Chapter 31 - Their Guilt
Hate. Hate had never been part of the equation. Stiffening, unending shock, flashes, moments that stilled her mind and froze her tears. The horror, horror, horror, of his bloodcurdling scream, scraping her ears, flailing hands screeching against skin – tearing, abhorring – knees crashing into pavement, plunging to depths of despair; a banshee weeping a requiem. Her requiem.
Eyes of thunder, eyes of rain, couldn't sleep ever again.
The taste of her own blood collected in the pit of her mouth; caught in the line of fire, the soul-shaking fear of the demon standing over her, "See, oh you foolish Jezebel, cry out for the monster, scream – scream like the dozens who have come before!"
Possessed. They had both been.
Pain throbbing across shoulders – how hard had he shook her? It hurt, pressed against the seat, unable to stop the sobs leaking from her, salt trickling past her nose, tapping onto the seat, again, ba-bum, ba-bum. A heartbeat condensed into liquid, drying without a conscience.
Craned against her knees, shivering, but not from the cold, the pitted silence of ragged breathing, a being that once adored captured with hate, roiling with loathing, barely looking at the wretch he had hurled into the backseat.
He's never hated me before.
Not like this.
I'm unredeemable.
How can he be alive? I don't understand. His face – that thing that inhabits his skin, it moves! It moved, how it hated me. Those cold, cold eyes, how long did he not even exist? He disappeared, my voice has never lost him like that…HOW IS HE ALIVE? WITH THAT FACE?
How does he live?
I want to puke. I want to breath. I want to die.
No scream, right then, under the horror of his true face, she couldn't scream: there was a monster that had taken over his face, and it was killing him. No – that was his face, and no, no, no, this wasn't a mask. There are no more masks!
Has he been protecting me all along?
I don't understand how anyone can not feel repulsed by it, no, not it – the animation of it, the fact that it lives, and moves, and breaths, that Frankenstein and the monster is one and the same. Creator and destroyer. Insane and sane. Jekyll and Hyde. Am I now facing only Hyde? Have I destroyed him?
Have I killed Erik?
What was left?
"Was the ring so horrible, Christine?" a whisper, rasping, interrupting her sob, leaning into the door.
"I lost it," She needed water.
"No, no you did not loose it," a fist glinted obscenely, "You left it,"
"What is the point? If you only contradict me, why? Why am I even here?" her ragged whimper echoed through the air, "Get on with it and kill me too,"
"Oh no, Christine, Christine has been a naughty girl, a disobedient fiancé! Why should she pay the price of a fantastical imagination! Erik would rather think she imagined a prince under that fine mask; Christine must be rewarded with the happily ever after she's always dreamed about,"
Cringing, she screwed her eyes shut, "Please, stop it, it was a mistake, I understand and I'll never make it again," I promise.
"But Christine does not keep her promises, oh no, Erik has learnt. He is capable of such a thing, should you assume he has intelligence under his fair façade!" he sniggered.
"He had plans, yes, a great many plans involving Christine – his Christine, of course and no one else's – for her return, to society, to grace the world with her divine voice, but now –" a distant sigh, "Now that Erik can no longer permit her to leave, things will be very different...She will never again see the light of day –"
"Please – please, Erik, I beg of you," wiping the fresh trail of tears away, she pleaded at him – who had laid the broken mask across his face – "I will do anything to regain your trust, anything at all, please don't shut me in the dark," her hand reached for his, "Please, anything, just not the dark,"
Absent eyes travelled over her, "Darkness is not the thing to fear, it is whom you'll share it with,"
"I'll share it with you, willingly, Erik," her fingers stretched to reach him, but he moved it back, spooked, eyes flashing.
"No, no you lie, Christine always lies," he hissed, moving backwards into his seat, away, "That is how she befriended the monster, a mask she wears with great pleasure!"
No!
"It wasn't all a lie!" she rasped exasperatedly and her hand smacked against the seat.
No, that came out wrong, because she couldn't take that back, she didn't think it through, because he was looking in that strange, searing way, her mouth flapping uselessly, traitor to herself and no, no, no, he believed her.
"No," she whispered, her head sinking into her hands, "No, I didn't mean that, I didn't, I swear I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't,"
You did.
"Erik believes otherwise," he was smiling, she could hear it, creeping into his voice.
"No, no, no –" shaking her head, faster and faster, "No, I hate you, I've always hated you, I always will, I hate you, I h-hate you," why couldn't she say it with vehemence? Why did the words taste sour?
How could she hate him when pity was the only thing she could feel?
Loosing a cry, agonised and desolate, Christine slumped down in her seat.
There's nothing I can do.
Christine stared at the clouds, the only companions who could race her, yet they crawled sluggishly; she'd lost track of how many hours they'd been driving.
Even the soft words of Bilbo's adventures would have been preferable to the tumultuous silence.
The only sound to break the oppressive stillness was the faint gurgle of her stomach, and she only curled further inwards, when from the corner of her eye the shape shifted to look at her.
"My fiancé is hungry," he murmured, breaking the silence.
"I'm fine, don't want to inconvenience you," she replied as softly, focusing on the door-handle, the shine of the muted sky reflecting on the metal.
"Not at all, my duty is to provide – your devoted servant," she expected it to sting, but there was a lack of acerbity to his voice, a lack of anything.
As if he'd been drained.
A bout of pleads and explanations tried to rise, a helpless fluttering of inevitability, a futile need to wipe the emanating sadness from his eyes.
Perhaps at one point she'd fallen asleep, because there lay upon his face was his black mask – but it was slightly wrong. Something was wrong with it.
He's glued it together! But the nose is aligned incorrectly…He doesn't like mirrors, does he?
"Erik – I –"
A sharp hand cut her off, and interrupted, his finger pressed onto a button to open communications "Turn off at the nearest services,"
Bowing her head, she sighed.
We can't go on like this, not talking, permanently in this permafrost. But he has every right to loathe me, I betrayed him – his trust, his hope, his dreams – of a willing…
Hostage. That's all I am, all I have ever been.
STOP LYING TO YOURSELF!
I want Raoul…I want his simple life. Whatever the price, I want it.
One day you'll pretend that it actually means something.
She still couldn't escape, her mind kept going back, flashes of colour and fear. Had she screamed? Her throat felt slightly hoarse, but she'd already mourned the death of both a mother and a life of freedom. Erik hadn't offered her any water.
The last time she'd drank something had been the sprite on the airplane.
No wonder I feel so faint.
I want to ask him about Raoul. About what happened to that inspector? What happened, what happened, what happened?
I can't mourn another person.
Papa, Mor, Mama. Raoul, Phil, Meg. Mary-Anne. I can still taste her home-made banoffee pie. Meg squealing with delight as whipped cream streamed out of its nozzle, Mary-Anne chuckling as her gnarled fingers brush against her daughter's hair.
I want to go home.
His shadow moved to the doors, hand resting on the handle.
"The windows are bullet proof, this car has been armoured for all sorts of transportation," and his voice gave the faintest tremor, "Never once had I thought I would be relieved to know that it can protect from the inside to prevent one from getting out,"
"Erik –"
"Silence," he snapped, "I have no wish to be in this situation, but care must be provided,"
"We can go together!" Christine grasped the edge of his trench coat, "I won't run. I know that – I know that I've lost, they'll be no more games between us, believe me, I don't want to fight anymore,"
The man shuddered violently under her touch, shrinking away, "If only Erik could believe that,"
"Please, we have to trust each other at some point –"
"QUIET!"
A whimper escaped her throat as the man turned away, releasing his seatbelt, "Erik will be back in five minutes. Do not cause trouble,"
"Where's Clarice?" the question left her before she could stop herself.
Seething eyes met hers, "Doing her duty,"
A slave to your whims.
The car door shut in her face, locking instantly.
A warm bacon sandwich with a bottle of water and a paper wrapped caramel shortbread landed on her lap, soon followed by the snapped order of 'Drive'.
"Thank you," It frightens me to know this is exactly what I would have picked, had I been there myself.
How long has he studied me? What kind of person thinks it right to know a person so in-depth to be able to predict what they would order at any given establishment?
"You are welcome," he replied stiffly. He hadn't bothered to put his seatbelt on.
"Are you not eating anything?" Christine asked tentatively.
"A corpse needs no sustenance,"
"You're not a c-corpse –"
His gaze flitted to the ceiling, the slightest tilt of his head. She remembered that gesture from so long ago. Once she hadn't understood what that meant.
"I mean it,"
"Sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever, one foot in sea and one on shore, to one thing constant never."
"Don't quote Shakespeare at me," Christine picked at the crust of the bun.
"So you did read further than Romeo and Juliet…You never told me as such," his stare was upon her, she could feel it peeking from the corners of her eyes. Those sad, pleading eyes.
She clamped her jaw, "I am not obliged to tell you anything,"
His sigh filled the space of the car, "A monster loves and adores you, yet even then, you have the power to destroy the heart that beats only for you," the black hand shook on his knee.
"I never asked for that," her voice trembled hesitantly, "I never asked,"
"But receive you shall," Erik growled resolutely, "He never asked to be cursed with such a face, the face that destroys all hope of a life, a life that only wished to be free of pain! Wished to love, Christine, for himself, and keep that in return. It is THIS FACE that has caused suffering in a godly number of the human race!"
"And you, Christine, you are the only bit of good that he could ever receive, ever give," he moaned, a wretched sound that cracked his beautiful voice, "The only piece that could ever be his,"
"And you know this, Christine," his eyes sought the soul his music had enraptured, ensnared and remade again, chilling and caressing, "You know that no one else can claim what you are, that you are mine." A finger of ice halted before her cheek, violently shuddering.
And God help her, she couldn't move away as his breath fanned her cheeks, "You are mine,"
Forgive me.
His words echoed in her head. But her bottle of water had been sipped at, but she felt no different.
She had no time to react before the hand – a hand that had hovered above her cheek, tentatively brushed the curls away from her neck. And from a pocket, his other produced a syringe.
She shook her head, wishing away the sting of betrayal, unable to fight the futility that crept around her.
No, because this time, he's betrayed me with a needle.
"I hate needles," she whispered, gazing at the half-eaten bun.
"It was not meant for you," the point tapped the side of her neck, and she shuddered, "But one cannot exactly prepare well when their fiancée decides to – to – abandon them,"
Christine gritted her teeth as a sharp scratch allowed the fluid enter her system, one bony hand holding her head steady, firm and unrelenting as a surgeon.
"I never wanted to hurt you, you have to believe me. I would have stayed," his hand released her abruptly. Christine winced as Erik sucked in a ragged breath.
"Then why didn't you, Christine?" his voice sparked dangerously.
Her blood hummed, heaviness weighing her head and she blinked hard to keep her eyes open.
It's strong, this one. Stronger than before. How? Is this what he meant by not being prepared?
"Why did you run? Why?" he hissed.
"I never wanted to be married,"
"Wrong," Erik snapped, shifting closer so that his face hovered above hers, "Tell me, little Christine, this is your last chance,"
Make your choice.
Her lips trembled.
"I always wanted to marry someone I loved,"
Her words slipped from pink lips, the serpent lying under it biting him like a viper, two fangs inserted into his beating organ. Moments later the girl sighed, a forlorn breath of air, before the magic of sedation spirited her away.
And the monster beside her shuddered silent sobs. The sound of shattering could be heard.
"She will never love you,"
"No,"
"Why else did she run? She said so herself that she holds no affection for a demon like you!"
"No, Erik knows her soul, she cannot hate him. He made her,"
"She fears you,"
"No,"
"She hates you,"
"No!"
"She loves him,"
"Quiet!" his hands shot out, fingers clawing into his head, displacing the sheaf of hair, pulling terribly against the limp strands underneath, "Quiet, quiet, quiet,"
"She will have no other option to love, soon," he grated against the jeers swirling, in his head, in his mind, everywhere, "She will love Erik, his music will heal her, there will be no one else!"
They laughed, his sire's cackle, the witch that had torn out the buddleia, had stared for years on that porch, listening. Just listening. The monster that had guarded the garden. His mother had been a monster too.
"She will die and leave you, just like I did! She will escape you,"
"No! Christine is different, she will live, live, live,"
"Butterflies know that monsters aren't friendly, don't you remember, Erik? Remember how you scared all the butterflies away?"
"You pinned them against paper, Erik was protecting them, he never hurt them. Just like Christine,"
"She flew away," she whispered.
"Then Erik will clip her wings!"
"And damage her? Just like you did to me: your own poor unhappy mother?"
"You did that to yourself by allowing Erik to live!"
"She's dying,"
Yellow eyes focused on the pale hand that had fallen open-palmed onto the seat. He slipped one glove off, a necessary evil. Tenderly, he raised her hand, the dead-weight disconcerting, despite the languid pulse that caressed his greedy fingers, eyes adoring those slender digits and small little palm, the heat that slid directly to his soul, moistening his eyes.
He was a sinner, perversely holding innocent flesh while its occupant slept, oblivious to his transgressions, the mournful beat of her chest rising and falling, rising and falling. Alive. Alive. Alive.
His little butterfly was anything but dead.
"Touch its wings for long enough and it will never be able to fly again,"
His fingers released her and her hand dropped onto the leather; it wouldn't do to fly too close to the sun.
Sleepwalking, noises half-bleary, at one point she thought she heard seagulls, faint whisps of air from an open window, a tender murmur. Dreams. A face, again and again, been torn part at the seams, underneath the grinning spinning edges of a skull. Laughter that crept behind a flame, fingers squeezing, fingers choking, until no life was left. Mirrors, a dozen, until she grew so dizzy that when she turned around, her own death's head faced her.
Screams.
Two crows, perched on her arms. A third circling above. Cawing, talons gripping her flesh. Let go, let go!
Whimpers.
Then music, a voice, a sole voice, rapture of distant ecstasy. Soothing ripples struck against her mind, easing the shadows that surrounded her.
"Papa, why is it so loud?"
Wind battled across misty skies, mournful wails rattling the shutters. Bang, bang, bang!
"The wind calls out, älskling, and the world replies," she felt the gentle weight of her father sitting beside her, the bed creaking under his weight.
"It makes you feel all alone," one bottom lip jutted out, "Why did Mor like it?"
An arm raises and she crawled out of bed to snuggle under it, shivering.
"She loved it because when she travelled, it was the thing that made her feel at home when she was wrapped up in bed, Christine. But not everyone likes it," lips touched her head and he squeezed her, "Even I don't like it,"
Big eyes looked up at him, "But I thought you weren't afraid of anything, Papa,"
A sigh warmed her ears, "We can't be brave all the time, my little darling, but when we have someone else, we can pretend to be brave for them,"
"How?"
A faint smile touched the edges of his lips, dark eyes sad, "You'll learn little älskling, one day,"
Salt. The tang of sea salt, she was sure. She'd tasted it before, prickling the edges of consciousness. Sound: water lapping, gurgling, swish-swish against something ploughing against it. Tiny fingers, raspberries against her cheeks, kissing skin, water droplets. They were water-droplets. Dipping, her body, up and down. Motion of forwardness, body stiff and unresponsive. Ow. Stabbing pain, a stomping headache that reached behind her eyes and pulled at unconsciousness. No. No more sleep. Need to understand.
A groan tumbled from her mouth, incomprehensible. Tiniest movement of her head, pillow soft against her. The movement agitated the headache and another whimper of pain escaped.
"She begins to wake from her slumber," came a murmur. Who, who, who?
Erik!
A lightning bolt frazzled through her, and she made a move to sit up.
"Lie down, Christine," came the stern command, as cold as ice. There was no soft inflection in her name. The fact stung.
She reluctantly lay against the pillow, headache reducing at the relaxation. Every time she tried to peek through her lashes, her head thumped louder.
"Where – " she began groggily.
"Unfortunately, the side effects to the healthy dose of my own home-made tranquiliser, is that the higher the dosage, the more likely you will feel unwell after the usage. Given the fact it was meant for another, these are such consequences. They will fade in time,"
"Erik I –"
"WE are nearly reaching our new home, and if you do not wish for us to crash into a rock, please, allow me a moment of concentration,"
The protest died in her throat. Eventually, the even rocking of the vessel found its way lulled her into a doze, the breeze caressing her face contentedly.
Her next conscious thought was when a splash sounded and the next to the splatters soaking through clothing, freezing the skin underneath. The third came when the was yanked forward, jolting her body unpleasantly.
This is a boat!
Disorientated, Christine fought through the pain of her headache and heaved herself forward, until wiry arms caught her movement.
"Not so fast," came a growl, and with that, she was scooped up, finally opening her lashes to see a – a canoe!
With a thick velvet blanket, three cushions at one end – her end – and a set of oars thrown back inside it.
Another mortifying whimper escaped her throat. I have got to stop making noises. Speak!
"Where," she croaked, "Where are we?"
"At our new home, of course," he snipped, shifting her so that her head lolled back against him, "Do try to keep up,"
His black mask was a relief for sore eyes as he started moving. The objection at being carried was abruptly silenced when he gave her a warning look.
I can't stir his temper, not today. He's too hurt to even try. I can't win.
I've never won.
Papa, give me strength. Guide me, please. I don't know what to do. Have I really lost everything?
The journey took long enough that his arms started vibrating around her, shaking from exhaustion. Finally, he gently set her down against a rock, stepping back to regain his breath. His arms wound around his chest, head bowed, and the breeze whispered against the battered jacket he wore. Which unsuspecting victim had he stolen that from?
The wig had been lost. Alabaster skin glowed under strands of black hair, thin and wispy. Had he never known a life with a head of hair?
Yet, despite this frail body, last night it had been inhabited by a demon.
It had been terrifying.
Darkness had closed him cruelly in its dark clutches, grooming its master for that demonic rage. His eyes had never been more obscenely shining, hands looming like claws carved from a saw, teeth grinding against thin, pulling skin that revealed the edges of his jaw underneath. A skull. A hole where she felt no light had ever touched, gaping and deep. A maw of nothingness she would never cease to drown in.
Breath of a miasma that swallowed. Talons had reached from chains, hauling her down, like Marley with his fettered hands. Screaming, all that screaming. His wails haunted, rattling against her skull, even now, as she looked at this – this – black-clad maniac.
A ghost, in the flesh.
Yet here, she could see that shivering child. The one that had been left, abandoned in the snow. Friendless.
And alone.
"I can walk the rest of the way," her voice echoed, but it didn't touch the shuddering statue.
I can't do this! I can't keep seeing a doppelgänger of what I really know. What is real?
There's no fantasy or make-belief anymore.
"Erik?"
You destroyed that.
Focusing on reaching him, Christine rose unsteadily, leaning on the rock behind her to stand up. She counted.
Three steps to reach out. Touch him on the shoulder, pull him by the hand. There was a path, a dirt road, a home ahead.
All she had to do was reach out.
Pretend to be brave.
She raised her chin. No, I am brave. I am brave because there is no one else.
I will be brave, for him.
We will weather this storm together.
Finally, she sought his hand. Mournful, haunted yellow eyes stared at her as her hand tugged him along, the other hand holding his limp fingers tight over hers, unwilling to let go.
Papa's words, ones she had heard spread across her childhood, whispered in her mind, God will never forsake you.
No. She glanced at the man, eyes never leaving the ground, beaten obedience wrong in those shiny shoes, plodding onwards at her insistence, God may forsake you, but I know I can't.
It was certainly no tropical island as brisk air hounded them up the gravel path, fighting back shivers. Erik seemed to reappear when confronted with the exterior of a cottage, perched on the hill. Three polished stairs lead to a porch, under its awnings two chairs and one rounded door, paint the hue of ivy.
"Welcome home," murmured Erik, eyeing her hand enclosed in his, as if doubting its existence.
Her fingers dropped and she stepped away, pushing back the repressed horror as her eyes caught the horizon. Sea. Spread over the horizon was an ocean.
No.
"No, no, no, no," she moaned, hands pressing against her eyes, "Not here,"
"What did you expect?"
Christine winced.
"You betrayed Erik, Christine. Betrayal is one thing I do not take lightly. Did you think that we would simply resume lives that could – could have been? You could have been adored by the whole of Paris, girl! Not one who could have cherished you more, your most loyal friend, confidante, yet…"
Erik gave a shuddering breath, "Now, now your voice will live in Erik's protection. He had wanted this to be…Somewhere nice, somewhere pleasant to acquaint ourselves before we would live as M-Man and Wife, but alas, he had hoped far too much,"
Nothing.
Heated words hit against empty air and Erik stiffened, voice chilling, "Now come, so I can show you where we shall live,"
"…I want to be alone," she folded her arms against herself, the headache crawling to the back of her mind.
She was empty.
Five fingers clamped on her shoulder. Christine flinched.
"Oh, you will not be rid of the Monster yet, my dear. Come. Before I lose what little patience I have left,"
Numbly, she turned, unseeing as his hand fell to the crook of her arm. Tugging her like a little doll behind him.
A faint smile. I'm Erik's doll.
I don't have to be here, anymore.
"Here is your bedroom," his mellifluous voice guided her into the room, hands folded docilely in front of him.
Nodding, her eyes wandered across the furnishing. Modest. Whites, browns and nothing burgundy.
"Lie down for a while, I will come with some dinner shortly," his gaze tracked her.
She nodded again. It seemed that nodding was something that required little effort and did not disturb the peace.
Peace. What a wonderful word. It can mean so many things.
I wonder what it's like, peace.
He left her sitting on the edge of her bed, hands lying plaintively in her lap as the door shut behind him.
For the first time, he knew that locking it would not serve any purpose. He did not stop to question why that was.
The violin had been the first instrument that had caressed her ears as a babe, the song that willed her to sleep, where she'd first learned to find the beauty in melody, the soul that was music. Erik had always been able to elicit a direct response from Christine, even if it was melancholy and pain-filled, or rapturous and ecstatic (though oftentimes it had been the former), when his bow had glided against strings. But now, she stared into the cottage's far-reaching frames, absorbing herself in silence and encasing her mind in cobwebs. Sitting there, pliant, easy, and not at all like the child he'd once seen, roaming the halls, searching for adventure.
She was not right.
His playing began to coax, bright beautiful melodies that should have left a sparkle in her eyes. It was a challenge, of course, she was playing a game! Erik knew how to win games. His playing grew louder, tumbling towards violent tragedy as her lips trembled occasionally, punishing as no horror called him to stop battering her pretty ears with such caustic sound. Erik ignored his tendons screaming for him to stop, body bowing to the music, determined to see a tear trickle from her eyes, anything. He would have begged for anything!
Wake up, my pretty one, wake up!
She will be better in the morning, of course. It is shock. She cannot comprehend our wedding is in a mere few days, poor thing. Erik had intended to give her a month, but alas, he cannot let her slip again.
"Go to bed, dearest," he rasped, at last his fingers humming manically as blood rushed back, knees wobbling from exhaustion.
How many hours had it been? Eyes raised unsteadily from the floor, alighting on the clock, pendulum swinging.
Far too long. Far too long. I am cruel to make her ears bleed. But she has not made a sound. Not once.
Speak! Speak, goddamn you!
"Christine?"
Her body swayed towards him, head titling.
"I love you,"
She blinked.
Cold humiliation sank his stomach, "Go to bed,"
Christine continued to the door as if that brief moment she was a wind-up toy that had gotten stuck for a moment, jarring.
No sound emanated from her as white fingers opened her door.
The once familiar 'goodnight' never graced his ears as it creaked shut.
And, what frightened him the most, was that no sobs rose from the room adjacent to his…Only the ones from his own.
Stars, captured in the sky. If she closed her eyes hard enough, she could see Raoul's face. Hard and cold, eyes that condemned her for being unable to loathe the man she had once seen the good in. Heart puttering out, giving up. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? The Wife, the wretched creature that had taken over for the evening, the one she didn't know she had inside. Faintly, it amused her. He didn't seem to enjoy the Wife. Maybe, she could still keep herself tucked up and away for her private moments and let the other wear her skin during the day. That way, she could pretend. Live, and pretend. Still exist and breath at night, the one that thought and hoped and desperately desired. She could feel the cracks, her fingers ran over her hair, searching for the fissures that felt all too real.
He'd said something about clothes. And food. Something about a boat, arriving, tomorrow. Not the boat she'd been in. Another boat.
No. I can't think of that. Not another boat.
I can't tire myself out with thoughts of escape anymore. I've stranded myself and worn out all of Erik's trust in one fell swoop.
Better get used to the reality.
There was a long nightdress. One she had thought looked remarkably similar in that long-ago mansion, but the feral vegetation outside discouraged such memories. She was here now.
Her oversized top became her pyjamas. The slightly itchy trousers were flung to the floor. The bra followed.
She didn't bother to do her teeth. For the first time in several years, she'd not done her teeth. How scandalous!
An ivy-patterned duvet was lifted and she rolled herself into the middle, wishing with a pang for her little rabbit, Ms Mittens was far away, trapped inside an apartment never to be visited again, perched on a shelf in her bedroom. Or that little, red-scarfed teddy, whose sad little gaze she could still recollect.
I want to go home.
Night crept under her covers; the bed was huddled next to the window with cracks beneath the plaster. Foaming waters crashed against the jaws of cliffs as she slipped from her room.
It was late – or early – enough for Erik to have given up his post outside her room and return to his own. For hours, she'd watched the dim light from the crack underneath her door, hearing the scratch of his pen on paper, the pages of a book being turned. Eventually, she'd fallen asleep, but the house moved with the wind, stirring her unforgivingly from slumber.
Shivering, Christine stepped into the living room, drawing to the glass doors that lead onto the patio, fingers grasping the handles.
Oh. Locked.
Should have guessed that one!
Turning towards the kitchen, the tap squeaked as running water gushed into a glass. There was no orange juice in the fridge.
"You're awake,"
White digits clenched the glass, watching bubbles swirl in the water.
What are you, my bloodhound?
Clenching her jaw, she bit back the retort, turning impassively and brushing past him.
"You cannot ignore me,"
Watch. Me.
"We cannot go back, only forward, Christine,"
I thought we were done with riddles.
"Christine, answer me," his voice curled softly.
She paused in the middle of the lounge.
A claw turned her back, his grasp pinching her skin, "Can we not be friends?"
Don't look up. Not when I can still see it in my mind.
"You drugged me, you took me against my will again, and you think that I – we're just going to be 'friends'?" she looked at his chest helplessly. The reediness she didn't know if was a choice or biological.
"I wish for a life, Christine, a life – not to live on the edges of society. A companion to share it with," a spidery hand rose from her shoulder, trembling like a ghost as the lightest touch brushed her cheek, "Is that so very wrong?"
Breaking away, resenting the stillness of his touch, the way it spoke to her, the loneliness that she had been forced to endure, Christine shrunk back, brushing the cobwebs from her mind.
He flinched.
Think clearly.
Get out of here.
"Christine," his sigh followed her to her bedroom. Her hand was slippery against the glass.
"It's wrong if you have to kill to do so," she murmured to the wood. No. Don't think of him, Raoul's rasping goodbye.
"You think so ill of Erik, that you would presume the worst!" his accusation speared her.
"What –" she cleared her throat of the ice that coated it.
"Oh, you assume that the boy is dead?"
Her voice tremored, "And you're telling me he isn't?"
A creak behind her, "Presently, the boy is still alive. Erik was lenient, very lenient," his breath danced on her neck.
Christine released a shaky breath, body slackening as her forehead rested on the door, cool wood a balm.
"…You will speak to Erik, then, yes?"
Christine tensed as he shifted behind her, "Our wedding will commence in three days' time,"
White noise, painful and blurring together, unable to scream. The sickening punch to reality.
I thought it wouldn't get worse, I thought it wouldn't get worse!
"You see," he continued darkly, his lithe body drawing closer to hers, as if seeking heat from her, "All who witness Erik's face belong to him," a hand of ice traced her spine reverently, despite her body shifting away at his touch, "And no one, no one, escapes once they've exposed my secret,"
Panting, Christine cowered, squeezing her eyes shut.
"And one day soon, Christine, you'll be tied to me forever," the hand disappeared, leaving sparks of panic as she froze.
"Then, you'll never want to leave,"
Spirals drifted lazily from a pipe. He enjoyed the hookah, but he'd never quite mastered the art of feeling the pragmatic release that most others experienced from the high. Still, at least the cushions were tolerable.
"I didn't think that you enjoyed that vice, Erik,"
"And I didn't think that we were on a first name basis, Khan," a waft of air hummed lazily in the Officer's face.
Swatting it away, Nadir narrowed his eyes, "I don't think you quite understand the danger you are in,"
Erik sighed, leaning back against his pillows, "Do you not think me prepared?"
Nadir inhaled, before coughing at the fresh wave smoke that swallowed him, "I think you underestimate his power, and his alliance,"
"His words mean nothing," Erik sneered, "Fool, even I know that. And my services are hired for tonight, everyone knows that my…Cancellation fee… comes at a price,"
Gritting his teeth, the man turned, hands fisting, "You do not know that he has fangs that sink deeper than one transaction, and that is if he is pleased with you!"
"Khan! You tire me with your persistent cautions –" a grey hand tightened around the hookah's stem, "Why warn me away?"
Nadir's chin jutted downwards, "I've seen your lab. I've seen what experiments you held…I am wary that this will – will lead to your demise,"
A low sound grumbled in the air, "And yet, your persistence in this asks me to help me lead you to yours. I am on the verge –" his hand tightens until the creak of wood emanates, "No, I am on the tip of greatness, Khan! A timid soul like you would not understand,"
Nadir flashed his teeth, "I see my ethics are unwanted. I've tried to warn you. If they kill you, then I will not regret the man they erase from the Earth tonight, when you allow these people," he spat, "Have the freedom to torture any man they choose with the push of a finger!"
"I do not know why this has not bothered you before," yellow eyes pierced him through the smog.
"I allowed my conscience govern me for so long, that even my wife saw the black they etched. They're – we're - leaving, Erik,"
"You cannot," his eyes flashed, "They will find them. Your misery will be tenfold when they are shot,"
"I cannot live in this world anymore," jade eyes welled up, despite the gruff voice, "When my son and wife are in danger every moment I work for him,"
"Your false move will land you in my torture chamber,"
"That is a price I am willing to pay, but…you could come with us. Rookheya has a fondness for you, and Reza wishes to see you more often –"
"Khan, there's no time," Erik smiled softly, under the breathable fabric, "I have already confirmed the meeting, and no party will back out. What world offers me more for what my hands deal? West, east, north south…All will pay for a monster, what else lies in this world?"
"Love," the man glanced away, hearing Erik's sharp intake of breath like a knife whistling through the air.
"Get out."
"Listen – there will be someone –"
"Get out before I kill you, Khan!" the hookah squealed as it splintered and Khan's ear stung as it is grazed with a shard.
Jade eyes flared and he backed away, stumbling through the haze.
"Get the fuck out of here!" Erik screamed, "Go…"
A strangled sound emitted from the creature, languishing in the dying light of the day, "Go, before the Monster kills you too…"
The grey hand lay there bleeding steadily, as two eyes watched the door swing shut.
Hello (!) everyone, oh boy! I have missed writing…My head has been filled with work and issues, and have so little time to decompress… I say this every time! I feel each month my headspace has been stretched that bit more XD. Who'd have thought, huh?
I won't say it hasn't been busy because when Covid hits, it hits hard. This month taught me life is scary. And yet, despite this, we all have to make the most of it, find the beauty in it. I try and think of one good thing that happened each day. I don't know if it always works!
I am wishing everyone else, however, has had a wonderful start to the year…And if you haven't, I 100% understand! XD
I loved all of your comments, they were the beauty that I found and looked forward to, they really helped me this month, so thank you: Laurenvbellado, Wanderingwinter, GothicLolitaxo, and HoursOfMazenderan…:') Every reader is wonderful, too, so thank you for reading. I always smile when I see someone has spent time on this website, and actually reading my work…I still don't believe it.
Your most humble writer-ess,
Enigma
(again, apologies if there are any spelling/grammar issues, I wanted to upload for you all tonight than make you wait another day for me to edit! ;)