Disclaimer: I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.
Author Note: Finally I got the time to post this chapter! It's so frustrating, having no time, but thank you for being patient and putting up with my inconsistent updates.
Here's a HUGE thank you to the reviewers of last chapter; Billy4Me, a Guest, Ammaviel, MarilynKC, Filhound and TMara. Your reviews are always very much appreciated, so this chapter is dedicated to you guys!
Sorry about the angst. Erik and angst seem to go hand in hand. But do not despair- as several of you said, Erik is starting to head down the truthful route, and with the help of a certain companion he will pull himself together and keep fighting! But which companion will that be...? :-D
Sixteen- Defeatist
"Erik? ERIK! For God's sakes, man, ANSWER ME!"
The irate yell of the Persian resounded around the woodland, eerily distorted by the trees all around, and it was lucky that he was a considerable distance away from the camp, else a troupe of gypsies might come running out with spears to hunt them down. Erik stopped his slow, meandering walk and leant heavily against the nearest tree, feeling the damp moss tickle the exposed side of his face. Nadir was fuming- raging and angry, angrier than Erik had seen him for a long time. And that was quite a feat in itself, for the Persian- no matter how calm and cool headed he could be for the majority of his time- could really lose his temper, given the right stimulus. Erik almost smiled as he remembered one particular trip into Italy, when it had been a game of his to try various annoying stunts to enrage Nadir. The results had been hilarious, but had also resulted in them running for their lives from a mob of screaming market women, who were unexpectedly deft at handling meat cleavers.
But now, Nadir's rage was the furthest from funny. Erik felt so weary and beaten that there was no spark of irritation or his own anger inside him- he was like a trodden on dog, managing only to shoot the Persian a baleful look and bow his head, awaiting the lecture that had been brewing ever since the oaf had come traipsing after him when he left Christine and Raoul. Christine...Erik felt his heart squeeze tightly, remembering the shocked look on her face when she was brought crashing down to reality; did she really think him so perfect that he could conjure up someone who was supposed to be a complete stranger to him, from her past? Erik had built up the false persona, the various lies, around him like a shield or a wall- he was terrified of what would happen when that wall crumbled and Christine was presented with the pitiful, treacherous fool hiding behind it. He knew he had only managed to win her affection and devotion because of those lies, so what would happen when the lies were stripped away? What was left of him, the real him, beneath those various disguising layers? The real him was far from desirable, or perfect- far from what Christine would love.
"Khan, do you think we should have simply told her the truth, right in the beginning?" Erik asked hoarsely, and he heard Nadir give an exasperated sigh.
"Oh, of course we should have done such a thing. 'Christine, I am Erik, the man who sung to you pretending to be an Angel, the person who taught you to be a world renowned opera star, and then proceeded to kidnap you on several occasions. You don't remember me, because your fiancée also kidnapped you, but he did a rather poor job and ended up bashing your head around. By the way, you're in love with me. Even though I terrorised, murdered and obsessively stalked you for most of your life.'" Nadir drawled sarcastically, earning a scowl from Erik. "To tell Christine the truth would have been madness, given the circumstances. You would have done more harm than good, telling her something like that, and from the beginning our first priority through all of this has been her welfare."
"But has it?" Erik replied sadly, looking down at his outstretched hands and wondering why he was seemingly doomed to always do the wrong thing. "Christine Daae doesn't know me, Nadir. Not the real me. She knows the perfect man I have pretended to be, and I think she might be starting to develop deeper feelings for that perfect man- but that perfect man does not exist. He isn't real. And once we go to Paris, and she starts to remember things, she will remember who I really am and she will understand what I have done- lied to her, tricked her, used her suffering to my advantage. She will hate me, and she will be perfectly justified in doing so. I will have turned her whole existence into a lie, and I am supposed to love her- what sort of crazed madman would do something so dreadful to someone he loves?!"
"Calm down, idiot, and listen to what you're saying." Nadir sighed, feeling glad at least that Erik was not so melancholy and over dramatic because he felt he would never win compared to Raoul. This predicament Erik was fretting over was a genuine concern, however, and Nadir found himself wondering if they ought to have just told her the whole ugly truth and hoped for the best. There was no right way to behave in this horrifically unique situation- nothing they could do would be without negative consequences. At least this way Christine would be physically protected, even if emotionally she had to suffer. And she had loved Erik in Paris- it would just be a matter of hoping she would survive the hurt of the deception and be able to return to those feelings of love. "Yes, she will be hurt once she remembers, and yes, you have deceived her and used her predicament to your advantage. But Erik, ultimately what you are doing is out of love. You love her; you have always loved her. You wrote whole operas to demonstrate that fact, you sang through mirrors just to reach her, you made teaching her your life's purpose, you would die for her! If Christine has any sense, she will understand that you must endure hardships to reach better times."
"That doesn't change the fact that I still feel guilty, and will always feel guilty- when she realises the truth, and looks at me with disgust and hurt and betrayal in her eyes, I am not sure that I will be able to bear it." Erik said softly, softly it was as if he were talking to himself rather than to the Persian, who was shaking his head sadly in despair for his oldest friends continually defeatist attitude. Erik was such a pessimist and never imagined anything would go his way, and by having such an attitude he often damaged his own chances at happiness.
"Then why are you planning to take her to Paris at all?" Nadir asked gently- he had considered this part of their long standing plan several times over the last few days, and although purposefully withholding her memories was clearly the wrong thing to do, Nadir couldn't help but wonder if Erik's happiness would outweigh the conniving and the deceit that came with such an idea. Christine was happy with Erik the way he was now- did she really need to know the past, if the present and the future meant happiness? "You could take her any where you like, live as you are now. You could both live in happiness and love each other dearly without having to return Christine's memories. She need never know, if you don't want her to."
"Even though that arrangement would be the easiest, the easiest way to securing a lifetime of happiness and love- no, no I can't." Erik whispered, his voice cracking as he started to shake with the effort of holding back the tears and the breakdown he could feel starting inside. "I miss her, Khan! I miss Christine Daae, the real Christine Daae! As she is now, she is lovely and kind and an amazing woman but she- she is not the woman I love with all my heart, the woman who said she loved me whilst looking upon my hideous face and knowing the full extent of my lying, murderous past! And whilst there is a chance of recovering that woman, the woman she was, I will take it."
Nadir was silent, looking at Erik, shoulders heaving and face distorted with some internal pain that was battling to escape. Nadir had never considered that slant on things, that the Christine who was a gypsy slave was not the woman Erik had fallen disastrously in love with. This Christine, the one who had no idea of her past, hadn't even seen Erik's face, let alone heard of his past and experienced the terror he could cause. The love between them would never be real, not really, until Erik revealed himself as he truly was and until Christine had her memories back.
"You still never answered my question, Erik." Nadir said eventually, and Erik looked up with an exhausted look in his eyes. He had taken the mask off, probably to wipe away a stray tear or to let some of the cool night air reach his inflamed skin. The deformity was hideous and twisted in this eerie lighting, a hellish concoction of pain and ugliness. Nadir had never liked looking at it, but now he saw it and realised that this disgusting face and the mask was the perfect analogy- Erik believed his real self was like that marred flesh, the smooth mask the perfect facade that hid it. Christine had made him believe that he was not that hideous , that night under the opera house, and as Nadir looked at Erik now he hoped that Christine might once again prove to be the person who could show Erik that his true self, though far from perfect, was not hideous. "Why did you storm off and leave Christine and Raoul alone?"
Erik smiled, and Nadir frowned. It was not a real smile, not a warm and friendly look that came from happiness. It was bitter and twisted, a sign that Erik was being cynical, which Nadir supposed was a slight improvement from hysterical. These mood swings will be the death of me, he thought tiredly as he waited for Erik to deliver one of the usual sarcastic, defeatist remarks.
"I am acting in the name of self preservation, Khan." He said in a light, slightly sneering voice. "I am no mad masochist- I know when torture will unfold before my eyes, and so I left before I could be subjected to watching the Vicomte's attempts at flirting and lavishly pouring on praise to woo her. I have no desire to watch him squirm like a pre-pubescent lovesick idiot, nor do I wish to see Christine blush and giggle like a ninny."
"Aren't you a little concerned that Raoul might get the upper hand?"Nadir asked with narrowed eyes- he knew that the main reason for Erik's departure had been his depression over the idea that Christine would hate him once she realised she had been lied to, but surely Erik was at least a little worried by the fact he was competing with Raoul for Christine again? "If you keep storming off, you might damage Christine's opinion of you."
Erik laughed, and suddenly got up from his slouching position against a tree, brushing off his arms and refusing to meet Nadir's probing gaze.
"What will be, will be." He said simply, and strode off through the trees and Nadir cursed under his breath and began to stumble after him.
Meanwhile, further back into the forest, Raoul and Christine ducked under some low hanging branches and continued to pick their way through the undergrowth in search of somewhere to sit, already chattering away as if they had never once been parted. As they made their way cautiously through the trees, Christine stole glances at the man by her side, her eyes filled with the awe you might see in a young child gazing up at their idol. She still couldn't believe that this was Raoul, sweet Raoul from her childhood, who had made her laugh and blush and run giggling from him as they played at being sweethearts, pretending to be married and living in some fantasy perfect home together. Her father and Raoul's governess had always found the whole thing hilarious and adorable, seeing such young children walking around arm in arm, seriously discussing what sort of material Christine should have for her wedding dress and what size house they might be able to buy 'if business was good'. They had been idiots of the sweetest variety, and Christine looked at him now and wondered if he remembered that he had proposed to her all those years ago, presenting her with a stone he had found at the beach which had a perfect hole through the middle of it. She had accepted, of course, and they had gone around announcing to every adult they could find that they were to be married.
"Monsieur le Vicomte de Chagny, you wish to marry my daughter?" her father had played along, even striking up the traditional wedding march on his violin and making them go pink with excitement. "I am delighted, Vicomte. As soon as she is twenty one years old, you may of course marry her."
She remembered telling Raoul , in that solemn seven year old voice, that she would wait those achingly long fourteen years and that in the meantime he must not promise to marry any other girls. She wondered as she looked at his handsome face- did he have a wife? A sweetheart? Or maybe a betrothed- he was a member of the aristocracy, after all?
Raoul caught her looking at him, and he smiled at her, seeing that same look in her eyes from when he had gone charging into the sea after her scarf. She had kissed him on the cheek and laughed that beautiful laugh, like the peal of tiny bells, and he hadn't cared at all as his governess had scolded him or when he caught a dreadful sneezing cold from the chill of the water, because dear little Christine had been overjoyed and that was all that mattered.
He wondered, absently, where the scarf was now- probably in the dressing rooms of the Opera Populaire. His throat tightened at that thought, and he hurriedly pushed it away.
"So then, Christine, there is a lot to discuss, but first...tell me, what has gypsy life been like?" he asked her gently, tying to probe for details so that he might understand what she had been through as a result of his foolish actions all that time ago, beneath the opera house. They had reached a small clearing, just enough of a distance away from the camp that they didn't have to whisper, and they sat down together on a mossy log. Why can't I just whisk her away now, Raoul wondered as he envisioned the traditional knight on a white horse scenario before he recalled Nadir's explanation for that very query- to do such a thing would solve their problem, but would put many other people in danger.
"Oh, there's no real way to describe such a life. It has been...at times, it has been awful, but at others it was very inviting and- oh, I don't know. The clan is so compact, so intertwined, that I suppose I could say it felt a little like a family, everyone together, and being amongst that felt quite nice at times." She paused, laughing at herself for being so confused. "Being and feeling the way I do, with no memories of my own past to recall, it was both hellish torture and blissful release to fall into this collection of people, this already crafted family. To obey a way of life, to do as you're told, to be surrounded by people- even though I felt alone, it meant that I never was. I was always surrounded by people."
"Nice people?" Raoul prompted delicately, not wanting to push her into saying things she was not yet ready to reveal, but she didn't seem to mind. She was a lot stronger than Raoul remembered Christine being- she didn't seem as vulnerable, which was odd, because she was in the most vulnerable position she had ever been in.
"Some were nice. Some were horribly catty or rude, even barbaric." She thought of Adriana, comfortable only as the queen of her way of life, knowing all there was to know about her existence and not caring to know anything else. She shivered to recall Emilian, beastly Emilian, who had held onto her and paraded her around as she trembled in fright, treating her like horse or some other kind of animal for sale. "But others, like Pali and his partner Rose...they are more than nice, they are the best people I have ever known. So kind, so selfless...I owe them so much, but they would never expect anything from me."
"And Erik?" Raoul was stabbed with guilt as soon as he said the name, recalling how he had stormed out of the clearing, his eyes flashing with pain and unbelievable sadness. Raoul was filled with remorse and anger as he replayed that scene in his head- why had Erik stormed off, not fought at all for Christine's attention? It wasn't that he was being gracious, it was something else, something far sadder, and Raoul felt nauseous to consider that later he would have to face that odd man again and have all the blame directed right at him, just because he had stayed with Christine.
The faraway look in Christine's eyes as he uttered that name caught his attention- she seemed to look wistful all of a sudden, as if daydreaming, lost to an idle lovesick fantasy. His heart, though sad for Erik, contorted with jealously to see the woman he loved with that expression, feeling just as he had that night watching Christine kiss the Erik onstage rather than move aside to let the marksmen take their aim and shoot the beast into oblivion. It was painful to ask all these questions, knowing full well what the answers would be, but Raoul had to know- did Christine, current Christine with her memory loss, love Erik? For if she did, and Erik had already won her, he would have to stop feeling so much misery for Erik's plight and start to fight for her properly. He knew there would be ways of undoing Christine's attachment to Erik- he was a young, handsome, rich Vicomte who could take her anywhere, show her anything. He was also- Raoul cringed a little at himself for even considering this- far more confident than Erik, and if he needed to he could seduce her; he could kiss her, leave lingering hints and suggestions, have her desperate for his touch and crying out for more... Raoul understood women, and their desires, more than Erik and he could use such knowledge to his advantage. But he still felt guilty even to think it, and he knew that he would never actually manage to do such a sly thing.
A warm smile had spread over Christine's face, and she was blushing prettily just at the mention of Erik's name. Raoul's heart hurt as if she had it her fist and was squeezing it.
"And Erik." She repeated blissfully, as if in a trance. "If I am honest, he is the only reason that I have felt happiness and hope over these last few months. He came into my life and restored purpose and joy to my world- he has saved me from becoming a complete wreck. If he hadn't been here, I would most certainly not be sane enough to talk to you in this way. He is...excuse the sentimentality, but he is simply lovely."
"As lovely as he may be, he is a stranger to you. You know nothing about him, not really- you don't know what sort of a person he really is, or has been before." Raoul felt dreadful to say those words, knowing he was treading close to the mark and near enough to going back on the deal he had suggested in the first place, but surely he wasn't being too dreadful, especially as Erik clearly had already won her as she was now- Christine was still giggling and blushing like a schoolgirl.
"Raoul, why would you say such a cruel thing?" her voice became shocked and even hurt. "Erik is a good man, of that I am certain. And you can hardly criticise him, or me, for the fact he is still a stranger, not when you are close to being a stranger yourself. I haven't seen you for...oh, I don't know the exact number of years, but the point remains that-"
"Eleven years." Raoul butted in, cutting her off with his soft voice, watching her eyes widen and fill with tears as she finally had a piece of information about herself- something undeniably true, something simple yet so very important. "Eleven years since I last saw you, as a seven year old child, at the little house by the sea. Do you remember how we cried and begged the adults to let us see each other again? How I pressed my face against the grimy window of the carriage and tried desperately to keep my eyes locked with yours until the house and your crying face was too far away to see? Eleven years, Christine, eleven years that have been utterly consumed with memories of those wondrous days, and now you say I am closer to being a stranger than someone who knows everything there is to know about you."
Christine wasn't paying any attention to his sorrowful voice and sad eyes- she was too consumed with that memory that Raoul had just spoken so lightly of. Didn't he know that her last memory was of her father dying and having him leave her, so that she was so very alone and scared and ignorant of anything that would happen to her? She could remember the day so well- her father had been ill in bed, so weak and frail and coughing so much that his chest could not keep up, his breathing so ragged and gasping. She had refused to leave his bedside, clinging onto his hand and talking nonsense to him in the way that all small children do, blinding herself with the completely false idea that if she stayed with him and never let go of his hand, he would be alright, he wouldn't die. But then Raoul had been about to leave, and she had been torn between leaving her father and saying goodbye to him- at the last moment she had dropped his cold hand and run outside, seeing Raoul's tearful face as he climbed into the carriage with his stern faced governess, who was also crying because of what the 'poor young girl' was going through, what she would have to face once her father was dead and she was all alone.
"Raoul!" she had cried out to him, and he had been allowed to run over and give her one last embrace, both of them crying like silly idiots. "Daddy is so sick, Raoul, I'm frightened! Please don't leave me!"
"I don't want to leave you, Christine." He had furiously scrubbed at his eyes, not wanting to be seen crying when he was a boy, and boys didn't cry, they were brave and strong. "Don't be frightened- you're brave. I know you're brave , Little Lotte, and one day I'll be back and we'll be together again."
"But- but that will be so long; what if Daddy dies Raoul?" she had sobbed. "I will be all alone!"
"Your father told us that the Angel of Music will come to you once he is in heaven- you must trust in the Angel of Music!" Raoul had yelled to her as the governess hauled him away and stuck him in the carriage. He had pressed his face right against the glass, even though it was grimy and disgusting, and he had looked at her until she couldn't see the carriage anymore, because it was too far away.
At that moment, Christine remembered how she had looked out to the sea, to the endless beach and cliffs and the world around her. She could run away if she wanted to- she knew she could just run and run and run and never stop. But instead she had gone inside, back to her father, and a few days later she had sobbed and sobbed at his bedside, clutching his hand as the life left him, and she was then stranded in a bleak world all on her own. The fear of that moment was the last memory she had, and it haunted her. Angel of Music...goodness, how silly she and Raoul had been then, to think that those stories were real.
"So I am eighteen years old, then?" she asked finally, and Raoul nodded, his eyes still infinitely sad.
"Yes. Yes, you are eighteen years old. And as charming and beautiful and mesmerising as ever." He was almost throwing the compliments at her, frantic and overcome with emotion. "You have blossomed into a woman I could have only dreamt of meeting, and to think that you, a childhood friend and sweetheart, have become so elegant and radiant and-"
She burst out laughing at him before he could finish, ruining all his attempts at flattery and making him flush a bright, painful red as he bit back the words, watching as she crouched in on herself with the hysteria, desperately trying to stop but failing. She was laughing so hard that tears were spurting from her sparkling eyes, and her mouth was stretched into the widest grin he had ever seen.
Perhaps had had taken this ordeal to extremes, exaggerated a little too much? Blushing more and more as her laughter became even harder to stop, he began to shift uneasily from foot to foot, aghast that she was having such a reaction to his charm, which had always seemed to please her in the past. At least, the annoying voice of optimism piped up in his head, she isn't offended by that truly pitiful attempt at wooing- better to be thought of as a bumbling fool than a leering, lecherous slime ball. Of course he had wanted her to blush prettily, and glance at him from lowered eyelashes, but hysterical laughter was preferable to a slap across the face. Having to explain a black eye to Nadir would not be in his favour.
"I'm sorry, oh dear, I am so sorry." She gasped for breath, still giggling a little and smirking at him. Her eyes were shining wickedly, something mischievous about them. "It's just that you are so...oh, i can't even describe you Raoul. Perhaps completely mad?"
"Why am I mad?" he asked in a crestfallen voice, not intending so sound quite as pathetic as he came across. That's it, he thought scathingly, come across with as much strength as a trodden on spaniel.
"Radiant and elegant? Beautiful and charming?" she made his words sound silly and false, catching another snort of laughter as she repeated the flowery phrases, pulling at her dishevelled mass of curls and the frayed dress as she spoke, challenging his claims further. Raoul felt heat prickle at the back of his neck, and he struggled to think of what to say. "How on earth can a young gentleman- a Vicomte- who dresses splendidly and regularly accompanies fine ladies in gowns and gloves ever think than I, a ragged tramp, could ever be beautiful?"
Raoul wanted nothing more than to remind her of her beauty- how she had always shone whenever she had graced the stage of the Opera Populaire, how she had seemed so pure and innocent amongst the rough world of the arts, which always seemed so crowded with poseurs and jealous, conniving wretches who would always be hostile towards anyone with talent. He supposed, in a tortuous way, that Erik with all his romanticism and his passion would proclaim that Christine Daae would never be anything less than perfect and beautiful, even if she were dressed in a sack. But Raoul did not see things that way- no, for him, it was that whenever he looked at Christine, in his mind he saw how she had looked that night, the night of her debut, so brilliant and perfect. He was blind to the wild mess of hair and the horrific clothes of the clan, because instead he saw the costume from Hannibal, the colours so vibrant against her angels skin, her hair adorned with gold and rubies, the scarf seductively trailing across that luscious expanse of white exposed flesh at her neck and chest and shoulders. He saw her as she was supposed to be- beautiful.
"You are beautiful." He said to the vision of Christine, and the real Christine sat next to him- muddy and wild- blushed with pleasure to hear how honest the words sounded.
"So," she smiled at him, trying not to let her mind become shallow and consider how very good looking he was. "Why don't you tell me all about this grand plan that Erik has devised, to get me out of the clan for good?"
"We all decided upon the course of action, actually." He said before he could catch the words, sounding defensive and jealous. Christine raised an eyebrow at him, clearly questioning why he felt the need to linger on such a point. "But, yes, um...we intend to hire some sort of establishment, such as an inn or a small theatre, and we will advertise to the gypsies that good money shall be paid to secure a performance from you. Once they agree, the performance will go ahead, and Erik will somehow steal you away from the stage right in front of their eyes. We've considered using a trapdoor, as we already know it works from when you-"
Raoul suddenly froze, catching the words before he blurted it out and ruined everything. Christine had frozen too, her face draining of all colour and her lips going bone white in a mere second.
"A trapdoor, right in front of their eyes." She repeated in a whisper, and a cataclysmic wave of déjà vu suddenly swamped her, making her head swim and her eyes squeeze shut as she brought her fingers to her temples, clutching them in the pain-
Fire, orange flames flickering and spitting...a tearing sound, louder than the gates of hell creaking open to swallow them up...rushing air, falling fast into darkness...cold water...
"Christine!" Raoul gasped, diving to the floor to catch her as she suddenly fell limp and went crashing to the floor. Luckily he caught her in time, and helped her up with his arms protectively wrapped around her. She was trembling, unable to move, paralysed by something. Terror, maybe? Or just confusion? "Whatever is the matter?!"
"Oh, I don't really know, I...I just felt incredibly faint and there were...oh God, I must be going mad, there were- so many things whirling round in my head, it made no sense." She whispered, unable to rid her mind of those images that had exploded into her mind out of nowhere. They made no sense to her, none at all, and yet they felt as if they were familiar and as if they somehow meant something important. She was shaking so hard that when Raoul let go of her she fell over again.
Raoul knew it was something he had said which had affected her, but how he did not know. The mention of a trapdoor had clearly triggered something, something that was now buried deep within her mind, and Raoul was torn between relief and bitter annoyance that she seemed to have only experienced a brief flash of recollection, rather than recovering actual memories. If associating her with the past was enough to bring back memories, then was that what Erik and Nadir wanted? To somehow recreate the scene from Don Juan and bring all the memories back, or to take her to Paris and expose her to her old life, hoping she would suddenly be filled with the past again? If what he had just witnessed was anything to go by...it would work. They would be able to bring Christine back.
"Perhaps I ought to go- you clearly need sleep." He said gently, and she nodded mutely, gripping his elbow tightly with the same scared clutch as she had when he had left her at the house by the sea with her dying father. He helped her, shakily, to walk through the woods and brought her to the edge of the camp, before the maze of coloured, lopsided tents.
She lingered there for a moment, standing on the threshold as if there were an invisible barrier that would cut her off from Raoul once she was through it. She liked Raoul as an adult, just as much as she had liked him as a child- he was kind, and gentle, and- she smirked- very flattering. And, she decided as they murmured their goodbyes and he kissed her hand before rushing off into the darkness of the woodland, he had a certain element of desperate fear about him- as if he was constantly torn between hoping for and fearing something. It was something that made her want to reach out to him, to be a friend who might be able to distract him from whatever he was confused or unsure about.
As she hurried through the darkness to Pali's tent, trying to be as quiet as she could, Christine thought again of his blue eyes and his fair hair, his handsome face and his courteous manners- she absent mindedly touched the tingling skin of her hand that had been in contact with his soft lips for one brief second. He was indeed handsome, and chivalrous; a storybook knight in shining armour. But not all saviours are handsome men on horseback, she thought with a smile, thinking then of Erik- and only Erik.
It was almost dawn, the orange of the sun fighting to struggle up and over the stubborn barrier of the horizon and the sky starting to fade into a watery blue, when Raoul finally arrived back at the inn. He stumbled and smiled foolishly as he came meandering up to the table where his two companions were sat- it was in fact the only occupied table at such an early hour, and the landlord would no doubt take dim view to them all being up and about at that hour- and he grinned like a dumb idiot at Erik and Nadir, who were arguing about the details of the plan, a futile exercise as they could not be helped. Nadir raised a eyebrow when Raoul finally flopped down next to him, seeing the hazy eyes and the giddy smile and immediately coming to the conclusion that the Vicomte was as inebriated as one could be without collapsing- however, no tell-tale alcohol stench came wafting from him to wrinkle Nadir's prudish nose.
How childish, he decided with an eye roll, that Raoul was stumbling and euphoric from a mere conversation with Christine. It was a measly little talk- how could it warrant such an exaggerated and foolish reaction from a supposedly well educated member of the gentry? Erik barely looked at the grinning boy, too tired to be hateful and too miserable to even manage one contempt filled comment. He knew instantly, just from the excitable look dancing in the fops eyes, that he would now be forced to endure a horrific account of the entire pathetic conversation. He was so sure of this that when Raoul did speak, the words annoyed him more than usual.
"You know, I think we're missing a trick here." He said, as if he had all the worlds wisdom as well as boyish charm to win over enslaved amnesiacs. "It would have been so easy to whisk Christine away right then, to just take her into the woods and not stop until we reach the next town. No hassle, no problems, no danger at all- we'd be done and free in an instant. No need to faff about with hiring theatres and persuading madmen."
Erik sighed and cracked his knuckles menacingly.
"Oh yes, Vicomte?" he asked acidly. "I think you are forgetting everything we ever told you. Doing such a thing would be signing a death warrant for people such as Pali, and his partner and his friends. Emilian would blame him if Christine went missing, because he was been entrusted to guard her in the night. He would instantly be seen as the traitor in the midst, and killed, and I refuse to do that to one of my oldest friends."
Raoul didn't seem at all perturbed by this.
"Then, if he would be in danger, Pali would just have to come too." He decided with the logic of a toddler.
"You really think that solves the problem?" Nadir cut in, as Erik was far too busy grinding his teeth and holding himself back from punching the Vicomte to coherently explain gypsy culture to him. "Perhaps Pali doesn't want to leave his culture, his family and friends, his whole way of life, just so that we have an easy job. And besides, even if Pali left with us, they would still find someone to blame it on, someone innocent. You can't steal away the whole clan, Raoul, and Erik and I are not content to sacrifice others and have their blood on our hands just so that we may have an easy job and run away quickly. Our plan will leave the perpetrators- namely us- in plain sight, so Emilian will not be able to blame anyone else. We can even arrange to have Pali 'attack' us, to put him out of suspicion."
Raoul slumped forwards, pulling a face. Erik didn't quite know what the Vicomte expected- did he honestly think that due to his status, or just his incessant whining, that anyone would really concede to just letting him have his own way? He was ludicrous if he thought so, and it was one fault of the handsome charmer that could not be ignored. Due to his lifestyle and upbringing, Raoul was insufferably childish, needy and used to being the centre of everyone's attention and concern. No doubt he was also a jealous type- what an amiable partner for marriage, Erik thought sarcastically.
"You told her the plan then?" Nadir asked irritably, even his gentle nature being provoked towards anger as Raoul continued to stare hazily into nothing, a silly smile playing at his lips as he recalled the conversation he had had with Christine. "Raoul!"
"Oh! Er- yes! Yes, of course I did." He sounded startled and Erik wondered if something had happened between the fop and Christine, to have such an effect on him. But then again, Raoul was a stupid ass- he was probably overreacting over a simple small talk exchange. "And come to think of it...I almost, stupidly, let it slip out that she had experienced being stolen away through a trapdoor before."
"You- you bumbling swine!" Erik exploded, and Nadir reached out and clamped a hand onto Erik's arm, pinning him in place. "Can you do nothing right? A simple task, to tell her a plan- ARE YOU REALLY SO USELESS THAT YOU CANNOT EVEN CONTROL YOUR OWN WORDS?!"
"No, no, Erik I didn't actually tell her anything! I just almost did! I caught the words and everything was fine! But...but I think she reacted to the mention of a trapdoor." Raoul hesitated, suddenly aware of how white Erik looked as he stared intensely at him. He was so desperate, so pitiable, and Raoul found himself wishing that he had some good news to share with this man, just to get rid of that ancient sadness that was always clouding those odd yellow eyes.
"When you say she reacted, what do you mean exactly?" Nadir pressed him to go on, eager for details. Erik's eyes also urged him on. "Well go on, man, spit it out! Did she remember something, or didn't she?"
"No. No she didn't remember anything." Raoul was still staring at Erik's sad eyes, so he saw exactly how the fury bubbled up in those lava pits.
"Then how on earth can you claim to know that she reacted, or recalled something, or whatever it is you claim she did?!" he demanded, enraged by the fact his emotions were spiralling out of control more than the ambiguous words of the Vicomte.
Raoul thought about shrugging, but reconsidered as Erik's face began to turn an alarmingly deadly shade of royal purple.
"She had a distinct look in her eyes- she froze as soon as I spoke, turning white instantly and looking so confused and terrified by it, and then she just crumpled and fell to the floor as if she had fainted. Had I not caught her, she would have just fallen like a dead weight and hit the floor. It was...astonishing."
Erik was immediately mollified by the description Raoul provided, though he didn't show it- he had seen that same whiteness in her face and the look of confused terror several times himself, most notably when he had come across her in the woodland for the first time and started to weave the web of lies. She had never fainted or collapsed though, in the manner that Raoul was describing, which was an intriguing fact- it would suggest that the flashes of memory or whatever it was she was experiencing were becoming greater and having more effect...did that mean she was closer to actually remembering something substantial?
"What did the two of you...discuss?" he asked softly, expecting an answer that would stab him in the heart with envy. Instead, he was shocked.
"It was you, mostly, that we talked about." Raoul replied, clearly honest because his tone dulled slightly to recall it. "Speaking of which, Erik, I have no idea why you are so hell bent on retrieving her memories and returning to how it used to be- because I think she is in love with you. In fact, I would bet money on it. She couldn't stop talking about you."
Raoul had expected that this piece of information might just cheer Erik up, perhaps even make him stop staring at him across the table in that dangerously malicious way, but his actual reaction to the words was the complete opposite of what Raoul had intended. He leapt up from his chair with a fierce, animalistic snarl and in a swirl of black clothing he turned to storm off, his face twisted and dark with anger and loathing and malice. Raoul gulped, and stood up too.
"Why are you so angry- why are you reacting so badly?" he demanded in astonishment. "I just told you that Christine Daae, the woman who has both of our hearts and the woman we are currently fighting for, is in love with you! I don't understand why any of that could possibly make you angry!"
"She is NOT in love with ME, you complete ass!" Erik bellowed at him. "She is in love with a lie, a lie I have spun and crafted and planned meticulously, a lie designed to win her over and fool her and delude her! Don't you see? Can't your miniscule brain comprehend what I am saying?! The true Erik, the Phantom of the Opera, the Opera Ghost, the raving murderous madman, is not who she loves! The pitiful wretch who lived five cellars below humanity, with a face resembling the spawn of Satan, is not who she loves! She doesn't love me! I am the monster who haunts her dreams, I am the black shadow she can almost recall running from, I am the fear she still feels deep in her heart and I am the reason she is still suffering without her memories, without the truth! And now she loves the facade I created, so when it breaks and she sees the hideous animal encased within, she will loathe me even more!"
With that said, he stormed off, and left Raoul slack jawed and Nadir closing his eyes for a moment, wondering why Erik insisted on being so melodramatic. He eased himself up, wincing as his joints cracked, and Raoul moved out of the way to let him pass.
"I would have thought that Christine's love, in whatever form it came, would be all he ever wanted." Raoul muttered to himself darkly, a slightly sulky tone hinting at his words. "Erik is just so damned complicated! Every time I come close to understanding him, he takes me completely by surprise, explodes and blasts me with contempt and hate, and I know I am back to where I started, no closer to knowing him but feeling hurt and irritated. At this rate, I will never understand him."
"You have no idea." Nadir rolled his eyes, a veteran of such things. "But now if you will excuse me, Vicomte, I am going to find that fool and calm him down."
"No. No, let me go, please Monsieur Khan." Raoul said softly, and Nair raised an eyebrow and threw his hands up, heading off to bed and muttering something under his breath about Erik wanting to rip Raoul's head off and it all ending badly.
But Raoul did not hold such gloomy thoughts. He hurried off in the direction Erik had gone striding off in, running in his haste, and eventually he came out round the cobbled courtyard, finally reaching the stables. He found Erik stood inside a horse stall, stroking the neck of a fine mount, one Raoul recognised as being the horse which had gone missing from the Opera Populaire all that time ago. He could see that Erik was calmer now, consumed by misery more than the fiery anger, and he approached him slowly and carefully, just to be sure.
"Vicomte, I can see you creeping along. What is it?" he hissed irritably, and Raoul stood up straight and cleared his throat.
"I came to make sure that you are alright, Erik. I didn't mean for my words to upset you, or make you angry." Raoul tried to sound calm and controlled, but all he actually sounded was sad and guilty. He heard Erik give a low, dark chuckle.
"As irritating as you are, Monsieur le Vicomte, it was not your words that made me angry. It was my own foolish actions that made me behave in such a way- it infuriates me that I seem incapable of avoiding mistakes and the wrong decisions, the wrong choices. What is even worse is that I always make the same wrong choice- to lie rather than to be entirely truthful about myself." He paused in the darkness, and the horse made a soft affectionate noise and butted Erik slightly, making a flash of a genuine smile appear in the dark, gone in an instant. "But how am I supposed to be honest about myself, when I am not truly sure who I am?"
Not knowing if the question was rhetorical or not, Raoul cleared his throat again and shifted from foot to foot. He saw Erik's head turn sharply to look at him- in the gloom, he was terrifying, his face odd because of the mask and his eyes and teeth gleaming. He looked like a killer, a deadly assassin, and he took slow and deliberate steps towards Raoul, towering over him menacingly.
"What's wrong, Vicomte?" he asked in a razor sharp whisper. "Do I make you nervous, after all this time? Admit it, without Nadir here to overhear you- you're scared of me. Scared of the Phantom, the Opera Ghost. You know I could kill you right now, rid myself of your irritating company and ensure I have no competition in the fight for Christine."
He reached out with gloved hands and placed them, very deliberately, around Raoul's neck. Then he leaned in close, making Raoul stop breathing, as he hissed in his ear-
"Try to order your fine horses now, de Chagny. I could kill you right now, and you are powerless to stop me."
Raoul tried to stop himself from trembling, knowing that this was a test- Erik was just testing him. And even though he was absolutely terrified, and could believe that Erik would kill him now, he knew he must cling onto the knowledge that Erik was a changed man and this was just a cruel hurdle that he would have to jump over to get closer to this mysterious, dark man.
"But you won't. Because you're not the Phantom anymore, and you know it." Raoul said in a clear voice, and Erik laughed in disbelief, dropping his hands and moving away from the Vicomte. "And you need to stop being so defeatist. It is still dark- we still have a few hours left this night. Get on your horse, go to the gypsy camp and speak to Christine on your own. She would be thrilled to see you, just as I know you would love to speak to her."
Erik shook his head, and closed the door to the stall, patting the horse one lack time on the neck before leaving the stables, staring up at the moon that was just visible behind a blanket of fine, wispy grey cloud.
"No, Raoul, I don't think so. Anyway, I hardly need you to tell me what to do. Goodnight."
The words were short and cold, and the refusal as abrupt as ever, but Raoul de Chagny smiled- Erik had addressed him with just his name, and just his name spoken lightly and without contempt dripping from the words. He was a step closer to understanding Erik, a step closer to seeing the man behind the mask, and in that moment such a thing was more important to him than the fact he had conversed with Christine.