—A/N—
Get ready for something reeaaally sad!
Chapter 19
My eyes opened to the sight of sopping-wet carpet, stained red with something that looked eerily like blood. I raised my head, and felt a brilliantly sharp pain in my neck, directly below my ear. I raised my hand and found a long wound, where a bullet had grazed my throat. I pushed myself upwards, turned to look behind me. Christine was still sobbing; Nadir had barely recovered, still, from nearly drowning; and Raoul was standing, one shoulder leaned against the wall, breathing hard. I was not certain how long I had been out, but obviously it had not been long.
"Erik!" Christine cried. Raoul's head snapped up, and his hand began to raise as well; I found myself staring down the barrel of his pistol. For the first time in decades, a stroke of fear shot through me, though part of me was certain that it could not be loaded.
"Raoul, don't!" my angel urged. "Please!"
I saw his hand fumbling to cock the pistol, and decided it was not, could not be worth the risk that perhaps it was loaded; my hand reached for the Punjab. The Vicomte's eyes followed my motion, eyebrows furrowing. I took that moment of confusion as my window, and in one fluid motion yanked free the lasso and cast its wicked net.
I caught him around the throat, and with a jerk had him on his knees. The pistol fell to the ground as his hands flew to his neck, clawing desperately at a rope too thin to grasp. Christine screamed again, and threw herself at me. Her arms caught the hand that held the lasso, pulling desperately but to no avail. "Erik, Erik, don't!" she cried again and again, as I tightened my hold, tightened the noose, tightened the grip on the Vicomte's life.
"You asked me to spare him once, Christine," I growled, as Raoul began to show serious signs of oncoming death. "He would have killed me, Christine, would have shot me in the back!" I turned my eyes to hers, seeking understanding; I found none.
"Do not, Erik!" she begged, tugging again at my arm. "Please! For me!"
So shocked, so numbed was I by her insistence that I save him, my fingers began to loosen. When they did, Nadir caught hold of the catgut and pulled it away from me, immediately moving to free Raoul. I remained where I was, rooted to the ground, my eyes stuck on hers. I could not understand what she asked of me, what she expected of me—and suddenly, I could. It was a lie; she had lied, to save him. Somehow, I was not amazed.
Raoul fell onto his side, gasping loudly and miserably, drinking up the air as if it were water in the desert. Nadir was hovering over him, asking him if he was alright, trying to help him sit up. Christine did not even glance over at them, however; she remained where she was, looking at me, tears welling in her eyes. "I am sorry," she whispered, and then I was certain that my suspicions were correct.
She would have been relieved, I realized then, if the Vicomte's shot had hit its mark.
"Christine…" I breathed.
The angel turned away from me, went to the side of the Vicomte. I watched her go, and then stumbled over to the couch, which I nearly fell onto. I leaned against the back of it, slowly easing my entire body onto it until I lay spread out. I gave a long and shuddering breath, and then almost immediately began to cry. I felt almost a child, but I could not help it. Disappointment and misery swelled through me with every breath, more and more seeping into me until it felt that I could hold no more. I was ashamed; I felt a fool, as if I had played into her hands and swallowed her every lie so very willingly. But I could not hate her for it—there was no room for that emotion in me, not now.
I wished then that Raoul had killed me, that in that one moment he had utterly destroyed me. I wished desperately that my life had ended while still I believed to somehow possess the love and adoration of a woman, of the only woman who ever had captured my every ounce of love. I wished so much that I had bled out my miserable existence onto my parlor floor, wished that I had been put out of my misery, eternally.
I could hear the Vicomte urging her to come with him, could hear Nadir insisting they both leave immediately. She was speaking, but I could not understand her; I could only hear the tones, half-ruined now by all her screams. I wondered idly if she would ever sing as she once could—and then wondered if she would ever sing again, at all. Would she leave that behind her, along with me? Bury her songs forever, hide them with me in my grave? I almost hoped she would—I wanted none to possess them, if I could not.
I had known from the beginning that the entire ordeal, the entire affair was doomed. Such a being could never love a corpse; angels could not consort with demons.
Movement passed in my field of vision, and soon a vision with a golden halo, in pure white robes, had come to stand before me. For a moment I thought I finally had died, and that the angels had come to lift me up—but certainly there was no way I could ever gain entrance to the gates of Heaven; perhaps they had come to mock me and humiliate me, carrying me halfway there before dropping me, and watching me plummet endlessly into the darkness of Hell, as had my own angel?
But no, it was no divine apparition—it was the woman who had so very nearly saved me, and who finally had instead slaughtered me. She kneeled before me, hands finding my own; her head cocked, as her own tears began to flow anew. I reached for her, for her cheek, and she eagerly pressed it against my hand, as one of her own tiny fists curled around my wrist. The other grabbed hold of my other hand, and her fingers entwined with it almost desperately. My cries had calmed considerably, and her own tears were silent and dignified in their grief. She knew what it was she had done, and seemed almost sorry for it.
"Christine, I love you…"
She released a single sob, a sob that came almost as a bark of laughter. "Oh, Erik," she murmured, smiling sadly. "Erik, I am so sorry…!"
I managed to return the smile, just a bit, though there was only sadness behind it. After a moment, my hand dropped from her face, and I turned my gaze to focus past her and behind her, on emptiness. "Go," I whispered. "Go with him, and leave me."
She was silent for a long moment; she did not believe that I would let her go so easily. She thought it was a trap, a trick—she did not trust me to make such a sacrifice for her. I reached out and gave her a light shove. "Go!" I said again, this time with more force.
"But…"
"Go!" I shouted, eyes finding hers. "Leave me!"
"No!"
I frowned, confused by this. "What?"
"No!" she repeated. After a moment, when it became clear that I did not understand, she held up her left hand. "Erik," she said softly, "look!" Upon her finger was the ring I had given her, so long ago; she smiled hopefully. "Do you see, Erik? It is your ring!"
My eyes moved from the ring, back to her own. "But, Christine… Your young man—he is waiting for you!"
She shook her head, smiling tearfully. "Erik, you are my 'young man'… I am going nowhere, unless it is at your side!" She laughed a bit, looking down at herself. "I have the ring, Erik, and the dress—now I need only a priest to complete the set!"
"Do not be ridiculous!" I cried. "I am giving you a chance, Christine—I am giving you the opportunity to leave me, effortlessly and painlessly. There is no more need for subterfuge, no more call for pretense."
"Stop it!" she shouted suddenly. "Stop it, stop it, stop it! You stupid, stubborn child!" I opened my mouth to protest, but she kept going. "I am here because I want to be, Erik!" She paused, and when I made no move to speak, she continued. "Do you remember what you said, Erik, when you gave me this ring? You said that for as long as I should wear it, you would know that I still belonged to you. I am wearing it, Erik, and it is because I belong to you!"
I stood, stepped past her and to the unlit fireplace. The other two men had gone from the room, but somehow could still feel them in my home. They were waiting for her; I was certain of it. "You are being stupid, Christine," I said in low tones. "Your champions await you."
I turned back to her, and found her standing almost directly behind me. She reached up, pressed both of her palms against either side of my neck. "Erik, it is like you cannot hear me when I speak to you…" She stepped closer, looked deep into my eyes. "So perhaps, speaking is not the proper course of action." And without another breath, she rose up onto her toes, and then, she kissed me.
—A/N—
Just kidding! But don't worry; it isn't THAT easy; this isn't the end of things for our dear Phantom!
