I just remembered, I didn't do one of those disclaimer things did I? Well, I don't own Phantom of the Opera, or any of the characters, but if I did, I would totally own Erik. And he would be mine. Not yours. Or Christine's. MWAHAHA!
I apologize for the previous cliffe, I promise I wont have a cliffhanger in the chapter. Well, I take that back. I might. But Im not sure. Lol. But a verrryy special character will come into the story here! One of my favorites as a matter of fact. Anyway, read the story and review! playing hypnotic Phantom music thats it...you hear gerry? You hear him singin? He wants you to review for meee...revieewww... review! Ok im gonna stop now. Lol. Thanks to all my reviewers.
Inspector: As always, thanks for the great reviews, and as promised, you will get a cookie if you review this chapter. Lol
Chapter 6:
Christine stumbled blindly through the dark passageways, soaked in knee-deep ice-cold lake water from her waist down. She stared glumly down at the once glorious wedding dress Erik had made for her, which was now sodden and would probably never be worn again. "Such a pity, it really was a beautiful dress.." she though as she pushed her way through the murk. She could see no farther than five inches in front of her face, and had tripped several times over numerous things submerged underwater, making her fall face-first into the murky depths of Erik's lake. The bitter taste of sewer would enter her mouth, and she would come up coughing and sputtering, too devastated to be embarrassed by her clumsy mishaps.
Fifteen minutes after she had fled from Erik's lair, she had abandoned her belongings in the lake, already too weighed down by her water-soaked clothes and the pain of what had happened only hours before. She had watched in float away in silence, before rushing after it in a fleeting memory of one of its contents.
With a sad smile crossing her lips, she pulled one of the roses with the black ribbons from the bag, and putting the rose behind her ear, prepared to close the bag until she noticed one of the roses did not have a ribbon. Frowning, she pulled the rose from the bag, studying its bare stem. "Roses really are such boring flowers without the ribbon..." she said absently before throwing the rose into the water, watching it float as she remembered the numerous roses she had received after her stunning performances, tied around the stem with Erik's signature black ribbon.
She turned away from the rose, and continued walking down a passage she had never seen before, hoping it would lead her out of this damp and desolate blackness. As she could see absolutely nothing, and she didn't know where she was anyway, she saw no point in remembering where she was and where she had been, and spent the following hours reflecting on what had happened.
She had been there in his arms, embracing him with all that she had, crying her heart out as she begged for his forgiveness for all the torment she had caused. She knew it would not be enough to repent for the loneliness and emptiness she had brought about in this poor man, but she had done what she could, expressing how highly she thought of him in his music, his architecture, his love..She had called him perfect! And she had meant every word, there was no doubt in her mind as she declared him the most perfect man she'd ever met. She would never have dreamed of saying those words if she had not believed them one hundred percent in her own mind.
Not that Raoul wasn't perfect, he was, but not in the same sense. He was handsome and wealthy, and full of love and devotion, but he was an aristocrat, a lover of fine things, a person who had never experience the pains of poverty, the fear of not being able to survive, or for all Christine knew, a the suffering after a loved one's death, for she was sure he was too young to understand his father or mother's death.
Christine had been through all of those things, but had always persevered through her music. Raoul, on the other hand, solved all of his problems with money, his brother's aide, or the comfort of the occasional liquor. He had never known music, or been too fond of it in the first place. He could not sing, his voice was dry and weak, therefore Raoul had no use for music. He considered it pointless and a waste of anyone's money to go watch people singing relentlessly for entertainment , and therefore had protested greatly when his brother decided to make him a patron of the Paris Opera House.
Raoul had told Christine this himself, completely unashamed that he was pouring his negative opinions out to a Prima Donna, a lover of music since childhood. It had been right after he had proposed to her, and they had sat on the roof, quietly chatting about future plans. He had boldly told her that she would have to abandon her life of singing once they were married, for no wife of his would be selling her talent of music to people for a price. Why, that was like selling one's self!
He had declared these things to a baffled Christine, rather taken aback by Raoul's possessive behavior. Christine had been rather irritated by his foolish hatred of music, telling him that singing was her career, and she intended to pursue it until she grew tired of the thrill of being on stage, which she knew would never happen. Raoul had stared at her in disbelief, as if thinking she would willingly give up a lifetime of singing just to be with him. Any of the other ballet rats would give up their careers for him, and Christine had been a ballet rat not too long before hadn't she?
But Christine knew Raoul would never have acknowledged her at all if she had still been a ballet rat, if her talent had never been recognized. She had foolishly ignored these things when they had been engaged, blinded by the love this man was claiming to have for her. But as she thought back on their time together, she knew it had hardly been anything other than lust. Raoul was determined to have a woman deserving of all he had to give, and he would not rest until he had someone who loved him unmercifully, who would give her heart and soul to him. And he had found that in Christine, proceeding to shower her in words of love and declarations of unending devotion and passion.
At the time, Christine had wanted nothing other than a lifetime of romance and passion, like she had read about in the novels her mother had used to read, which had become Christine's when she had died. She had been a silly teenager, wrapped up in her own desires and wants, while she ignored the one person who truly did love her with unending passion, who would die or kill for her, whichever she wished.
Raoul had been her romantic awakening as a teenager, but now, Christine felt nothing but dread as she realized she would have to go to him, marry him, and eventually start a new, royal life with the Vicomte de Chagny. She would be Vicomtess. At the time of the engagement, the idea had thrilled her, and she had hardly cared when she found out she would have to give up her life at the Opera Populaire. Raoul would be the same as if he were a knight in shining armor, saving his princess from the darkness of Erik's power he held over her.
At the time, his power had scared her. But now, as she thought of the fact that he had always been there, her only comfort and her only escape, had always been her one freedom, and the thought of his power sent shivers down her spine that were not caused by the chilliness of the water. Maybe she didn't have to go to Raoul. A life with him would make her miserable, and she was no longer afraid to admit it.
Maybe she could start a new life, on the outskirts of Paris, singing at weddings and funerals or small occasions like she had when she was younger. But how? She had no way to support herself, nothing to live on. And there would be no more of her Angel..There was no way she could return to Erik, as much as she found herself longing for his warm embrace.
What had happened to her? Days before, she had despised him, loathed him, wanted nothing more than to escape from him forever, never daring to look into his eyes. She had no longer considered him her angel, but she didn't think him a man either. He was a monster, a murderer, a person not deserving to be her angel.
But then he had looked at her with those eyes..and then she had realized it was all her fault he had acted the way he had, and she had been blaming him all this time for her suffering! She once again remembered their tender embrace, and a warm sensation overtook Christine as she continued to wade, now more slowly, through the freezing water.
Then she recalled him pulling away from her, claiming that all she said was a lie, saying that Christine had only said it to taunt him. At the time she didn't understand. She had been completely dumbfounded when he had pulled away, she had been so sure it was what he wanted, what SHE wanted even. But had she gone to far?
She stopped in her tracks, shaking her head, trying to clear her thoughts. Of course she had. She always messed up when it came to Erik. God, why did he intimidate her so much? She began walking again, only to run into a cold, stone wall a few feet in front of her. Christine growled in frustration. This was pointless! She had absolutely no idea where she was going, and when she finally did find her way out, what would she do then? She wanted nothing more than to run back into Erik's arms and stay there forever.
She had never felt so warm and loved in her life while she was in his arms, not since her father had held her as a child. But this was different, she was a woman now, or close to it anyway, and she knew what she was feeling for Erik was not what a daughter feels for her father. But she was still too afraid to admit what she really did feel for him, so she turned around and began walking down a different passage.
She only walked for about an hour before she came to the passage which led to her mirror. Breathing a sigh of relief, she stepped up onto the stone flagging, squeezing the water out of her skirt with numb hands. She raised her hand to her head to assure herself that the rose was still there, and feeling the silky petals beneath her fingers, she dropped her hand and continued walking. She kept an eye on the floor and the walls around her, trying to remember where Erik's traps were placed along this passage. Christine was surprised to find that the passage was dimly lit. That's odd..she thought, as she looked around for lanterns or torches around her.
Finding none, she shrugged it off and continued walking. She had finally made it to her mirror and was just about to push in the glass, when she noticed something on the floor. Picking it up, she gave a gasp as she realized what it was. She fingered the slightly bloodstained strip of fabric in her hands as she turned around and began running down the passage, stopping in front of the hidden trapdoor in the floor.
Just as she thought, there was no more dust covering the trapdoor, and pulling on the metal ring, she found that it was no longer water-logged as it had been the day she had discovered it. She realized that the room had been the source of the light, as she saw a candle lit in the middle of the room sitting on top of a wooden crate. She looked down into the room as the horrible odor wafted towards her, bittered slightly by a hint of alcohol. She looked into the room, surveying the makeshift bed and the weapons in the corner. She gave a frown of disgust as she surveyed the dozens of liquor bottles littering the floor, completely nauseated by the fact that anyone would live like that.
She closed the trapdoor, picking herself up off the ground after wiping her knees, trying to remove the dirt now covering the front of her dress. Not that it matters, she thought bitterly. She turned and continued to walk back towards her dressing room, satisfied that whoever it was that was living in that cavern was probably some drunk who had probably already met his end in one of Erik's traps. She walked up to her mirror, and tapped the mechanism that turned the mirror inwards. She stepped out, and was completely horrified by the scene in front of her.
It was a disaster! She eyed the burnt paintings as the shriveling wallpaper with horror, knowing that her room was probably the least damaged in the whole Opera House. She ran with worry in her eyes to the side of her bed which had collapsed, and with a trembling hand reached underneath the bed near the head, hoping to feel the soft vinyl of her father's violin case.
Her fingers brushed against its silky surface as she gave a laugh of sheer relief. She pulled the case from underneath the bed, and opened the case to survey the violin for any damages. Satisfied, she put the violin back into the case, and stood to leave the room. She closed her eyes as she felt around for the door, not wanting to ever see that room again. It was too empty and dark, it had always been such a beautiful room, full of life(or flowers), but now it was lonely and depressing. It was too eerie.
She tiptoed down the hallway, as if afraid to wake some unknown spirit. She averted her eyes from the burnt walls and the damaged figurines, focusing on getting to the door and as far away from this place as she could get. Never in her life had she seen anything more morbid, and she never wanted to again. The place had always had some form of life moving amongst it, it was an opera house after all. But now, there was no one there but the shadows.
She finally broke into a run, stepping over broken glass and fallen furniture, running down the stairs as she had down so many times when she was late for ballet practice. She stepped over a collapsed step, thanking God that she had seen it. She really didn't want a twisted ankle to add to all the other delightful things that had happened that day. Finally she reached the door, and with a triumphant grin reached up to turn the knob.
It wouldn't open. She turned it over and over, twisting it left and right, fumbling with the locks, but it wouldn't open. She gave a disbelieving cry of anger as she beat against the door, begging it to open. Surely the police had had to come inside to investigate, what other ways were there to get in? She gave a groan as he leaned back against the door, and felt it give way behind her. She gave a cry of surprise as she stumbled out into the cold night air of Paris, quickly regaining herself and breathing in a deep breath of fresh air. She closed the door with a loud thud, then pranced down the steps, suddenly a lot happier than she had been since she left the lair. She still longed for Erik, but now was not the time to pine for someone she had just run away from.
She stopped when she reached the street, looking left, then right, wondering where in the world she was to go. Erik had specifically told her to "go to the Vicomte" so she was determined to do exactly...not that. With a stubborn grin she headed off towards the only place she felt she would be accepted. Erik had introduced her to him once before, and it had been under quite odd circumstances. He had grumbled something about running out of tea, and he had ordered Christine to put a cloak on and follow him. She had been confused, but also very curious as to where in the world he would go to get tea at three o'clock in the morning. He had taken her to where she now stood, standing outside apartment thirteen in the Rue de Rivoli.
She raised her hand to knock, dropping it quickly as she suddenly felt bad about the whole idea. What was she doing there anyway? She could simply return to Raoul's estate and start her new life. She scoffed as she imagined what a fun life that would be, before returning her hand to knock. She dropped it again, as another thought went through her mind.
What if she wasn't welcome? Sure Nadir seemed like a pleasant man, but he also seemed very busy, and had become very irritated with Erik on several occasions during his and Christine's visit. Deciding she didn't want to risk it, she turned to walk down the stone steps just as the door opened behind her. She turned in surprise, nearly colliding with the poor man.
She surveyed his familiar astrakhan hat, and the most dazzling jade eyes she'd ever laid eyes on. He was the strangest looking man she'd ever met, and she still found herself fascinated by him even though she had already met him. He looked at her with surprise in his eyes before surveying her himself, and Christine realized with a blush that she must look a wreck. She wrapped her arms around her body and her father's violin in a weak attempt to cover her drenched form, before attempting to open her mouth to speak. No words came out, and she realized her mouth was completely parched and her voice was completely gone.
Realization struck in Nadir's eyes as he gave her a polite nod, before standing back to allow her into his quarters. She walked in with chattering teeth, trying to thank him with her eyes. He seemed to understand, and went into his privy to retrieve a towel to dry her off. When he returned and handed her the towel, he led her to the couch where she gratefully sat down, towel wrapped around her, trying to stop her shivering.
He looked at her with kind eyes, and gently placed her violin beside the couch before turning and walking into his kitchen. "Mademoiselle, I will prepare you a cup of hot tea, and once you can speak again, you will tell me everything that led you here" he called over his shoulder, and Christine could only nod, finding it pointless and quite impossible to argue. She looked around the interior of Nadir's home, appalled at the striking resemblance to Erik's own home. There were afghans draped over the two European couches, both with the most elaborate and intricate designs Christine had ever seen.
She eyed the tapestries and elaborate furnishings of his living room with awe, her mouth slightly agape, unable to look upon the things without Erik's home flashing through her mind. Although the Persian's home is much neater, she thought with a small smile.
Nadir returned shortly afterward with a tray containing a tea kettle, two cups, and some fresh pastries. He set it lightly on the table, pouring Christine a cup and handing her a pastry all in one fluid, graceful movement. Just like Erik, Christine couldn't help thinking. She pushed the thought from her mind and she gave a nod to Nadir as the best way of saying thank you she could manage, before greedily gulping down the tea and swallowing the warm pastry.
She swallowed the last bite of pastry, savoring the way the icing melted in her mouth and the warm dough slid down her throat. Finally, she opened her eyes to see Nadir, leaning back in a overstuffed chair across from her, studying her intently with his eyes. She jumped slightly in surprise. She hadn't even heard the man sit down! She felt herself blush as she wiped the icing from her mouth and set the cup on the tray.
"Monsieur Khan.." she began but was interrupted before she could finish. "Call me Nadir, I think we are slightly past the formalities" he said with a small smile. She nodded her head before starting again. "Nadir.." she said slowly, as if testing the sound of his name. "Please forgive me for intruding. I had nowhere else to go, and somehow I found myself at your doorstep. I could never find words to express my gratitude. And please forgive me for eating as I just did, I hadn't realized how starved I was." she finished with a slight blush, then looked down at her hands as Nadir continue to look at her intently.
"Christine, Erik obviously thinks...highly... of you, and therefore you are as good as family to me. I would never deny a homeless, soaked, starved, thirsty, and no doubt exhausted woman a simple cup of tea and a towel no matter how close to them I am. I must insist you stay the night, or you will certainly catch pneumonia." He gave a gentle smile as Christine let out a sigh of relief.
"Thank you so much, I promise you I won't be a trouble in the slightest. I'll clean dishes if you like, or perhaps sweep? Anything to repay you for your troubles." He merely shook his head, before declaring. "Tell me what Erik did to you to make you leave him, or be released, either of the two, and what led you to my humble apartment instead of the warmth of the Vicomte's estate. That, Mademoiselle, is all I ask."
She simply stared at him in disbelief, not sure where to start. How did he know about the Vicomte? Did he know she didn't want to be with him anymore. "C-call me Christine." she finally stammered. He let out a light laugh that seemed to soothe Christine's nerves. She finally felt prepared to tell him, although she wasn't exactly sure how.
He waited patiently, knowing she would speak in time. He avoided the temptation to fiddle with his fingers, knowing that was the first sign that a person was growing impatient. Finally he jerked to attention as he heard her whisper, " I upset him". She looked completely depressed, and there was hurt in her eyes as she studied the tapestry on his back wall. He remained silent, knowing there was more. Finally, she took a deep breath and turned towards him. "He played for me. He hasn't played for me in such a long time, so I was lured to go listen to him, he really is such a talented musician.." she dazed off before once again continuing.
"When he finally stopped playing, he looked at me, and it was like the world stopped. There was so much sadness in his eyes, Mons- I mean, Nadir, I felt as if my heart were breaking. I felt his sadness, and I knew I was the cause of all of it. I couldn't even speak, I was so overcome with guilt. I managed to choke out that I was sorry, and he told me to sit down beside him. I did and,.." She paused, closing her eyes as she remembered his embrace. "He enveloped me in his arms, and I completely broke down and started crying. I asked him if he would ever forgive me, and he muttered something about no woman ever loving him anyway, so he couldn't blame me.
"I thought it was complete nonsense. I told him I thought he was the most perfect man I'd ever met." She stopped as she noticed Nadir's eyebrows raise in a questioning gaze. "And I meant it. I have never met a man like him, he's the most amazing person I've ever met. And I told him exactly that." Finally Nadir thought it necessary to speak. "Erik doesn't believe people can feel that way for him. I am guessing he got offended?" Christine gaped at him before speaking. "Yes, he got rather offended, he pushed my hands away, I had removed his mask you see? And I was touching his face, and- What? I told you I find nothing wrong with Erik. He is as much a man as you are."
"I never doubted that Christine. Continue."
She frowned before continuing. "So he pushed my hands away, and stood up to make dinner. I started to ask him why he had pushed me away, when he cut me off. He said my actions were meant to be taunting games, and he could take no more of it. So he said I could go..to live with the Vicomte.." The last word faded off until it came off as nothing more than a whisper, but Nadir heard it clearly.
"And why did you come here?" he asked, but already knowing the answer. Christine studied the rug, biting her bottom lip before choosing to answer him.
"Because I don't love him Nadir," she whispered to the carpet, closing her eyes as this realization struck her like a blow to the face. But Nadir was expecting that. He opened his mouth to speak. "And who do you really love, Mademoiselle?" he asked soothingly, forgetting that he had refrained from using formal titles.
She looked at him with sad eyes, the tears already threatening to flow.
She tried to speak, the first time her voice failing her. Finally, she managed to half- choke, half-whisper her response.
"The one I left behind."