And finally, I give you a respite. You're welcome. ;P
Her Riddle - Chapter 9
Erik said it was a virus.
For the rest of the week, she had been ordered bed rest while she suffered from bouts of sickness, nausea, headaches that arrived on the second day and soaring temperatures.
Erik said it was her new environment; she had been exposed to new air and thus new germs. He didn't say they had moved to England, but after she overheard the matron's speaking with a distinct Irish accent, it wasn't hard to figure it out.
He only tended to her, as he exclaimed that he boasted a fine immune system and 'the maid' (he never particularly liked saying names that meant he conversed with the human race), did not.
Christine had wanted to say she had resisted all attempts of his comforting measures.
However, his music aided her into a dreamless restful sleep after she had exhausted her natural reserves of melatonin. His singing entertained her – never had she thought that Erik liked a good jaunty song, or folk ballad. His lyrical voice read to her softly of love, tragedy and myths. His fingers swam as cards appeared and disappeared, coins mysteriously winked into existence beside her ear and floating flamingos made of paper danced like a puppet show. Finally, she had laughed.
It had been so sudden that the three balls that were precariously resting on his arm toppled over, bounced onto the floor to roll into respective corners of the room. Those amber eyes seemed to glisten in awe, while heat rushed to her face and touched her ears.
A moment of silence ensued and she almost made an attempt to wriggle under the covers, the gurgling stomach cramps momentarily forgotten.
"Has Erik made his dear one laugh?" his voice was laced in reverence and achievement, stopping her fingers pulling the covers higher.
"It was just a laugh, Erik," she voiced softly, unable to retort in embarrassed anger.
Erik shook his head in a way that made her wonder if he was fully there, "No no, that was not just a laugh, silly Christine. It was your laugh. It was your laugh!" those amber eyes flecked with strange ambience, made her think of a way a chronically insane patient would begin to rock back and forth in their own world.
She was shut out entirely when he was in such a mood. Either extreme anger or delight would seem to spiral in a circle she wasn't privy to. He had such a mind that no one could truly crack. He remained an enigma to her, always.
He jumped up suddenly, looking down at her, "Erik will return in a moment. Erik has a surprise." his soft voice was edged with something she couldn't understand, as he made his way to the door and disappeared.
Confined to her bed, unless she made a run for it to the bathroom, she would be facing Erik's 'surprise' one way or another. Deciding to make the most of the situation, she turned around to fluff up her pillow. It was nearing the sixth day of her being confined to bed and she was slowly going stir crazy. Christine hadn't known how she had coped not going outside before this – how cruel it felt now to be deprived on it. Though she had tried to convince Erik that going outside would help her regain her health, he had been adamant about her recovering safely inside. Yesterday she had almost contemplated making a rope out of bed sheets before realising she had only one to make do with. The blankets kept in the room were hardly the material to make a rope with as well, while also not doubting that she'd be caught within seconds. Erik was meticulous when it came to her whereabouts.
At least the medicine wasn't unbearable. It was actually rather sweet – honey like. Christine had barely allowed herself to admit she had been starting to await it eagerly every morning with Erik's presence. Although Christine had really tried to contain her enthusiasm for it – truly – she always had the sneaking thought that Erik picked up on it too. In fact, after he had given it to her successfully, he would being to fuss over her, such as: checking her temperature (yes, he did stick a glass cylinder into her mouth and waited for the red liquid to rise), arrange the blinds of her room, tuck her covers in neatly and bring in fresh flowers from the gardens to cheer her up. When she reacted well to the flowers, he had somehow interpreted it as some sort of sign to stay. When coupled with the easily taken medication, it seemed permissible in his eyes, so Erik would sit down on the leather armchair he so preferred in her room. It had somehow magically become nearer and nearer to her bed and each day the longer he sat in it. Once, and only once, he reached with his bared hands to tenderly brush away a lock of hair.
Christine had been glad to avoid the gesture to claim she needed the privy. She had run fast enough not to see the wounded pride in his eyes.
It was her or him.
And it needed to be her, no matter the cost. Pride and feelings be damned.
Now she waited impatiently like a child, tapping her fingers against the covers, fiddling with her unruly hair and glancing at the door every few seconds.
Erik finally returned, his figure flashing like a shadow when he appeared at the doorway. His hands were tucked behind him, so she guessed that he was carrying a sort of parcel.
"I don't need any new clothes Erik," she sighed tiredly. To have to pretend to be happy would kill her eventually.
He chuckled as his black form fitting shirt came into view – she had never seen him without layers before. This was surely exciting!
Christine flinched as a velvet box came into view, small and red.
She stifled a gag. No. No. No.
This couldn't be what he was thinking. He would not be doing this. He was insane! He couldn't be doing this to her. This was Raoul's job! Raoul, not Erik.
Calm, Christine, calm. Panicking would only make things worse. But she was ill for god's sake! Couldn't this wait until after she had recovered? Didn't she have more time? Why oh why had she even dared laugh!
"My dear, why have you grown so pale, are you quite alright?" his voice held innocent intent, "Ah you must be cold. I shall light a candle or two for you after you open this,"
His hand went further into her line of sight and she resisted shrinking back, forcing her back to remain a rod of steel.
"Erik, what is this?" her voice was a mere whisper.
Erik gave a benevolent smile, "Now telling would ruin the surprise. Open it, Christine," his voice encouraged, yet there was a level of command in his tone.
With shaking fingers, she took the small box, fingers fumbling to snap the lid open. Her eyes widened in surprise at what it revealed.
"A – a fortune cookie?" she queried, extremely puzzled at the golden-brown object resting there rather than a ring.
"Crack it open," he supplied gently.
There was a snap and she watched as specks of the hardened dough float onto her covers. A white edge of paper stuck out from one half of the cracked cookie.
On there was a riddle written by none other than Erik. It took a minute to decipher his spindly letters scrawled in blood red ink. She shivered.
'I am seen but unrecognised. I am part of a crowd but paper faces on parade surround me. People cheer with faceless faces and hidden identities. Where are you?'
Christine glanced up at him, waiting for him to give her the answer. "What is this, Erik?"
He frowned like a pouting child, "You are meant to guess the answer. It is a riddle. If you solve it, I will give you another reward,"
"I am not a pet, Erik." she groaned, "I can't solve riddles. Please can you tell me what's this about,"
Erik shook his head stubbornly, "I will not help you solve a simple riddle. If I did not think you could solve it, I wouldn't have given you it. I am not so cruel Christine,"
She sighed, "So if I solve this riddle, I get a reward?" she raised an eyebrow at him, "What will motivate me to solve it? I have no idea what this 'reward' is. If it's to sleep in the dungeon downstairs, I don't think I am going to solve it,"
His lips thinned fractionally, "I would never put you in such a place silly girl, where would you have gotten that idea from? Only monsters belong underground," he added sombrely in his beautiful voice, before straightening, "That riddle will be a key for you. If you guess it, perhaps a wish of yours will be granted," his voice dropped in a mysterious tone, inciting her curiosity.
When she still blinked up at him, still rather confused. He sighed, tiredly regaining his normal persona, "My dear, think of it like this. If your conduct pleases me in this manner, you shall never have to solve another riddle to gain what could be rightfully yours. I have no wish to keep you locked inside this sphere of protection for the rest of your days,"
She swallowed.
Erik's lips twitched, "Yes, I did find out about your ventures to the end of my domain my little Pandora," Erik shook his head in a sort of amused wonder, "I had not expected to hear the vibrating of the shield that day." his voice dropped darkly, "I thought I had warned you not to near the edge, you must have had quite the …shock," his voice became a leer.
Christine took in a shaky breath, "I had no idea that was what you had meant. I could have been electrocuted for all you knew!" she glared up at him, arms folding across her chest.
He gave a shrug, "Yes, I suppose you would have. If I had been there, I would have been able to protect you, my dear. Sometimes the border even fluctuates position. You must be very careful from now on,"
Her head came to rest in her hands, "But the butterfly was there. What if I don't see it again?"
"I guarantee you that you will see it again. There is a hill nearby, if you remember the first time in my domain."
"Yes, I remember," she gave him a nod of thanks, yawning moments after. Her cheeks tinted in embarrassment, but Erik only inclined his head slightly.
"It is time you slept; I will play for you and will wake you up for dinner. If you continue to regain your health, by the start of next week I will release you from bed rest. Your singing will have suffered, so we will do light short bursts my dear."
She nodded once again, taking advantage of his back turning when he drew the curtains shut once more to snuggle down and rearrange herself under the covers. Erik picked the violin up from the case that had been resting on her chest of drawers and took care of applying the rosin.
Moments later his quiet melody lulled her to a gentle sleep.
By Monday the virus had finally passed through her system, just as Erik had predicated. When he reviewed her temperature, his demeanour changed ever so slightly.
"Have you thought of the answer to the riddle?" he asked quietly, feeling the glass cylinder of thermometer slip from her mouth. She had quickly given up removing it herself since Erik had always told her she removed it too early. Still, it was a peculiar feeling to have him care for her – a strangely surreal experience. It was the most she'd seen of him.
Her meals in the afternoon and evening had usually been little of interaction before she had grown unwell. Frankly, she hated how he was a mere spectre to her eating. He never engaged conversation, happy to sit and watch her. At first it was out of spite she refused to indulge in dinner conversation, throwing her spoon into her soup bowl after one course and stomping to her room. Later, she found herself tiring of such 'immature' (as Erik would likely say), behaviour and submitted to two courses, but still keeping her silence.
It was in moments like these she felt 'cared' for, as if as in some twisted reality, there could be a semblance of happiness. That she could live out her days in relative comfortableness here, with Erik. Not thinking about the outside world, just a wanderer of his lands, like a queen of darkness wearing his crown he wished to bestow. A Persephone to his Hades. But the underworld would remain the underworld, no matter if there were gardens and ripe pomegranates to fritter one's time away in. The fact she was tiring of this charade was what worried her – that one day she would not fight him. She wouldn't feel such agony to avoid him, she would merely curl up beside him, wishing for a bit of kindness only he could bestow.
How she missed Raoul.
She missed his normality. How his troubles were about education and who was going to win the next tennis match next weekend, if his friend Charlie was going to propose to Abigail and what present should he get his father for his birthday? When were they going to move in together and where they'd go for summer vacation?
Not Erik with his constant obsessive gaze, reaching grasp and coaxing music. Not death and destruction. Not his riddles and games.
Not his force-field wall only one would come across in some Si-Fi movie or Stephen King book and weird viruses that he was never susceptible to. Not the mutes and submissive staff and locked doors.
"I haven't thought about it," she muttered, brushing her hair away and pulling the covers off herself. In the morning's air chilled her and her skin rose in goose-bumps. Satin lace came to cover as Erik draped it over her, his conduct gentlemanly as he spared no glances to her breasts that had no bra to support them. Her fingers fumbled inserting her arms into the holes and tied the belt around the waist.
"Did you find this in a costume shop Erik? It looks like it's come directly out of the eighteen hundred's," she joked lightly, going to her dresser to brush her tangled net of curls.
His shadow hovered in the mirror, "Do you wish for something else? I can easily provide it for you."
She sighed and shook her head, still unable to comprehend how such a man was oblivious to such obvious teasing, " I am joking Erik. I do not need anything. I don't need half of the stuff here. –" she paused, thinking about the dozens of clothes able to fit in that multi-layered wardrobe, "I am not used to such …luxury," she could not think of another word to describe it, "I'd rather it'd go to people more deserving,"
At this the shadow stepped closer, "You are worthy of thousands of jewels, diamonds and the most fantastical things in existence. Do not think I would stop to gift you the most intricate gifts you could ask for. I would do anything if you so asked," his voice dipped softly as his fingers were outstretched, almost nearing a ringlet that had not yet been brushed. She watched frozen as lithe fingers touched the air outside of the spiralling piece of hair and she heard the barest whisper.
"If only you could love me,"
She retreated to the bathroom, ignoring his desperate plea.
His riddle played in her mind and her next two days were spent in mild contemplation to discover the meaning of the riddle. She knew that the reward would be great if she figured out the answer. Clarice was no use, nor was Heather in the kitchen. No books provided an answer either. If Erik noticed her frowns or the crumpled piece of paper in her hand, he did not say anything.
He honed her voice to perfection once more yet dared not suggest a duet.
It was when she was sitting at the dinner table in the middle of next week did she ask for help when he asked once more, "Have you thought of the answer to the riddle?"
She swallowed the bite of smoked salmon and boiled potato, "No, I haven't made any progress on it." she gave a glance at his untouched meal, before taking a sip of her sparkling water. He didn't approve of lemonade or coke. It was bad for one's voice and teeth.
"Any clues?" she gave him a meaningful glance, willing herself not to get lost in those potent amber eyes.
"Have you no thoughts at all?" his voice raised in query.
She resisted giving into frustration, "Well it could be plenty of places! A school, a theatre, a shopping mall, anything. It wasn't that original." she grumbled.
"Enough to leave you guessing, which is the point," he intoned, taking a small sip of his blood red wine.
Christine huffed, ignoring the humour glinting in his gaze.
"This isn't funny," she finished her salmon and pushed the plate away. Rising, she went to leave the room, before his command made her halt.
"Come with me, Christine."
She stopped and turned, watching as his shadow rose from his seat, the cadence of his silken voice stirring something within her.
"Don shoes and a cardigan. I will be waiting for you at the front doors." there was no missing the hypnotic inflection in his voice.
She found herself nodding, taking stumbling steps to her room. Over her peach coloured dress she found a thick woollen jumper in a hue of cream and a pair of sandals to go with it.
Her steps echoed on the marble, the darkening sky obvious through the windows of the lobby and the amber light of the chandelier above. Erik stood a regal shade of the night, a long black coat to hide his thin form, black gloves encasing his fingers and black mask to accompany. She didn't think she could even envision him in another colour.
Those eyes set on her, watching as she made her way towards him, the stretch of the entrance a looming plane of No Man's Land.
"You look lovely," his melodic voice soothed.
She ducked her head, rather puzzled over his odd behaviour. What was he up to?
"Shall we go?" his voice gestured to the door and he held it open while she descended the steps to the front of his estate. She had not actually seen the manor from the front; she had only been focusing on what was behind.
A large driveway, with an even bigger lawn, streched out before her. Under the hue of amber lamplights, the pebbles crunched underfoot as she backed away to see the looming house. It looked like it was straight from a romantic gothic tale – perhaps Erik's morbid humour coming into play. A large metal knocker of a fierce dragon resided on the mahogany door, an outside light that reminded her of the one in the Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe.
A fortress.
And she was the girl to be locked inside it.
"It was designed by me," Erik's voice came from beside her, a hint of pride evident in his tone.
"I have no surprise that it was," she replied, gazing at it once more before turning away to stare down the drive. A gentle breeze tossed some of her curls in the air and her hand came to hold them from obscuring her view. The manor rested on a slight incline and they walked out of the black gates to the peak to observe the view. Straight-backed lampposts that had also arrived from the Victorian era, marked their passage. But before they travelled further, he offered his arm like a gentleman from the same period of time.
What could she do? Deny him and risk his ire that could last for days, or take advantage of going outside at night?
She would be touching him.
But it was night-time – she loved seeing the stars with a passion. She had so missed seeing the stars, being under them. One look at those overly-hopeful musical eyes crumbled her resolve. The very thought to kill him by not giving him a mere touch would edge away at her conscience. She could spare a touch, couldn't she?
But how many more would she be offering to him in return of this single lapse of judgement?
Her fingers came to rest on his extended arm, dreadfully curling in the crook of it and she felt the brush of the coat at her side. Why had she not changed into jeans?
Erik liked her in dresses. His eyes were drawn to her figure in such a way that subconsciously she had wanted the same reaction if she wore one again.
Her papa liked her in dresses too. Had liked. Her fingers clenched the fabric of his coat before she realised her mistake and released it, unable to move away as she would naturally do.
Erik let out a contented hum as they continued their moonlit walk. A canopy of trees rose above them and she tried to breathe regularly and evenly, trying to process how close she was to this – him – Erik.
Erik. Erik who she had once dreamt to walk with, had once hoped that friendship would be an option. Erik who had killed Joe and terrorised the theatre. Her breaths became harder and faster, her fingers coming to cling onto him, until Erik began to sing. It was at first a soft croon in her subconscious until she was swaying to it slightly as they walked, he sang until her chest fell and rose evenly and her fingers relaxed once more.
"There was no need to panic, now was there, my dear?" came his coo, a hand coming to pat hers and she struggled not to flinch away. This was wrong, so wrong. Like a terrible alternate universe.
"This feels like a dream," she mumbled, looking down at their synchronised feet.
"It is a good dream, yes?" his voice contained so much hope that she wanted to wince.
Maybe for you, Erik. Her mind responded, yet she knew if she said such a thing out loud the evening come to a screeching halt.
"You are not happy yet," he stated humbly, "But I know that once you become used to this life, you may begin to understand…" the hand resting over hers tightened briefly.
"Erik will never harm you," he muttered, more to himself than her, "Not when you have given such a gift. We will have more walks," They came to a halt near the oak tree and the swing on the rise of the lavender field.
She stepped back when his arm dropped, skirting to the edge of the trunk of the tree, to rest her head against the bark.
Erik came in front of her, to occupy her attention. A black clad finger came to lift her chin, the smell of leather hitting her nostrils. Unable to stop this action, there was a gentle pressure until her gaze locked with his, "You look so beautiful," he whispered, a tender caress that almost made her close her eyes and forget.
"We will go on more walks and you will become happier," the finger kept her chin raised even while her body screamed to run away, "And when you are happy, you will love me. And you can love Erik,"
"Why?" the word came unbidden from her lips.
His head tilted in curiosity, "Why? What a silly question. So we will live in our blissful union together,"
The words hurt her ears. Union. Blissful. Love. Erik. Happy. Walks. Beautiful.
"Union? What do you mean by that?" the finger still kept her head raised, even while her voice trembled.
He shook his head, "Erik does not think you are ready to know. Christine must become happy before anything else occurs."
She stifled a shudder; third person was always bad news.
"Okay Erik," she sighed, pulling away and plopping on the swing, kicking her legs out. After a few tries she started to gain enough power to make it carry her for a minute or two.
Erik was watching her, she knew; his presence seemed to dither between observing and partaking. She encouraged neither.
When it came a standstill once more Erik had seemed to make a decision, "Would you like for me to push the swing for you, mon petite?"
She gave a shrug.
And gently, ever so gently, she felt his careful hands through her jumper push her on the swing, blue velvet sky above them a starlit backdrop.
They continued like this for a while, the sound of their breaths the only sound apart from the breeze rustling the grass.
She couldn't deny the beauty of his lands, the peaceful refuge it was. She understood why he would have such a place. The pressure of his fingers on her back was an oddly soothing occurrence, the swinging an odd metronome.
"It is peaceful here," she sighed, actively speaking to him.
"It will always be peaceful here," he replied.
"I want to go home," she said to the stars. To Raoul.
"You are home," Erik replied patiently.
And that was how the conversation always went.
They parted at the door of her wing. Erik would be heading upstairs to his study.
"Erik?" she half turned to him, a living shadow on the landing.
He inclined his head.
"Is the riddle about masks?"
The black face gave a nod,, "Very good." his voice warmed the air around her, those yellow eyes filling with something she dare not acknowledge, "Now go to bed, my sweet,"
She pretended not to see his hand clutch uselessly at his side when she brushed the hair out of her eyes. The oak door clicked shut behind her.
Yet her dreams did not bar his presence. Perhaps they never would. Nor of those amber eyes which both threatened and adored.
That morning she had considered asking Erik for a walk. Christine tried to convince herself that it was merely because she was worried about the barrier around the perimeter. Having Clarice was nice, but there was only so much one could say to a mute. And a loyal one at that.
The hedging curiosity of Clarice's origins bugged her by the day. How could anyone, let alone a girl only a few years senior (she assumed), live and work for someone like Erik? Needless to say the girl had obviously seen his temper and music, but what was it that had inspired that sort of good faith towards him? Any sane person, for this she included herself despite the fact she had often talked to herself, would have run a mile when exposed to that raw rage! Had the girl seen underneath the mask? Was she forbidden to leave – but no – Christine knew she stayed out of choice, more than fear of leaving…
What was her story? Was she the clue to find out what Erik's riddle meant? When she had pestered the maid before, Clarice had given her a sad little glance and shrug that said, 'I can't help you on that one'. She had spotted a gardener, though, at the crack of dawn. She had been marvellously pleased and opened a window to shout a 'good morning' to him, but when he had seen her through the glass, the poor man had all but fled.
Another rule of Erik's she guessed. No talking to the girl. She sighed, "It wouldn't kill for a bit of outside communication,"
Clarice came in to take the breakfast tray while she dressed. The clouds outside made the weather ambiguous, so she chose layers.
Tying her hair up with a pearly white ribbon she favoured, she turned to Clarice, "Do you know whether Erik is up?"
Clarice blinked twice at the question, hands tightening on the metal tray before nodding slowly. Shifting the tray, so that she could hold it with one hand, she pointed to the ceiling.
Christine nodded in understanding, before bracing herself, "Could you –" she winced, "Could you ask him to meet me in the lounge?"
If Clarice's eyes could have gone fractionally wider, they did at this. Giving Christine a frantic nod, she all but scarpered away like a terrified rabbit.
"Oh god, what have I done now?" she moaned, realising that this was likely this was the worst thing she have possibly done. She had just invited the devil in hopes of solving his own game.
It was past the point of no return.
It was early morning on Monday when she received the call. Immediately it was accepted upon seeing who it was. Something was wrong. She never called on the first day of the week. It wasn't her shift.
"Christine? Christine? Christine dear, can you come over? The shop – oh," There was a sharp pause where a large sniffle could be heard, "Oh, please. I need your help. Christine," Mama Valerious burbled, clearly panicking.
"Mama V? Are you hurt? Do you need me to call an ambulance? Where are you?" she was already downstairs walking to her car.
"The shop, Christine. Oh the bookstore. I don't know what to do," she continued. Was Mama injured at the shop?
"Don't hang up on me, Mama V, alright? We can fix whatever's happened at the shop, ok?" she kicked the car into gear and drove as quickly to the bookshop as possible.
"Oh dearie, I don't know what I'm goin' to do," Christine heard the poor woman mumble as she drove frantically to the shop located nearby.
"It's going to be alright Mama, ok?"
Hastily parking the car on the curb, not caring if she received a ticket, she all but ran inside.
"Mama V? Mama V? Please, are you alright?" she called, scanning the shelves for the hobbling old lady blindly. No, no! This couldn't possibly be related to last week! Mama Valerious had probably just forgotten about something again. Or maybe Edgar needed to go to the vets, he was an old boy anyway. What if she had fallen over? Had she been here for days, unable to reach for a phone?
"Christine dear?" her weak tear-stained voice echoed. Dim lights flickered, as if even they sensed the sorrow that had dawned that very morn.
Christine dropped her bag and phone on the floor, before running to the back of the shop, only pausing to carefully open the pulled-too door. Mama Valerious could be lying on the floor helpless for all she knew.
The woman looked blearily up from her box of new books, wet eyes red from shedding tears.
"I didn't know who to call…" she sniffled, fingers tracing the cover of a mystery novel about a detective skeleton.
"Mama Valerious, what happened?" Christine came to sit beside her on the threadbare bench, hand going to hold the soft one of the mother beside her.
A new stream of tears trickled down her face and Mama Valerious, with trembling hands, unfolded her hanky to dab at her eyes, "Oh Christine, the shop's going have ta' close down. There's debt. Debt I can't pay."
The dread she had been feeling all morning at the back of her mind came to clench her stomach, "This is my fault," she whispered, staring at the wall. Dust motes hung in the air, green peeling paint and cardboard coloured walls around her. The bulb hanging without a lampshade from the ceiling, flickered in agreement. She had just condemned this woman to bankruptcy. What could pay the woman's bill's now?
She had no one, apart from uninterested kids with families to care for, other than Christine herself.
Mama V blew her nose, "Oh don't be silly dearie, this ain't your fault. It's those damn legalities. Bunch of slimy businessmen wantin' my property and somehow uncovering a whole load of debt,"
Christine gave a sob, leaning into the old lady, knowing just who those 'slimy businessmen' worked for. The old woman's arm came to hug her around her shoulders, "Oh don't be a worryin' about me. I'm a tough old bird who won't give up about a fight." Mama gave an almost believable attempt of rallying herself, but the tears in her eyes belayed a different story.
"Did they – did they leave a phone number or something, Mama?"
Mama Valerious gave a little nod, "Yes, they did. I had half a mind to tear it up an' burn it." she pouted, "But they seemed real sure someone'll be callin' it and I didn't know if I should listen to them,"
Christine's brow furrowed in a frown, thinking of a possible way out of the situation, "Did they show you any proof? They could be trying to scam you," she warned.
"Oh no, they had a lot of official looking papers," she rose, Christine watching the woman carefully in case she showed signs of falling.
Christine travelled to the reception with Mama Valerious shuffling beside her. She handed the papers to Christine gravely. Flicking through them, though Christine found it difficult to follow, she couldn't deny that it looked as if came straight from the counsel's printer. If it was to intimidate the recipient, it well achieved its goal with aggressive sounding language, official looking symbols and figures.
It was all in the negative. It was as if her bank account had been drained overnight: medical bills and pet insurance, car payments, stock and food shopping now all being taken from an empty bank account, that made it zero out in what seemed like months ago. But all this debt seemed like it had been accumulating for several years. How had this happened? How had she not known?
The statements at the bottom stated that they were not only going to take back the store, but repossess all of her assets as well, effective immediately at the start of next week. Mama Valerious would be homeless by next Monday! If those papers were true…She could only think of one person to take them to.
Raoul.
But could she get him involved in this mess? About the man and the violin and his blackmail…Well she didn't have to mention that, did she?
She had the rest of the week. At least they were meeting tomorrow, she would bring the papers to him then. He had called and wanted to catch up after the party a couple of weeks ago; they had met about every week since then. It was nearing August and they had been catching the last month of summer before the autumn was beginning to set in. Raoul had taken her to his favourite cafes around the city. This time it would be her favourite.
"Mama Valerious, do you mind if I take these to look over? I might be able to find a way out of this," she asked gently.
The woman looked up at her, white hair unkempt compared to its usual perm, "Of course, dear," she blinked her pale blue eyes, "I think I am going to do some stocking of the shelves, while I still can,"
Christine suppressed a heartfelt sob at the sorrow in her voice and nodded, taking the papers into her arms and giving a resentful glare at the business card the men left.
When Mama Valerious toddled to the back, Christine took the card with the number on it, growling, "I swear that you won't win, you egotistical manipulating man, no matter what you promised, I'll find a way out of it,"
Her eyes went to the door, "I will never sing for you. I'll never sing for anyone again," she vowed.
Raoul's sapphire orbs misted in intense concentration as he stared at the papers.
"Well?" she asked, clutching her hands together.
His eyes flicked upwards and his head gave a sad shake, "This isn't good news. It sure looks bad from where I'm looking at. I don't know how it's possible for your friend to earn that much debt," he muttered, as his eyes scanned it again.
His brow furrowed, a frown pulling at his lips, "These people know what they're talking about alright," Raoul fingered the logo, "I recognise this, it's all over our reports too," his eyes met hers seriously, "I mean it when I say this isn't good. These are the big guys Christine. I can't think of how your friend can get out of it," he arranged the papers neatly once more and handed them to her.
Christine stifled a cry of frustration, "What am I going to do?"
Raoul lent forward gently, placing a comforting hand on hers, "I don't think there is anything you can do. Mrs Valerious is going to lose that shop one way or another – from what you're saying is that she's getting on anyway –"
"But she loves that shop!" she interrupted passionately, "It was an investment made by her husband before he died and they ran that bookstore for a good two years together! She can't lose it now…She can't lose the shop or her house or Edgar. She'd die of grief!"
"But if she doesn't sell it to them, she won't have any money at all." Raoul pointed out.
"No, I'll find a way," she took a slurp of her iced cappuccino, "I could lend her money, or let her stay with me-"
"You'll have to convert your lounge into her bedroom, Christine and there is no way you could cover that debt, it's insane," Raoul insisted.
She blinked away a few frustrated tears forming at the corner of her eyes, "But Mama V can't sell…She loves that place,"
"I think she'll love having a place to stay and her cat more, Christine,"
She hung her head, "God this is such a mess,"
"Come on, it's going to be ok. There's nothing you can do," Raoul lent forward while his fingers softly encased hers.
She winced, thinking of the business card stuck in her purse, the black number that glared at her. She had missed the meeting with him – that creepy psycho man – and now he had somehow arranged this to happen. She hadn't had confirmation, but she knew in her heart of hearts, this was the price.
She hadn't believed him. Christine hadn't out of spite and fear and anger. She had refused to be bullied into doing something she didn't want to do. But now, the one she loved was going to pay for her mistake.
Yes, there was one thing she could do, but she didn't want to do it. Not until she was absolutely sure.
"If I found evidence that Mama Valerious' finances weren't like that a month ago, do you think it'd count?" she asked him hopefully.
Raoul ran his hand through his hair, the chair creaking as he lent back. His hand left hers and she shivered at its absence. God, it felt so long since she had anyone comfort her. At least, having a male in her life. Andy at Leroux didn't really count. They only had short conversations consisting mostly of small talk and trivialities. He had a hot girlfriend too, she seen her on his Facebook page.
"I don't know," he raised a contemplative eyebrow, "I mean, this all seems to check out. You'll be hard pressed to find anything to outmatch this stuff." he sighed at her expression, "Man, I'm sorry Chris. I honestly think that if you go to court over this, you'll lose. I mean, I studied law and this seems perfectly legitimate –" he raised a hand when she went to interrupt, "While I know it doesn't seem like it and it's out of the blue, do you think it's possible that your Mrs Valerious didn't realise or want to pay the bills? That just like the rest of us she put the problem under the rug and hoped it would go away? If she loves this place so much, don't you think it's a tiny bit plausible?" he didn't need to say anymore.
"But she wouldn't do that. She'd ask for help, wouldn't she?" she looked at his sincere blue eyes.
"Not everyone is as good as you believe them to be, Christine," Raoul murmured.
Christine felt a rush of anger at the patronising words. Her chair squealed as she shoved it back.
"I need to go," she muttered. Sipping the rest of her cappuccino, she went to dump it in the bin that happened to sit beside them.
"Wait, I'm sorry Christine," Raoul stood and placed a hand her arm.
She shrugged him off, grabbing her bag, "Doesn't matter, I'll do this by myself,"
"Please, I'm here for you, I promise," he came before her, "Allow me to take you to dinner this Saturday to make up for me being a jerk just then," he gave her a teasing smile, "And I give you a free punch too if it makes you feel better,"
At this she gave a tolerant sigh, before glancing up at him. With a weak smile, she nodded, knowing Raoul was really just trying to help, "I'll have to check my calendar, but I think I'm free. I'll call if anything comes up,"
At her acceptance, she received a winning smile, "Great. It's a date then," he lifted her hand in a grandiose gesture and placed his lips on the back.
She giggled, "How charming,"
Raoul gave her a wink, "Anything for my diva,"
She chuckled at his melodrama as they walked out of the café together.
Somewhere in a black Bentley, an audio tape clicked as the voices faded away.
"Not long now," he whispered, as he saw the young duo stroll away, hand in hand.
His heart beat painfully at the sight of the girl laughing and his eyes glowed darkly.
"Soon, your song will be mine, little dove," a sinister black hand squeezed the recorder in glee.
Christine failed to realise that while she paced in the lounge, the master of the house was surprisingly busy.
The room held little light; the only glare coming from dozens of screens around him.
"Oh, so he's found the plane then? How?" he hissed, "I erased all footage," the phone shook in his hand.
The voice wavered in fear as he recited the information he had received. Erik growled a goodbye – for it would certainly be that man's last day – and hung up. Erik did not tolerate mistakes.
"So," he proposed contemplatively to the screens, "He's arranged to go to France – ah he must be thinking of my other estate. Poor fool," he gave a dark contemptuous chuckle, "He must be fancying a trip down memory lane," He rather abjectly admired the man's persistence, while altogether stifling the inane urge to go and strangle the Iranian's hide. In fact, the idea to also go and twist the neck of that boy until it gave a resounding snap, even though he was on an entirely different continent, appealed greatly. He imagined it would be rather cathartic.
But Erik would not be bad, so to speak. Not yet.
Not while he could have some fun with his old comrade when the great booby found himself in the warrens of Paris. Though it put a minor notch in his plans for the upcoming events, he knew his welcome would be grandly received. After all, he did have his patronage to that theatre as well. That fart would never dare to approach him there. Not on his territory.
It was not ideal, but Erik would rid himself of that pest of a conscience if it meant keeping Christine safe. But there was a way for them to mingle with others for a night and though he detested others, he knew that it would perhaps bond his Christine to him even closer. It was known as the city of love, after all.
While Christine waited for Erik, she pondered on his riddle.
'I am seen but unrecognised. I am part of a crowd but paper faces on parade surround me. People cheer with faceless faces and hidden identities. Where are you?'
Paper faces…Paper Mache, made like faces? She had worked out it was talking about a sort of mask. But within a crowd, was it some sort of Halloween event with people dressing in costumes?
But parade – it made it seem like some sort of dance. A costume parade? Was that what it meant?
Grunting in frustration, she muttered venomously "Stupid riddle. Won't be much use when it's nowhere near Halloween anyway,"
She heard a chuckle. Leaping slightly and letting out a small squeak, Christine made an attempted glare at the figure in the doorway, "An average hello would do, you know?" she folded her arms, looking away from those gleaming unnerving eyes of his, "Gosh, I'm a nervous wreck these days," she shook her head in mock-exasperation, half of her wondering how she could be so casual with him. Normally, she would lock herself away when she was with him, but it was so tiring. She was so tired these days, needless to say that the bags under eyes would agree.
"Nervousness will pass Christine. There is nothing to fear here," he stepped in the room, hands clasped behind his back before one slipped into a pocket of his dark trousers. He wore his squeaky-clean polished shoes and she wondered whether his upbringing had brought him up to wear shoes in the house. It was then she realised that was the first unchaperoned thought she had about him and his life.
Looking at him now, a burning curiosity began and she didn't know how to stop it.
"Why don't I know anything about you?" she asked quietly, fiddling with a rose filled vase, minus the thorns. She didn't know which season they grew in apart from it being in summer.
There was a short silence, before he said, "I am Erik. And that, my dear, is all you need to know,"
A bout of frustration curled in her stomach and she turned, "Look, all I have around me are mutes and you. I can't very well have a conversation with Clarice without it being terribly one sided and you know it. Now I can't even ask a simple question about you. Don't you see how that is unfair?" she sighed in defeat and slumped on the plush sofa, "I tire of fighting with you all the time, but it's not like you give me much else other than what I can and can't do,"
"I shall tell you stories, if you wish," his voice did not hold anger as it glided closer to her, "I thought you wished to be left alone – for a long time it has seemed that way from your behaviour," he seemed to frown for a moment, before coming to perch on an armchair opposite, "I had thought leaving you to adjust would be beneficial when you were so very upset," his amber eyes glittered, "But now you are asking about the opposite of what I thought would make you happy. A contrary happening I must say, however –" Erik swallowed, "I will become more present, if it pleases you," his fingers couldn't stop moving and she almost wondered if it was a sort of nervous tick. The thought made her smile.
"Yes, thank you." Should she be thanking him? It seemed like the right thing to do, even while she hesitated about the thought of being even more in his debt. She glanced around, adding, "This place is so big, it makes me think it has popped out of Jane Eyre or Downton Abbey. I almost wonder if a ghost lives here -" she caught the humorous glint in Erik's eye and giggled slightly, "Actually scrap that, we don't need another ghost here, you two be'd battling for territory,"
His lips quirked, the closest she she'd seen to a genuine smile from him, "Of course. But, other spectres would never be able to compare to the fierce-some phantom, no?"
Somehow this warranted another laugh from her and she looked away. Shy was never one of her attributes, yet somehow Erik seemed to bring it out of her. Why was that?
"I don't think any ghost could compete with you. I remember how Sorelli totally freaked out from that bug in her ugg shoes. I had to take the boot outside with a big pair of prop tweezers and shake it until the big thing came out." She shook her head at the memory, "Funny how much I gained her regard from being the saviour of the day. I felt rather sorry for the poor beetle, it must have been terrified by all that screaming. I never knew a girl could scream so loud,"
Erik looked rather sheepish at the memory, an emotion she had never seen on the man, "I had not intended for you to be the one to deal with it," he admitted.
She chuckled now, "Trust me, when girls find bugs in their shoes, you can hear it miles away. Even down the twisted corridor to my dingy little place," she ignored his heated glance, "Either way you become a hero or a screamer in that situation," she shrugged, "If it had been a big black spider, I may have wanted a ten foot pole attached to a pair of prop tweezers," she joked halfheartedly.
Since when are you joking with the man, huh Christine? The snide voice warned.
She shook herself and felt herself retreating, until Erik halted all thought, "My dear, shall we have a lesson? I believe you are in good voice today," he rose and came to offer her a hand.
Christine eyed it, as if it would sting her like a scorpion if she were not careful. A moment passed and the hand grew rigid, before her hand betrayed her and leapt to his without it's own accord. Had she mentioned how cold his hand seemed to be, even while it was encased in leather? How vampirically cold it was, like freezing air seemed to seep out of him.
His fingers enclosed around hers, unnervingly similar to how a python would wrap around its prey. Yet his grip was not a vice, not when it was of her own twisted violation. His amber eyes flickered uncertainly at her and her hand in his, before she allowed him gently to help her rise. Apart from yesterday, he had not reached out with his hand before and the twisting in her stomach told her it would continue.
She was too fearful of his wrath and too much of a coward to reject him. But if she constantly lived with the stress of resisting every touch and every gesture, she'd eventually lose the will to live. It was hard to think of Mama Valerious when she was half a world away. When she was trapped in another reality and under an invisible prison.
What harm could a simple touch do?
Her heart told her otherwise.
Heya everybody! Sorry for the longer wait; my life just got a bit more hectic with getting stuff done before school starts. When it does start, I might have to make it fortnightly updates as I can't promise that I won't be busier. But we shall just have to see with my schedule!
Thank you all for your amazing reviews and continual encouragement, I SO appreciate it! It makes my day! My thanks to TheTenthMuseSappho, Chevesic, Qtkittee, Laurenvbellado, Batty Dings and last, but not least Ikujoutsi! You all get a pack of your favourite sweets!
To Laurenvbellado
Haha, that's great you're loving the flashbacks! I am always so nervous writing them lol. I always hope they fit in with the tone of the story while also being different enough to make sure you (the reader) doesn't get confused! Oh, he's scary is he? XD I'm glad he comes off intimidating - that's what I hoped for (AHEM I MEAN that's just what I planned ahahahahahahaha...ha ha ) I'm delighted that you're hooked hehe, I do hope that means you and your lovely reviews aren't leaving any time soon ;) Thank you for continueing to read! It is I who is your obedient servant.
OG -
Erik get off high-jacking my computer, this is MY REVIEW-E ...
Anyway,
Merci,
Enigma
Today's bit longer than usual for you all though – and a bit fluffier too (who doesn't love an evening stroll with our favourite OG?)! It's definitely a bundle of angst this story, probably more than I anticipated. However, I hope the cameo of Mama V ((finally)) coming was a welcome surprise! She's such a dear. Reminds me of the grandma I've always wanted. Do all grandparents comment on how terrible ripped jeans are or is it just my ones doing that? XD
I think most of you can guess the answer to Erik's riddle – but where exactly it takes place will be a mystery…Unless you've figured that out too…Hehe
Also what did you think of the relationship between Erik and Christine now? Is something finally happening, or is Christine just being compliant for once? (cough cough the plot has thickened)
Anybody wonder what's up with Nadir? I think he's been a clever boy and worked out something about Erik (and Christine). We'll soon find out. ;)
Poor dude on the phone though, what is the saying, don't kill the messenger? Erik obviously doesn't like idioms. He finds them hard to understand sometimes. Whenever I use one he's there asking me – Hens don't have teeth, so why are you pulling them? It is a blasted stupid expression. And I don't have any buttons either, apart from the one on my stomach I don't think anyone would want to push. – he's rather adorable like that, but don't let him catch me saying that. He'd probably go and kill someone just to prove how un-cuddly he is. I also think hens do have tiny teeth – but can't remember if that's right haha. I did have some at one point, but they're gone now.
I'm also using too many brackets and not enough commas. BUT SHHH you don't notice that. Ha.
(ALSO BROWNIE POINTS IF YOU KNOW WHICH STEPHEN KING BOOK CHRISTINE WAS TALKING ABOUT EARLIER; though it was also turned into a TV series as well...ALONG WITH GETTING A SUPER BONUS POINT WORKING OUT THE ONE WITH A DETECTIVE SKELETON hehe!)
I was just watching Twilight and reminded of a Pin on Pintrest about phantom.
We don't need a sparkly vampire when we have Erik.
He's cold, already has the most amazing amber eyes (or dark ones depending on how you write him), and he has a thirst for blood that he makes sure he would actually never harm you. Win win situation amirite? Also let's include, super climbing, speed, mind-reading/thought interpreting, intimidating, a dark brooding sensuality, he's a handsome fellow (HA HA) and he actually never leave you unlike SOME FREAKING MEANIE VAMPIRE. Sorry, but though I'm an Edward fan in the books, TV Edward is a meanie :( but JACOB AHHHH he's a cutie.
SHHH DON'T TELL ERIK THAT, OTHERWISE HE WILL BE POUTING FOR DAYS. AND I NEED SOMEONE WHO CAN COOK ME GOURMET FOOD ALRIGHT?
OK, I will stop shouting, I need to go and give my dog MORE food.
Merci to all,
Enigma out.