described her, the wife that could have been his. "But she wasn't ready to have children. She was too young and frail. But her husband didn't seem to care. The first two children she tried to deliver were still born." Erik reached up to wipe a tear, recalling those painful screams he had heard. Yes, he had even gone so far as to travel to the De Changy's estate to watch Christine, and was there when she tried to give birth and failed.
"Christine begged her husband to wait. That she could not handle another lost. So they did wait, but not long enough. The third child she tried to deliver was her last. She died in childbirth and the sick infant passed away in lest than a week. She died before she was thirty years old. And I thought this is it. Please God, let me die now. There is nothing to live for." He finished in a hush whisper.
"I'm sure the Vicomte didn't mean for that to happen. No one could blame him for what occurred ." She offered in a quite optimistic tone. Her blind comment offered him no comfort though as another tear, hot and salty fell from his cheek to his chin.
"I could. He was a fool." He sighed. "I think maybe I would not have been so . . . hard on myself if Christine had fallen in love with someone else. I know I'm not that much to look at. But still, perhaps she could have run away a young baritone in the chorus, or another musician or even a stagehand. But not him." He growled, not even wanting to speak the man's name.
"But he loved Christine. He must have." Jessalyn protested. Then she paused in silent reflection. Erik could even hear her desperate sighs and gasps as she struggled to find the right words. "But not as much as you did, I guess." And for an instant, Erik's tears stopped. Could it be possible that she understood? Or had she all along? He gathered up his courage to continue.
"I had lost Christine. She had died so young while I remained in this miserable old shell. But death did not come for me. I made a habit of visiting her grave. She was buried next to her father. The day before her funeral, I stole a horse from the opera stables and rode all night to Perros. I saw the grave diggers, and when they left for the evening I crawled into the hole in the earth they had made for my Christine, wishing that it where mine instead. Her funeral past, but I remained in Perros for another month after that, living in the streets like a vagabond. Just so that every night I could weep over Christine's grave. But when I finally return to Paris, there where complications I had to attend to."
"There were men in the cellars, renovation and I had to work quickly to ensure that my domain remained undetected. And there was someone else, a journalist who had come foolish, in search for the Phantom of the Opera. Apparently he had spoken to the Daroga, the only person I had trusted since then and I was now furious that the old fool had decided to turn on me too. I went to seeking him, mostly out of revenge. But I then discovered he too had passed on. This journalist wanted to know if I was dead and if Christine had come to bury me. She had promised that when she left me. To come and return the gold ring I had given her when I was dead." Erik held up his left hand in the light, letting Jessalyn see from a distance the plain gold ring that still rested in his finger. "Except that I had never died, Christine was now not coming back and my 'obituary' had been a fake. The poor fool was walking in circles. But he wouldn't give up. So one day when I noticed the workers had unearthed a skeleton, I in secret had slipped my ring onto the dead man's finger. It seemed enough proof for him to leave, and when he was gone I reclaimed my property. Years past and nothing happened, until I was wandering about the opera house and noticed a tourist had dropped a book backstage. Curious I picked it up, thinking it was nothing more than a tour guide, and was amazed to see my infamous title spread over the cover."
"Gaston Leroux . . . " She whispered behind him. "So it was true, he was down in the cellars. And he thought he saw the skeleton of the Opera . . . you. But he didn't. You just tricked him into thinking that." She talked it out to herself. "Then how much of his book was true?" she asked. Erik swallowed hard, afraid that she would ask that question, but expecting it none the least.
"More than you know." He whispered. "And I read that damn book and in the end wanted to kill myself right then and there. For you see, I realized I had never understood her pain. Her suffering. And I had been so obsessed with her trying to understand and love me. I never knew how much pain I had caused her." His voice started to crack and he wanted to put on his mask again, even though he knew his face was safe from her view. "I had watched over Christine for years, only to discover all her anguish and confusion written out for me in that novel. Leroux had captured her heartbreak and sorrow perfectly, and he had never known her. I couldn't believe it and then I felt more like a monster than ever. For days and nights, I became the raging mad man the whole world now knew I was. I inflicted horrible wounds on myself. I smashed every mirror I could find with my bare hands. I threw my arms into the fire, burning them until I could take no more. I drank wine till I was beyond drunk, lying on the floor for days, miserable wretch as I was." His shoulders started to slump over and he finally rested his head over his knees sobbing. "I thought when Christine left me forever that I understood what heart break was. But I was wrong. Because during those days, I could feel my heart, physically being ripped apart. And I thought this is it. It's finally time for me, this burden, to die." He sobbed quietly for a few moments before realizing that his face might be showing. He quickly recovered his mask and held it against his tear stained flesh, then he turned to her slowly wondering how she would react.
She sat, her body seemed to be limp falling in on itself. Her hand was clasped over her mouth and tears stained her pale cheeks until they were red. Her chest heaved like his from crying. And Erik could see Christine once again.
"But I didn't. I was denied again. Instead, I faded away. I didn't need food or water. When I tried to drown myself, I discovered I didn't need air. I felt weight leave my body, and my skin becoming lighter and transparent. I didn't sleep and then one day my heart just stopped beating. But I still was alive, or at lest I existed. I then knew I had become the one thing I had pretended to be my whole life long. A ghost." He stood up and walked toward her. Reaching into his vest pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief made of light brown cotton. His fingers pressed it against her cheek, until she finally accepted his token and grasped it with her own hands. He sighed deeply. "But of all those human qualities that were taken away from me, I still retained the one thing I hated the most."
Jessalyn wiped one side of her face and then look up at him hopefully. "And what's that?" She asked timidly.
Erik started down at her, seeing himself in her eyes. "My reflection" he said simply. "And I can still . . . cry. After all these years I still weep over the grief that I have had to endure." As he ended the sentence, his words became clipped and angry.
"I guess it's true then. True love never dies." She pointed out.
"Neither does sorrow my dear." Erik wanted to leave her. He had told her everything, wasn't that enough from her. But she sat there in silence gazing at him, not asking to leave. Erik couldn't bare to look at her without saying something. She was so beautiful and he wanted to collapse into her arms and sob. But instead, like always he put on his stoic face and turned to go back into his room, away from all the despair he had opened himself up too.
Jessalyn watched in suspense as Erik saying nothing turned his back on her once more. His feet didn't even make a sound as he retreated to his room. Her eyes focused on him, her mouth open but she could not speak. Please. Please don't go. She felt herself nothing but a stupid fool for asking him to reveal his most personal secrets to her, all because she thought she could understand him. He probably thought she was no different then all the rest, and he would have been right. Erik disappeared from the room, slamming the door behind him.
And she forgot to apologize to him. "Erik . . . I'm sorry" she said her voice cracking. She was so over come with emotions, and the tears started anew. In her hand rested Erik's handkerchief that he insisted she wipe her face with. She felt something hidden in the folds of the fabric and unraveled it. There rested the plain gold ring that was on Erik's hand before. He must have slipped it in unnoticed before he left. Jess picked it up and held it in the light. Erik had made a profound gesture without saying a word by leaving this with her. Curious, Jess put in on her left ring finger.
It fit perfectly.
He wanted her to stay, and in a way she didn't want to leave him. Not now. She thought, when they're three months in Paris ended, would she have the courage to leave him forever, knowing everything. Jess reflected on what Leroux had said in his novel, the one she had been reading over and over again during the past few days. And then what Erik had said. All he wanted was someone to love him, was that such a crime? And he had obviously waited for Christine, and ever after death he clung to that hope she would come back somehow.
She looked up at the portrait on the wall, the way Christine's eyes resembled her own made her shake. He defiantly saw Christine in her. Part of her wanted to run away from this nightmare and part of her wanted to stay with Erik. She wanted to sacrifice her life to live with him, just to make him happen. She was willing to give up everything for a man she barely knew.
She couldn't take it any more and she let her body collapse, her face burying itself in the plush cushions. She was amazed at the emotions he had portrayed that they were so powerful to affect her this way. Her body heaved up and down as she sobbed. Her hands grasped at her stomach in pain, she felt hallow as her tears spilled out, staining the fabric. "Oh Erik . . . I'm so sorry." She wanted nothing more than to have the power to erase all his pain. His pain was hers now. And her eyes were now open and she saw Erik in a new light. "Poor Erik . . . poor unhappy Erik." She mumbled between her tears. "I'm . . . sorry for you."
"Don't be." His calm voice cut through her chaos. She jerked her head up sharply to see Erik standing over her, next to the chaise. He had changed his mask and now a delicate false face of porcelain rested over his features. She sat up trying to gather herself, even though she was certain he had been standing there longer than she knew. Like a sniffling child, she used the sleeve of her too large tee-shirt to wipe under her nose. Erik stood with a dressing gown of cream and as soon as her eyes noticed it, Erik clutched it tight to his chest trying to turn it away from her view. "You're exhausted. You need rest." He stated. Shyly, he offered out his hand to her. It was free of its gloved shell and Jessalyn noticed how long his fingers were and his pale skin that seemed perfectly preserved by time. It did not look like a hand that smelt of death, but that of a supernatural and breath taking being, almost glowing.
She took his hand, no longer afraid of him.
No, she could not hate him anymore.
He guided her across his house, into the same room she had awakened in when he first brought her here. Christine's room. Soft candle light filled the space and the roses in the vases had been well cared for in her absence. Erik placed the gown over the bed before stepping aside. Now able to see it better, Jessalyn saw that it was nothing like she had expected. Not a delicate piece of lace and ribbons, but a simple short-sleeve garment of soft cotton. Lying there on the bed, it looked very comfortable compared to the jeans and tee-shirt she was wearing. It was much more inviting to sleep in than the arm chair that awaited her upstairs in her own room. She knew Erik had plan this, to lure her into the comfort of this lavish bed. But did he intend to share it with her for the evening?
And sudden chill went up her spine as she pondered that thought. But Erik hadn't made any sexual advance toward her, and she was certain if he wanted to, he could have taken her by force very easily by now. But he didn't move, he simply stood in a dark corner of the room, stroking his child. His new mask made him look childish and innocent. Jess gently took a seat on the bed, absently mindedly running a hand over the soft comforter. "So you are letting me stay?" she asked him.
"You are choosing to stay, mademoiselle." He replied again in his formal distance tone, which displeased her. He probably despised her by now. Jess took a deep breath, making a bold attempt not to cry.
"Well then thank you Erik, for everything." She said.
"What, for kidnaping you, holding you hostage, for making you weep?" he asked in a bitter tone that indicated that perhaps it wasn't her he hated, but himself instead.
"No, I mean for saving my life. And for sparing Daniel's . . . that meant a lot to me." She added. Erik finally turned to face her, coming closer know. He was only a few steps away from her, his hands fidgeting at his sides.
"I almost kill you . . . and yet you still thank me." He stammered. "Why?" Then without any noticed he dropped to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. He reached out and finally found her hand. He clutched it tight in his hands, pulling her closer to him. Jess had to hold on tight to the bed to stop from falling off. Erik pressed a shaky kiss on the top of her hand. "Forgive me. I've hurt you and that's something I never wanted to do. Forgive me." He pleaded. His ghost like tears fell over her hand and onto the floor. Yet he seemed so alive. Too human to be a ghost. Again he kissed her hand sobbing. She let him. "Oh Jessalyn . . . "
She froze at the sound of her name, shocked that he had actually called her that, and did not mistakenly calling her Christine. "I..." she started, wondering what fate she was about to seal with her words. "I forgive you Erik."
He stopped crying and pulled away, but keeping a few of his fingers closed over hers. She let him have his moment to gather himself again, before he finally stood up. His lips fluttered speechlessly as he back up slowly. "I have to go . . . now. Please make yourself comfortable." And without another word, he left. Jessalyn sat on the bed. And she thought how utterly miserable it was to care for two men at the same time.
She loved Dan. He was her best friend. He had the power to make her laugh and smile, but he had also hurt her before. She was consumed with guilt over Erik. He could also frighten her and make her cry, but his commanding presences captivated her and make her feel divine when he was near, as those this could never be happening to her. And all he asked of her was to be loved in return. They were both human, with their mistakes and flaws, but trying to love and feel for both of them, made Jess feels as if she had to become more than human. She now knew what it was like to be torn apart, and she held in her hands not one but two fragile hearts. And if she didn't keep them in balance, one would surely break . . . again.
Jessalyn removed her tee-shirt, exposing her back to the chilly air. Quickly she put the gown through her arms, letting her head past through. It fit her torso like a dream, pressing snugly against her chest but leaving plenty of room in the back so it wasn't too tight. She felt awkward in these plush romantic setting in her jeans and sneakers. She slid out of the rest of her clothes until the night gown covered her body. Her feet felt cold so she crawled to the top of the bed and put her feet under the blankets. In being here with Erik, Daniel was all alone and he was sick. She could not be with one, without betraying the other. Jessalyn pulled the covers over her sighing, not sure what to do next. How easy it could have been if she could wish this all away. If she could turn back time and had never come to Paris. But she couldn't change that now.
Glancing over at the vases, seeing the pink and white roses that had been there before, they had finally bloomed. While the other ones, the red ones had started to wilt. She reached over and took one of the red ones from the vase, and pressed the soft petals against her cheek. Jessalyn allowed herself to shed one more tear before she fell back into the awaiting pillows and faded gently into sleep.
A/N: Well that spasm is done! No seriously this was a hard chapter for me to write, and I'm sorry it took so long. I wish I had the talent and the time like other fan writers to keep producing great chapters in hardly any time at all. If I were a professional writer, I would have been fired for taking so long. Thank you all for being so patient really. Well I hope that ends all mystery about Erik. Now I'm not saying that's what really happened, but it what I decided to explain for my story. Just fiction . . . even though Erik is real. Let's see what happens next, after I write letters to my professors telling them to stop assigning me stupid essays so I can work more on phan phiciton, nah!