Chapter 21 – Her Goodbye: Part 2
Nadir's feet burned holes into the carpet as he paced. Issuing forth from his phone was the dial ringtone, but from the length of time he had been waiting, Nadir knew that he would be hearing voicemail once more.
Why was that boy not able to pick up his calls? Raoul had seemed sensible enough! It wasn't as if the kid had suddenly gone AWOL, he was too desperate. Unless…
Unless Erik had known where he was and had him bumped off.
Ice crept down his spine. Swallowing, he looked at the phone. Surely Erik would be appeased with the girl, if she kept sensibly compliant. If she didn't beg for the boy's safety.
Nadir was a good judge of character. He knew Raoul had not been lying when he said Christine was smart as she was beautiful; the fact that Erik had sent a decoy out meant she was alive. Yet, he knew that love could addle the brain just like fear. One's innate survival instinct usually kept the victim alive.
But if Erik feared, then even the best survivalist in the world had cause to retreat. The boy would not stand a chance.
He bit his tongue to keep back the curse that rampaged through his mind. It was his duty to keep these kids safe from the menace, not let him abscond with one and threaten the other.
Nadir had grown complacent, thinking Erik was residing in the basement of some building estate, like a prisoner languishing in his own cage of luxury. Each day looking at the face in the mirror and imagining the torment he had unwittingly released, of which ignited the Guilt. Guilt that ripped the hole within a little bit wider each day.
Out of all the actions Nadir had done that would put him a step further away from heaven, Nadir's sanity depended on getting the girl back to where she belonged.
Even though the idea of taking his own life completely disregarded his faith, ('Kill not yourself,' was a poignant reminder of learning from the Quran during his childhood), the thought of continuing after he had either killed the World's own monster or returned for nothing but an empty funeral, brought him to the very edge of contemplating something that was a fate worse than death.
To sharpen the knife, to ready the bullet, taking the sweet mercy of killing the tragic monster and then himself.
That he might just give up the family that waited for him, if only to not live the guilt of seeing the victim that he should had protected all those years ago commit more atrocities. Ruin more lives. The only thing that Erik had never been able to wield was love. Now they stood at a precipice, a battle that Erik would never win.
Nadir shook his head, hanging up and contemplated his next move.
How he wished for a good cigar.
Christine squirmed. Erik's calculating gaze settled upon her, as if making sure she could not see from under the silken scarf that was bound tightly against her eyes. It was opaque; Erik had made sure of that. He had spared no effort in showing the gravity of the situation as he had wrapped it around her head with precise movements.
She knew in that moment, he done such before to others, with those expert hands and unyielding steadiness.
A numb horror settled in her stomach on how thorough Erik was being. He would be taking her back to that English mansion, again and again and again, each time robbing her of the vital information of where they were. How many journeys did he expect her to make with him being blindfolded?
How many years would she spend blind to the world? How many years would he wait for her to fall in love with him, so that she wouldn't pay mind to the signposts? A broken doll who only had eyes for her master.
The terrifying possibility of it shook her to the core. It would come slowly, like the onset of a deadly disease: the shy touches; the amorous music serenading her at night; the music that would bind her closer to him. Yes, him – the freedom being one and the same. How she would fall hopelessly under its spell, unable to control anything. Unable to know where the Stockholm syndrome ended and he began. Her heart rattled against her chest.
It was inevitable.
Manicured nails, courtesy of Clarice, tightened on the edge of the seat; being deprived of sight made her focus on what she could hear and touch. The music of numerous engines hummed around them and the squeaks of vans on the roads. More turnings and stopping began (she assumed they were traffic lights), as she felt them drive closer into the urban mouth of England.
She guessed that it would take roughly half an hour to an hour to get to the airport. There was never a day when cities weren't clogged with traffic. The one they were in was no different.
"Are we in London?" she dared to ask, the overwhelming blindness making her bold.
Christine heard Erik sigh from his seat, "You know that I cannot tell you that," his voice lilted softly.
The headrest was hard against her head as she slumped against it. To her annoyance, the scarf was tight enough that it wasn't moved by simple friction.
Play Erik's game. Wait until he makes a mistake. One part of her encouraged. But winning could take years. The desperate side argued. I don't have years! I can't trust that Erik won't hold me under his spell by the time I have a chance to leave. He's too powerful.
"Can you at least tell me if we are in a city now?" she crossed her arms, hearing the click of the indicator and then resisting the pull of the centipedal force as the car made a left.
Erik was silent for a moment, "You already know the answer to that, Christine," but then his voice seemed to smile grimly, "Do not think that I underestimate that cerebrum of yours,"
Christine gulped. She should stop feeling surprised at how well Erik knew her. But there was a feeling of invasion that made her want to swat away those words, deny them just to prove that man wrong for once. Would she ever be a Queen that was the most powerful piece of the chessboard, or merely trapped as the predicable pawn that was moved without its violation? It felt the latter.
"Cerebrum…" she mused, unconsciously raising an eyebrow, "Only a psychologist would say that,"
The car jerked as the car went over a bump, jolting her slightly before she felt the faint pressure of a hand on her shoulder, steadying her.
It was normal hand, under the cover of darkness. But with the next turning it retreated, leaving her bare.
Erik contemplated her words during the silence, "One would say I have observed humanity in various…Situations. Studying the acute human response to certain stimuli has garnered results that have then been analysed and sorted," he paused, "However, in answer to your question, I have received no formal qualifications in the study of psychology,"
So why do you speak out of a textbook? Was what she really wanted to ask.
"Were you self-taught then?" she asked instead, fingers tapping against the seat. They turned once more, with a slower passage as metal juddered beneath them.
"In some ways," he replied ambiguously, silencing as the car began to slow. With a click and a whine, she could hear the car window opening, the drift of air brushing her face. It smelled faintly of tarmac and exhaust fumes.
The air flow seemed to be coming from the front of the car and if to prove that point, the driver muttered something in polish as something clunked onto the floor.
Erik snapped back, curt and impatient like the Erik she had seen acting towards his staff at the manor. A sound of rustling followed with an 'ah-ha' from Mathew, Christine guessed he had found whatever he was looking for.
The object gave a click, as if inserted into something through the window and they progressed forward.
"Where are we going?" she demanded, after the second time they had stopped to repeat the same action.
"Patience, dear," Erik murmured wryly.
Christine sighed, crossing her arms and trying to peer through her blindfold to see what was going on outside.
Two more 'gates' were passed, but before they reached the last one Erik decided to speak.
"Christine, I trust that you will stay silent," his warning was as sharp as knives, "When we stop this time, there will be a conversation held, during of which you will not utter a word. Is that clear?"
She shivered at the unspoken threat, her voice reduced to a mere squeak at the thought of his wrath being invoked, "Crystal," she spluttered out.
Erik assessed her for a moment, as if judging her sincerity.
He made a sound at the back of his throat between a sniff and a snort, "Very well, continue Mathew,"
She hadn't realised the car's speed had decreased to a crawl until it was back up to pace. After one more turning, the car braked gently, the window sliding open once more.
"Name?" a voice asked, his cockney accent thick and bored.
"Vachon," Mathew replied.
"Ah right, yeah me Boss said you'd be coming through," the man exclaimed, "Take the next left, carry on until you see the sign, it's all clear for you. Make sure you use the elevator into parking and that you get on early. You got your tickets?"
Mathew affirmed this with a grunt.
"Alrighty, have a nice trip,"
Mathew put the car into gear and they set off once more. Christine supressed the urge to grin.
So they were in London! A giddy feeling flurried through her at the discovery. Anyone could recognise a cockney accent.
Even Erik couldn't beat the power of sound.
Silently, Christine triumphed over her victory, waiting for the car to slow as they neared their destination.
With the next turning, accompanied with a rattle and the shriek of metal, the world become just a bit darker, indicating they were in some shelter of some kind. They paused and she realised that there was movement; they were lowering. This must have been the 'elevator' the man had spoken about.
After the elevator had stopped descending and another screech of metal she wondered if were doors, Mathew started the car once more, turning into an equally dark room. Eventually, they rolled to a stop and the clicking of seatbelts ensued. Christine was about to unbolt herself when Erik halted her, "No, not yet,"
Christine rolled her eyes under the safety of the blindfold. Erik, forever melodramatic.
There was a slam of the car door. Mathew had left, leaving her alone.
"Now, I am willing to compromise with you Christine," Erik started, voice softening, "You have behaved exceptionally well so far and so, you will not have to be blindfolded for the entirety of the trip,"
A rush of relief swam through her. Thank God.
"However, until we are on the plane, instead of wearing a scarf around your eyes, I have something more…Comfortable for you to wear,"
She braced herself for the touch of his hands, black leather tugging the knot until it became lose and the fabric seeped over eyes in soft relief.
Crud, that scarf had been tight, she winced as blood rushed to her head.
"My apologies, it has been nearly decade since I last tied a blindfold," he crooned softly, sympathetically.
"Last time I checked, it was when you kidnapped me," the words were out of her mouth before she could filter them and a wave of self-admonishment at airing the bitter – foolish – statement.
Her eyes opened just in time to see the bob of his Adam's apple. Curdling embarrassment was replaced with something like power.
He was guilty. Nervous. Unprepared.
Finally. That vindictive voice cackled.
Her lips twitched into a cold smile, eyes meeting his, "I understand though, it's never easy taking a hostage. It was necessary," she felt a sting of pride as he seemed to flinch.
Yes, she was using his words against him. The very words he had used once upon a time when she had first been abducted to the moors of England. And oh, it felt good.
Erik exhaled a long, low breath, obviously trying to reign in the temper that flared at her insolence.
His fists curled, but then unclenched as he looked at her, coldness all-too clear in his gaze.
It was the first time she had seen the walls rise with such fluidity; there was something daringly intoxicating about it.
The thrum of tasteful dominance.
Was this what Erik had felt when he had scared the managers into submission? The overwhelming feeling of explicit coldness when his tyranny was threatened?
"Do not test my leniency, Christine. My patience only extends so far," a hand slipped into his pocket, revealing a pair of ugly shades. They were larger than average, bordering on clunky. Instead of the lenses being merely tinted, they were an opaque matte black.
"Sunglasses?" she raised an eyebrow.
Erik inclined his head and handed them to her. She noticed a strap that connected the two legs, indicating that would be anchored to her head.
"Perhaps instead of studying them, you should put it on," Erik suggested curtly.
Christ, he's techy today, her mind groaned. But she followed his instructions, blinking as the dark shades went over her eyes. All she saw was darkness of the opaque lenses, until she felt Erik's hand press something on the side of the glasses.
If she had been standing, she would have stumbled. What Erik hadn't told her was that the glasses blurred anything in a dark tint that wasn't a few feet away from her.
Disorientated, she twisted to see Erik, who was assessing her steadily. His orbs were positively luminescent.
"What the hell is this? I thought I wouldn't have to wear anything when you said that you were being 'lenient with me'. How am I going to navigate an airport with these on?"
Erik bristled, "They are a good piece of technology,"
"For who!" she exclaimed, trying to take the damn things off.
"If you do not wear those Christine, you will not be taking the flight to Paris," Erik's voice rumbled.
Her fingers halted, "Seriously?"
Please tell me this man is joking.
"I do not jest. Now, let me adjust the strap,"
Reluctantly, she twisted around, feeling the careful way Erik's fingers plucked at the strap and never touching her skin.
"So, you have yet to tell me why I have to wear these…Things,"
Erik leant back, checking one last time that they were attached securely, "Indeed. Our cover story is that you will be my visually impaired niece going to Paris to visit other relatives; if anyone asks we are going for pleasure, not for business. Though undoubtedly most people that visit the capital of France are tourists,"
"Your niece? Do you really think I can pass off as that?" she interrupted, unconvinced.
"Would your rather be my wife on our lovely honeymoon?" he snapped, the scathing tone a veneer over heart-wrenching hope. After a moment of silence passed and Erik nodded, eyes lowering, "I thought as much,"
Christine swallowed the guilt that crawled into her chest.
"Stay, I will open the door for you. It may take some time before you adjust without guidance,"
Unclipping her belt, she tried focusing on the dark shapes of the front of the car and Erik's moving one. She thought she saw him pass the windscreen, but then her door was opening and Erik was standing there.
Oh.
The thin wheels of a wheelchair were parked beside the door. She knew that it was not for the man holding the door open, a hand hovering to offer her support in getting out.
"I'm not going to be walking, am I?" she muttered darkly, ignoring Erik's hand and climbing out herself. Nausea rolled in waves as her world jarred; it was as if she was drunk. Her fingers gripped the car door, vying for balance. Christine could see why there was a wheelchair for her.
He meant for her to be blind. Why else would she be wearing sunglasses? It was a sickeningly good cover story and she loathed him all the more for it. Why couldn't he be a man that had a weakness? One noticeable weakness was all she asked!
"Your carriage awaits," Erik drawled, gesturing to the chair and stiffly offering her a hand once more.
Grudgingly, she used his hand to stumble over to the chair, slumping into it with a sigh of relief.
"Do you now see why I spared you with the scarf during the car journey?" Erik's hands came to grip the handles and then there was motion, the slight squeak of the wheels and whoosh of the air caressing her face. Erik was actually wheeling her out of this…Warehouse? Indoor carpark for the insanely rich? Carparking reserved those for special needs?
The irony was not lost on her. Out of both of them, she was certainly not the one who had special needs.
Her hands gripped as they made a sickening turn, the world shifting around her and she groaned faintly.
"It will ease as you become used to the appliance of them. There will be no long-term ill effects, I assure you,"
Closing her eyes limited her opportunity to gather sense of her surroundings and Erik did say that they wouldn't be so bad soon, but if she kept the luxury of vison, she was worried she would soon be emptying the contents of her stomach.
"And how long exactly, O Wise One, will it take to get used to it?" her fingers gripped the hand rests so tightly her skin was whitening.
"It depends largely on the person, tolerance and duration of exposure," Erik replied thoughtfully, allowing a dark-clothed man open a steel door for them to pass through.
From the shelter where they had parked the car and through her slitted eyes, they entered a hallway of concrete walls and carpet, piercing fluorescent lights trying to rouse a headache.
Stifling her disappointment at his answer, she asked another question, "Where's the luggage? Aren't we going to check it in on the plane?"
Erik chuckled as they travelled down the winding corridor, "We have bypassed most of the official checks; how else do you think the royal family are smuggled through customs?"
"Doesn't much look like what the 'royal family' would walk down,"
"Oh, is that not the purpose of subterfuge?" Erik remarked, clearly amused.
I walked right into that one, she thought.
They took another turn and he wheeled her up several ramps into a corridor that's walls grew whiter and the scuffed carpet turned into scuffed tiles. Murmurings of voices grew louder and louder. Abruptly, they stopped before a corner and she felt Erik step away from the wheelchair.
Christine was twisting around to see when Erik's panicked voice reached her, "No! Do not look, do not look Christine," he said the last part with such agony that Christine was momentarily frozen by it.
"Please, listen to Erik," he soothed, "Listen to Erik's voice," honey dripped from his tone, a viscous compelling state that reached her in a matter of seconds. Her fingers' grip on the hand rests eased, relaxing as a low hum reached her ears.
Yes, listen to Erik, her mind languidly agreed. The Angel, the Angel, the Angel has returned.
Is it a lullaby, or a song that is merely sung soft enough to be one? Never mind, still pretty. Yes, very pretty. So strange, yet beautiful.
There were sounds of rustling behind her, the snap of a case opening, but the swirling melody kept her from turning, compelling her only to listen.
A haze of time passed; it could have been hours or mere minutes before she heard the click of Erik's fingers bringing her back.
Christine blinked out of her stupor, embarrassment at being so susceptible to the effects of his song colouring her cheeks pink, until she recoiled at the face staring back at her.
It was so…Wrong.
The waxy-looking skin and the straight, straight nose, the slightly pursed lips, pink – as if painted- yet almost handsome features? Just above the lips darker shades of hair was a neatly-kept moustache, that actually suited the face, rather than detracted from it.
Wow.
Perhaps the cheeks were just a tad too sharp, Raoul's face had always been softer. Yet what made dread sink in her stomach in horror were the clear blue eyes that gazed back at her.
Not yellow, not amber, not threatening.
Blue, soft and warm. Her heart ached viciously at the sight and for one moment she longed to run to those eyes that greeted her from a different person, to jump into those arms and sob for her returned mate.
A soft chuckle escaped those lips, which moved from their elegant repose, "A surprise, no? Do you like what you see, dearest? Am I a handsome fellow?" The corner of the face moved, in a way that told her that it was just another mirage as it crinkled slightly.
The illusion shattered; the sonorous notes of Erik's tone caressed her ears preening for approval, the slight tilt of his head, the flex of those black-caked fingers that were nothing like the soft brush of tanned fingers. Fingers which would hold her head as coaxing bliss-filled lips pulled on hers.
Christine manged to raise her dropped jaw, snapping it shut like a shark, knowing the burn of embarrassment hadn't faded and wouldn't for some time. She shook her head, but when she met the eyes of the stranger before her, it seemed that apart from his formal attire and shock of black hair he was another person.
"It's…" she scrambled words. Be diplomatic. Diplomatic. How the hell was she respond to this? While remaining neutral…
Christine ducked her head, "It's nice," she coughed, "Seeing a person instead of a mask,"
"It will allow human interaction to be conducted easier," Erik agreed, the preening tone was gone, replaced by human indifference. She almost welcomed it; both unused to the hope glistening so earnestly in his eyes – the utter yearning that begged her to give him a kiss well done – and the cool indifference that she knew how to respond to.
Nodding her head, she wrapped her arms around her chest, "So, are we going to stay here all day or do we have a plane to catch?"
An inexplicable feeling of excitement bubbled through her, dread the last thing on her mind. As Christine peeked through her lashes, a gasp escaped.
Humanity!
Oh, what a joy it was to see people again. People: the hurrying of lost looking families dragging their ragtag toddlers, the amount of sleekly dressed businessmen, (a phone to their ear and the grimace of jet-lag settling in); teenagers slumped over on chairs with raging music in their ears, bags piled around them as their families pop into the toilets one last time before boarding the plane. People. The polished salesman holding out an overpriced perfume, slick smiles and not a wrinkle in sight. People: the hoarse laughter of a drunken lad and mates; a husband coming back and buying last minute presents for his wife and kids; hoping that he wouldn't get caught with his infidelity if he bought enough goodies to distract them. Here; a horde of abaya-clothed females being herded along by the men of the group, dark eyes glancing warily around.
People.
She had been starved of this sight for months that set into her bones like years, that when she had one blink to take it all in, a dizziness overcame her. Something that wasn't from the glasses.
The wheelchair didn't move. She had been pulled back to the shadows, not going a step further into the light.
They stayed there, just watching.
"A seething mass, is it not?" a tender voice broke her reverie, sympathy – perhaps even empathy – allowing her a breather, to get used to the sensation of people again.
"Is this what it's like for you?" she murmured, feeling an odd weariness settling around her, it was tiring just to look at them all, in a way.
She had never felt it so acutely.
Erik swallowed and she heard the wan smile in his voice, "Yes, it's an experience not many seem to have. Knowing you will never be a part of them, the masses. Normal little lives and normal little destinations, no more innocent than a holiday,"
"But you can be normal, if you want," she replied empathically, wishing for a moment to turn around and try to soften his heart with her gaze. He could take that mask off and walk among them. The cage he wore was of his own making! He believed he was different, but that didn't mean instantaneously he had to be. Maybe his life taught him differently, but maybe, just maybe there was a way for him to change.
And you can teach him. This is your chance! Teach him about the good of the world and he'll – he'll let you go…
If you can convince him, if he really loves you.
There were too many ifs and she knew it. But for once there was a new type of hope, one that didn't leave her feeling cold.
Hope for redemption in the form of a masked man.
They moved quickly forward, their gate was approaching as she sipped her duty-free cappuccino. Erik had initially grimaced at the suggestion but relented when he saw her longing gaze. The paper straw was disintegrating in her mouth and she wondered abstractly if Erik had put anything in it to make her sleep on the plane. He hadn't wanted to leave her, (she guessed Mathew was dealing with all the bits they had missed travelling through the airport), but as she had behaved so well so far and merely slumped in the chair when he had given a cursory threat, he had a change of heart.
There was something, even within the changed eye colour, that twisted in his demeanour when she gave up and curled beneath his warning glance.
Had it scared him as much as it scared her?
At least now they were heading to the front of the que, those of higher class and mobility issues (in this case they were both) being ushered on first in front of those normal people they had watched just half an hour earlier.
She would take the inconvenience of being pushed against a sweaty middle-aged man and a screaming toddler, if only to have an arm around Raoul and the world as her oyster.
It seemed positively dystopian in comparison, as she was wheeled down the aisle, getting a set of pitying gazes, along with a few looks of disgust from the 'upper class'. But she was the main attraction; who had time to look at the odd face of her assistant, hunched over to conceal his height, smoothed hair far too perfect to notice?
They passed the passport check and was asked to take off her glasses, until Erik behind her said in a boringly average voice, "She requires them for her unique medical condition," from his pocket, he produced a set of neatly folded papers, handing them over through the gap provided for passports.
'Nick' – that was what was on his name badge she could just make out through the glasses – eyed the reports for a moment. He harrumphed, "These are all official looking, I'll give you a pass. Next time though, you might want to –"
"Yes, yes, I agree," Erik interrupted sombrely, "You see my niece has only recently lost her sight," Christine felt the tender stroke of her hair and his voice regained that mesmerising quality, "You can see how much the trauma has affected her. France will be a vacation for the poor girl,"
I'm right here! She wanted to interrupt, but sternly reminded herself of her part. She was a dull blind girl who mourned over her recent tragedy.
It didn't sound so far from the truth; the irony made her heart clench.
The man's temperament softened, "Yeah, poor kid. Go and enjoy your holiday,"
Christine managed a nod at the man's words that were finally directed at her. If you knew, you wouldn't be calling this a holiday.
You'd be calling it hell.
She was wheeled by, directed by the man behind her, not been given a second glance and peacefully dismissed as insignificant. Yet she felt the lasting stare of that tired airport worker. A man probably with two kids and a wife, who was thinking how would he cope if one of his kids ever have that awful thing happen to them, how glad he was it wasn't little Willy who was confined to a wheelchair to the rest of his life.
Did he pity her?
The thought made her uncomfortable. It was as if she was being truly…Judged. Not just being an odd kid at school who'd experienced a tragedy, but this was so stirringly intimate for a stranger. Don't pity me! Don't pity me! Don't think I'm some helpless sod, I'm worth more than that! I'm not one of your human 'duties' to feel sorry for.
I am not nothing.
Christine hunched in the chair, dipping her head low into her chest, trying to obscure the abnormality on her face. Yet still people looked as they were privately escorted to the plane via a mini-bus, how she had to wobble as she stood, pray for Erik's stability as he lead her safely to her seat and duck her head once more when the staff guided them to the metal staircase. The metal monstrosity that would lead them to the plane.
Her fingers clenched around the glove as she looked them, looming over her as precarious as climbing a cliff face. Without a rope.
"Hush there my dove, we will surpass this barrier," Erik soothed her and suddenly she realised she had voiced her whimper out loud. Erik turned to her, golden eyes a beacon in the darkness that surrounded her vision.
"Christine, do you –" he paused, eyes lowering, "Trust me?"
It sounded cliché, yet she felt the soft strain of his voice, the hitch of the 'me', the childlike bowing of his head.
How could she not?
The moments of peace of walking through the garden, the moments when he carried her through a song and a voice like a ray of sun to a wilting flower. A desire to prove that she was different, that she was kind, that she was capable…
The forsaken pull that riddled her life with agony when with Raoul. The fear when mixed with that voice, that person who seemed dark and in need. The ones you would find in those fantasy books, the heroes of their own stories. A safe dark night, instead of the constant sunburst. A wolf that howled to her inner wild.
"Yes," she choked out, unable to meet his eyes as they jumped back to her in surprise.
"Then we shall get through this obstacle," Erik said succinctly, as if it was a mere choice.
Before she realised, she was swept up into a familiar pair of arms. Even though they pressed around her strong as iron, tenderness circled her heart as he cradled her as one would a babe. Her stomach lurched as his foot clanked onto the metal, fabric of his dark coat brushing her face.
It smelled of something. What would you call nice-smelling chemicals you don't know? Did you call it a coat smell? She felt clean sniffing it, at least that was how she could best describe the sensation. Either way, there was a sort of comfort as she clung onto him as they ascended the stairs, each step ringing out like a toll of a bell. Christine could pretend that he'd never let her fall, her saviour carrying from the monster's castle to paradise and her happily ever after.
Wasn't that what girls were taught to dream about? A handsome prince and an unrealistic life of happiness and justice? She wanted to laugh! Oh, she could have had that with Raoul.
But that was never going to happen, now. There was no hope.
Perhaps it was better to just accept it.
Christine pressed her face tighter to his chest, hoping he'd just think it was her nerves. However, she wasn't expecting the slight squeeze of his arms around her. Oh Erik.
Would it be that bad? Was it awful that she was able to consider a life where she'd never leave the cocoon of Erik's web?
She'd never want for anything, her life would be filled with luxury.
Luxury she never had when she'd been alone. Not even the guilt that it brought when Raoul's smile would glimmer in pity as he bestowed her new coat and take away the one that had a few holes. Erik's gifts were too ostentatious, but there was something that made her wonder if at one point he'd been in a similar position, of lacking wealth, of pretending you weren't living in relative poverty. Instead of pity, there was something more that Raoul's eyes had never shone with.
Christine snapped out of her reverie when they passed into the interior of the plane, blinking in shock as the heated air traced her numb cheeks. Even through the tinted glasses that limited the reach of her vision, the white leather of the seats were pristine. She couldn't get over the amount of leg room as he set her onto the sinking-leather of the chair and he himself on the window-seat. Christine submerged the prick of disappointment as she tried to peer out of the window. The blurred colour of the sun and the murky concrete were as far as her goggles could allow her to observe.
"Can I take these things off now?"
The artificial face of Erik twisted into view, a dark-haired eyebrow rising, "Once we take off and all the rest have gotten their glass of champagne, you may remove them. However, you must put them back on if you move from your seat and you cannot look at any passenger directly. We do have an act to uphold," he added dryly.
We? More like the one you gave me.
Erik must have noticed her expression souring, "We shall not have to do this every time we wish to travel, but for now, until –" he coughed suddenly, and for the first time she saw the flash of grey-tinged skin that resided under the 'face', "Until there is reason not to, this will be our cover when we travel,"
Christine nodded, noticing the rest of the people filing into the plane. Under the cover of the glasses, she was free to observe them. Free to move, pretend, be the dutiful niece.
Was it even worth taking them off?
Well, that was not how I expected writing this chapter! I thought we'd at least land at France by the end of this haha! I guess Erik and Christine had other ideas :P I think we get a closer look into Erik's psyche this time and how Christine is slowly starting to piece together her elusive maestro. How did you like the invention of the glasses, funky aren't they? I was inspired by many factors; mainly a suitable cover story and how to make Christine 'blind' and the idea of disorientating her so that she would struggle being able to find her way around the airport if, by chance, she tried to escape. Erik's one clever cookie, isn't he? Oh and when I was younger, they did a class on the dangers of alcohol and I had a chance of wearing those 'drunk glasses' and it really helped me know what Christine would feel like wearing them – especially when they are attached to her head and the desire to take them off immediately.
Is it so hard for her to imagine a life with Erik? Not because she wants to but considering the possibility of escape being futile. Any person who's been entrapped for what seems like years would consider it at some point. At some point that hope would start to dwindle. Erik's so well equipped and organised that it would totally be a shock, especially when he's being such a hawk in how he is keeping her in line now that they're leaving. Christine would think she might just have a chance.
Instead, she's realising how outmatched she is.
Also 'And kill not yourself' is a quote from the Quran. It's a major sin in Islam (which is Nadir's religion if you weren't familiar with his character) and he isn't likely to be redeemed from it, therefore separating him from his family who reside in heaven. (Honestly, I love some of the research I have to do for this!) Unfortunately, I only really learned about Buddhism and Christianity in depth in school and briefly over other religions haha so some of it is new to me!
But, I won't go into it too much!
There are some surprises still to come along! Thanks for being patient, I hope it didn't disappoint!
Merci,
Enigma
P.S Happy Easter everyone! :D