Disclaimer; I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.
Author Note; part two of the three chapter update! We have at last come to the action of the great plan- *GASP*!
I will happily shut up and move onto the chapter :D
Twenty Four- Déjà vu
Raoul de Chagny was nervous. He would never admit such a fact to the man stood beside him, Nadir, who was fidgeting and gnawing on his nails in a nauseating fashion- but Raoul could not deny it to himself, for his right eyelid was twitching and his hands were trembling. He had never felt so ill and terrified and yet excited in all of his sheltered, aristocratic life and now he found that he becoming was close to angry with himself for finding a boyish, adventure seeking excitement in this whole ordeal. He would be infinitely glad once the escape had been made and things could at last fizzle out into the dull normality that was his life. He did not allow his mind to consider that empty space beside him- he was prepared, and had a normality all set out, nothing reliant on Christine being with him or not. Although if Raoul was entirely honest, which he found himself loathe to be during these turbulent times, he knew that Christine would not be riding into the sunset with him.
"Dear God, where is that twit? We have an hour- an HOUR- until that pig arrives with Christine and yet he is evidently gallivanting off somewhere, playing with his dratted trapdoors!" Nadir suddenly exploded, making Raoul jump and choke a little as he tried to keep oxygen within his lungs. "I know what he would say, Raoul- that men such as him, ARTISTS, cannot be held by the human, mundane restraints of time, but I say that he can take his artistry and shove it where-"
"My dear friend, there is no need for such concern." Raoul leapt in hastily, adopting the overly courteous tone he often relied upon at large gatherings, to dissuade the older and deeply inebriated members of the aristocracy from telling the stories that would scandalise the whole household. "I think Erik was merely ensuring that the stagehands had not tampered with the trapdoors- a rather crucial step, you might argue, to ensure that he and Christine aren't squashed."
The Persian frowned at him for this blasé comment, eyebrows knitting together in a way which could have been amusing, were it not for the fact he looked so positively murderous. He scurried away, muttering profanities under his breath, and Raoul found himself once again puzzling over the small miracle that Erik and Nadir had not yet killed one another. He had become fascinated over the weeks, observing Erik and Nadir's relationship in a way that would no doubt irritate them both if they knew, and what he found between them made him realise that Erik did indeed have a very real, very human side to him. Nadir kept that part of Erik glowing- for all their arguments and squabbles, it was clear that they were the closest of companions and had reached such a stage in their lives that Raoul doubted anything could ever truly break them apart. The Persian had been the first to accept Erik for what he truly was and to someone as shunned and outcast as Erik, acceptance came second only to love.
Raoul glanced at the time, which confirmed Nadir's dark mutterings that Christine was due to arrive very soon. To avoid pacing and wearing a hole into the carpet, he strode off towards the stables to ensure that their horses were ready and waiting, not glancing at the huge, ominous light fitting that dominated the auditorium ceiling, happily ignorant of its importance in all of their fates tonight.
With Erik busied with the task of the trapdoors and Raoul occupied with the horses, Nadir was left to spend the final hour pacing and wondering how on Earth he was ever going to be able to face Emilian and somehow suppress the urge to punch the creature straight in the jaw. He was not a volatile man in any sense and he knew he had Erik's respect for his lack of temper and cool head, even in the worst of situations. But knowing what Emilian was, what he had caused, and what he was planning on doing, might be too much for even Stoic Saint Nadir to stomach. With this cause for concern occupying his mind fully, he was just glancing at the haphazardly propped up grandfather clock in the foyer when suddenly there came the sinister grip of a hand upon his arm, tugging him out of the grubby entrance and bundling him into the manager's dingy office.
Expecting this intrusive action to have come from Erik, he yelped at the talon-like grip and turned round with the intent to smack his irritatingly violent friend about the head for his complete inability to use verbal communication. Only when he did swing round, fist raised in fury, he was not met with the sight of his tall, murderous companion but rather a grey faced Pali. Nadir had seen more colour in the dead fishes sprawled on the mongers block at the dockyard than was in Pali's cheeks at that moment- his eyes, too, lacked their usual sparkle. They were dull and dead and made Nadir's veins fill with ice.
"Pali!" he spluttered, outraged that the gypsy had crept up on him and suddenly terrified that someone could have seen Pali, that the whole plan could be compromised by this one stupid action. "What is the meaning of all this? Can it not wait until AFTER we have rid ourselves of the sadistic monster?!"
"There is no time to be angry with me, Nadir- if you understood the gravity of the situation you would be as frantic as I." Pali sounded dangerously close to bursting into tears. "You will think me utterly mad, but you must listen to me Nadir, I know you hold Erik's well being above all else! You cannot let him go onstage, Nadir- he MUST NOT be seen by that audience!"
Nadir's wild terror was crushed for a moment by irritation- he frowned and glanced at the clock again, this time the snooty face informing him that there were only ten minutes left before Emilian would arrive, Christine in tow. If they arrived early and saw Pali here, everything would be ruined and Nadir-as much as he now respected and cared for Pali- was not willing to waste the weeks of toil and torment simply on the hysterical exaggerations of a gypsy.
"I don't know what you're on about, Pali, but whatever the reason, it is too late for such a thing now!" Nadir snapped, fumbling to pull the white gloves onto his shaking hands, the final touches to his costume in playacting the role of the gushing manager of this festering dump. "I don't see what could possibly be so pressing. Our whole plan relies upon Erik's presence on the stage with Christine- he will certainly not pull out now!"
There was a moment of swollen silence- and then Pali was leaning forward and gripping Nadir's shoulders, his grey face sick with terror.
"I should have somehow told you before- I should have found a way! But I had to keep watch...I had to ensure that you could all meet and talk and do whatever it was you needed, and then Erik was far too busy SLEEPING WITH HER for me to dare to interrupt and tell him the gravity of this whole situation, oh God, oh God!" he ranted, hysterical, and Nadir felt the words stab his heart and sting him to the core. So that was what Erik had been doing last night...last night, whilst he and Raoul slaved over the last details of the plan, last night, when he had sat up until the early hours, terrified that whatever Christine had said might have tipped Erik off of the edge and into the darkest void of his own mind... it was the greatest of insults. Was he really such a damn fool?! Did he imagine that this whole escapade was such a done deal, he could take time out and spend it in the arms of a woman?! "I got Emilian drunk, Nadir. And God, once he was intoxicated, there was no stopping the words rolling from his foul tongue!"
"What did he say, Pali?"
"He knew, Nadir. He knew all along, about Christine and the truth of her ordeal- he knew that she would bring Erik to the camp, he knew he could capture him that way! He knows that the man he seeks, the man who killed his father Javert, is a masked madman who is a master of trickery and trapdoors!" Pali exploded, his eyes flooded with terror. "We have done exactly what he predicted, Nadir! We have played into his trap and now we shall present Erik before him on a stage- a stage!"
"But- but Emilian will not be able to see that it is Erik, surely!" Nadir responded with hectic hesitancy, his heart thumping in both anger and total horror; oh dear God, why now? Why when it was all going so perfectly?!
"Emilian is sharper than a blade, Nadir- he is obsessed with hunting down the man who killed his father. He will know!" Pali had tears glistening in his eyes, sparkling like sinister diamonds. "I don't care what your plan entails- it would be murder to allow Erik to go on that stage. You simply must not let him!"
"But someone must be onstage with Christine to activate the doors! It cannot be Raoul as Emilian will recognise him too- and I am supposed to be the manager, so I cannot either!" Nadir found that he was starting to panic, despite his better judgement, and going against every rule he had ever lived his life by. His cool headed approach that Erik loved so very much had allowed him to fly to the highest ranks of the Persian police and had allowed him to understand Erik where so many others had failed. But now, he felt closer to insanity than he had ever felt in his entire life.
Suddenly, the door flew open, and Nadir and Pali gasped in what could have been hilarious synchrony, freezing in the shock. Nadir expected it to be Emilian stood there, his stomach tightening in an unusual feeling for him- terror. But it was only Erik and Raoul, the former looking annoyed yet darkly amused, the latter still anxious but also a little embarrassed. The dusted red cheeks of the Vicomte made Pali realise that he was still desperately gripping Nadir by the arms and he flushed bright red, hastily dropping them and shuffling back.
"Hardly the opportune moment for a secret love affair." Erik murmured, and Nadir felt white hot flames leap through him.
"You can hardly say such things! I thought you had more sense and respect for the efforts we have endured, Erik, but no; imagine just how I felt to hear that last night, whilst Raoul and I slaved away, you found your own pleasure and slept with that stupid wench!" he almost screamed at him, seeing a look of shock and hurt leap across Raoul's face and anger beginning to twist Erik's features into a murderous scowl. "I am struggling to comprehend your insulting stupidity! How could you?!"
"I am innocent of these filthy accusations!" Erik roared, stepping threateningly forwards, barely a few inches from Nadir. They glared at each other with pure malice- they both hated each other at that moment, stung to the core and flooded with shame. "I comforted her; I did not do anything as stupid as you describe! What do you know of these matters, you blathering idiot?!"
"What do I know? What do YOU know?!" Nadir bellowed, spitting the words and tasting them like a black poison at the back of his throat. "Because you idly wished away the time with that stupid girl you are now in danger! You could die! And it is too late to change anything now; you will be singing with an axe looming over your head! And the truth of the matter, Erik, is that you will only have yourself to blame. Only yourself!"
With that, and before he could be bombarded with the questions of his ignorant companions, Nadir gave one last shooting glance at the time and stormed out, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the frame ominously. The time clearly indicated that he was storming off to meet and greet Emilian- with a face like thunder, surely he would be unable to?! Raoul shot Erik a piteous look as Pali also hurried off without a word; it must have been a sign of how wretched Erik felt then, for the pathetic puppy eyed glance from Raoul actually made him feel a little better. The clock chimed irritably at them- the doors would be open now, the audience filing in and slowly filling up the seats. No doubt Nadir would be escorting Christine to her dressing room, nervous and beautiful.
Erik's mind was not able to comprehend what Nadir had so venomously bellowed. What could possibly have such detrimental consequences, and not have been recognised before now? He hoped that the Persian was simply getting het up with nerves and exhaustion, but the twinge in his stomach made him think that such a hope was naive and stupid.
"I suppose we had better get ourselves in position. Good luck, Erik. Just remember that after this the worst is over- nothing will ever be so bad again." Raoul said in an oddly calm voice, extending a hand.
Erik looked at it, gloved and elegant, belonging to a rival he had often sworn to loathe- someone he had been certain once that he would kill. But before he could retort with a snobbish comment, or turn away in disgust, something inside him made him reach for the hand and grasp it, shaking it quickly and firmly.
"I remind you of the same." He said in a numb voice, before hurrying off to wait in the wings of the stage- their duet was not scheduled until later in the repertoire, to ensure that Emilian was fully engrossed and distracted, but he still wanted to be near to her- to give her whatever comfort he could.
Raoul also hurried off to his place up in the gallery, by the ties for the huge metal light fixture that hung almost sinisterly over the unsuspecting heads of the audience. He had been astonished that Erik had shaken his hand- but what had really shocked him was the look in those odd yellow eyes as he had done it. They had been open, clear of any walls or barriers to keep him out, and Raoul had seen that Erik was afraid. Nadir's angry accusations had upset him a little, but Raoul was past that now- this cooperation with his once nemesis was not about the fight for Christine's affections, but rather the fight for her liberty, and he knew that both Erik and himself would not let anything distort that goal. He settled himself in the shadows of the gallery, certain that he and Erik were unified once again, this time in the frustration and terror of the wait.
Elsewhere in the theatre, someone else was feeling nerves and terror, but also amazement- Christine honestly had no clue as to how Nadir did it. As she trembled and stumbled along silently behind Emilian on the progress through the corridors to her dressing room, Nadir seemed completely relaxed, gushing and raving and laughing away like a true smarming manager. Emilian lapped it up, accepting Nadir fully.
She did notice, though, that Nadir seemed a little on edge- his eyes were sharp and he had glared at her when she caught his eye, which had caused all the whispered thank-you's and questions to dry up on her tongue. She guessed that he must be anxious, just as she was, but she had been hoping to gain some comfort from his presence.
Christine could barely contain herself, she was so desperately terrified. Erik had told her that there would be a full, real audience in order to convince Emilian and to ensure Pali seemed innocently ignorant of what was set to unfold, but still she could not accept that she- a complete nobody and degraded to the state of a gypsy tramp- would sing before a full auditorium.
She was already in her dress, concealed beneath the long and shapeless cloak Rose had given her after lovingly plaiting her wild curls and threading a few wildflowers amongst the glossy twists and weaves. She had also painted Christine's lips and eyes with the gypsy make-up- substances dark and heavy and earthy, making her head spin a little. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the smudgy mirrors that lined the walls of this dingy corridor she saw a full-lipped elegant woman, but the look was ruined by the fact her eyes were wild and terrified like a child's. Her heart was thumping and her breathing ragged- she almost crashed into Emilian when the party came to a sudden halt, biting her painted lips when Nadir gave a cold gesture for her to enter the room. She shrunk in on herself and looked at her feet, not wanting to meet his gaze again and find a cold glare waiting for her.
"This, Monsieur, is Mademoiselle's dressing room." Nadir said in a low voice, still purring and flamboyant, and Christine saw how Emilian muttered something to the evil eyed man flanking him- he moved to stand imperiously by the door, and Christine's heart sunk as she realised she had just gained a guard. "I trust that this is all to your satisfaction?"
"Indeed, it is." Emilian replied smoothly, touching Christine's rouge dusted cheek with one dirty finger, his eyes thoughtful. She flinched a little at the absent-minded caress, wanting so much to wrench his hand away and step forcefully back, but she knew she couldn't. She knew that the presence of Nadir would not deter Emilian from beating her around the face in retaliation for such humiliation. "And the deal concerning the profit from this performance remains? You can assure us that you will keep to your side of this... oddly profitable bargain?"
Christine flinched at the accusation in Emilian's tone but Nadir did not lose his calm at all. He merely laughed, holding out his palms in an expression of honestly. Christine saw no worry flicker in his eyes, but still she could feel that something was wrong with the Persian, due to his continually cold attitude towards her. Even now, he avoided her eyes. She was not vain enough to imagine that everyone she ever met delighted at her company but Christine knew that Nadir had always been friendly and pleasant before- the sudden and seemingly causeless change was a cause for worry, but she had no hope of asking him, with Emilian and now this guard lingering like a foul smell. She had hoped that Erik might come to see her before the performance- the idea of seeing him again made her heart flutter wildly- but now that was impossible.
Christine wondered if any of the gypsies accompanying Emilian had noticed that Nadir seemed very familiar, but they were all far too occupied with watching Emilian's expression, ready to leap to his every whim as soon as his mood changed. It was also true that Nadir looked worlds away from his former self, all smart and shaven and dressed in his suit and gloves.
"Monsieur, please, we may sign contracts if you wish to cement our deal further- your gypsy representative who first came to this theatre came to learn of our history and our rich successes; you will be pleased with the profit from this venture, I can guarantee." Nadir smiled. Emilian smiled back- but it was a cold, menacing grin.
"There is no need for all that, my good man." He intoned in a soft, pleasant voice, his manner making the words seem more deadly than if he had been wielding a dagger. "Just be aware that, if our deal were broken, my men would not stop 'bothering' you until our full share was received. No offense meant, of course, but you must understand that I do not appreciate being tricked or lied to."
"Indeed, Monsieur, indeed." Nadir replied smoothly, maintaining eye contact so that it was Emilian who was forced to look away first. Then, with this small victory, he glanced at the clock and gave an ostentatious yelp of horror. "Ah, Monsieur's, it would seem that our star is due onstage in ten minutes! Gentlemen, let me escort you to your seats, I beg you..."
Christine ran into the empty room and collapsed onto the chaise lounge, her knees trembling so violently that she knew they would not support her. She glanced at her sweating face in the mirror, fighting to suppress the stupid tears that she knew would ruin the painted make-up, her eyelids burning as she held them back. She knew she must not let this get to her- all she had to do was sing. Sing a couple of arias, ones she had sung with Erik and knew as if she had written them herself, songs she loved and would love to hear echoing round an auditorium to a full orchestra. That was all she was required to do- two arias, a Swedish folk song, and then Erik would come onstage and rescue her, leading her through the duet and allowing her to blindly follow as he managed the trapdoors and the falling light fixture.
Such an odd choice of distraction, of all the things that could be done- she thought this distantly as she pinched her cheeks to remove the ghostly pallor or fear. It was so tricky and so dangerous, yet if anyone was going to be able to pull of such a mad stunt it would be Erik... her Erik. Her heart sped up at the thought of that, and her cheeks flooded with colour- the ghostly fear was gone.
All she had to do was get through this performance and then she could be with Erik, away from the fear of the gypsies, away from the ache that came from not knowing your own past.
She was afraid. Of course she was- she remembered something that her father had once told her, when she was crying about something or other; that the only thing to fear in life is fear itself, for fear has the awful power to distort your judgement and make you do and say things that will burn with regret until the end of your days alive. He had been right in those words, in that brilliant adult way- she had only been able to try and offer similar comfort to him when she had sat by his bedside, holding his cold hand as he lay dying, trying to tell him through her tears that he must not be afraid. She wished she could have him here now, beside her, to hold her hand through this stumbling ordeal. He had always had a magical way of making her feel grounded, safe, loved.
"Mademoiselle?" a voice called through the door, and she jumped up from the chaise lounge and took a deep, calming breath. "If you would please make your way to the wings, thank you."
Christine left the dressing room, ignoring the evil eyed gypsy guard, the adrenaline making her head pound and her breathing tight and gasping. She was on her own this time, no matter how she wished for a guiding hand, and she felt that she owed it to her father now to prove that she could beat this fear and escape to a life she so wanted. She came to the wings and stood there rigidly, hearing the orchestra die down to a murmur. A sudden spark of melody from a single violin signalled her entrance, the cue to her first aria, and she realised that there was no further time to think- she had no choice but to look fear in the eyes and walk out onto that cavernous expanse of stage and look out upon the rows and rows of staring spectators, all hushed into silence to see this young, vulnerable looking women come out alone onto the stage.
She wanted to run and to tell Erik that she could not do this mad thing that was expected of her- but as the rest of the orchestra picked up, and the melody began to swarm around her like the wind rustling the leaves of the trees outside, a strange sense of calm washed over her. The first jubilant note escaped from her lips and instantly she melted into the stage- she felt as if she were home.
The notes came easily from her mouth, stretched into a smile as she gazed upon the rows and rows of eyes that watched in awe, and she could have gasped to hear how wonderful it felt to hear her voice blend and mingle with the rich array of texture and pitch from the orchestra. She was the brilliant flame burning amongst this heady rush of sound and sense, and the notes of the instruments seemed to pull and shape and lead the song that was inside her. She raised her arms to the audience and felt a bursting sensation in her head- she heard cheering and rapturous applause from the darkest corner of her mind, heard calls of praise from boxes that did not exist in this grubby theatre, and suddenly her body was washed with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, strong enough that it would have thrown her and the song entirely had she not been so filled with the music and love.
The second song seemed to erupt from the first, the music beginning seamlessly from the end of the adoring applause from the audience, and as Christine began again to lose herself in the force of the music, Erik made his way to the edge of the stage, hidden in the shadows, able to see the faint outline of the trapdoor just peeking out from under Christine's billowing red skirts. He knew that if he looked up and searched, he would be able to find Raoul's crouched figure lurking in the gallery, dagger ready to shred the ropes holding the light. He refused to look, knowing it would do nothing for his already frayed nerves.
Instead he concentrated on the melody that was erupting from Christine Daae- or the Gypsy Rose, as she had been advertised. He hadn't heard her full soprano accompanied by an orchestra in so long that he was soon absorbed in the performance, his ears ringing with it, eyes wet with emotion and joy and pleasure.
Nadir came up behind him silently, his faced shadowed by a low hat and a scarf waiting to be pulled up high. His brown eyes were still hard and cold with unspeakable rage as he wordlessly passed a small container to Erik. He had no choice but to take it from the Persian, for it was pressed into his hand, and he rounded on Nadir with only the fury in his eyes to demand an explanation- for it was a small tin of what looked like women's facial powder. Nadir looked deadly serious.
"Daroga, I do not see the hilarity in your attempt to turn me into a drag act." Erik hissed, staring down in disgust at the little box and wondering what was next- rouge? Lipstick?
"I am trying to save your ungrateful, miserable skin Erik so for God's sakes please just put this on and don't argue, or so help me, I will do it myself." Nadir snapped in a whisper, just as Christine's voice hit a perilously high note, a sigh of delight echoing through the audience. She was starting the folk song now- her last song before the duet. Nadir had a wild look in his eyes. "Put it on, Erik! All over your face, and all over your mask. Now!"
"Nadir, I am not going to put ladies powder on my face." Erik snapped in return, his tone equally disgusted, throwing the box to the floor. Applause was echoing throughout the theatre as Christine sank to her knees and placed her hands against her heart- she seemed amazed by the fact that they were so delighted when the only entertainment on offer was her voice, not provocative dancing or a lack of clothing. As the folk song began to come to a close, Erik seized the awaiting cloak and fedora, pulling them on in one fluid movement and readying himself to stride onstage.
"You absolute fool." Nadir said in soft, angry contempt. "You do not understand- the powder was an effort to conceal your mask, to make sure that Emilian does not notice you. And yet you throw it back in my face- I do wonder sometimes why I waste my time caring about you!"
With that, the Persian turned on his heel and stormed off, heading down to below the stage where he would wait to open the trapdoor. Erik snorted with disregard for the Persian's fretting and promptly strode out onstage, the thunderous sea of applause surrounding him and making him feel curiously powerful. It felt decidedly odd to be on such open display- he felt exposed and he realised that all the stress concerning the trapdoor and Christine's welfare had left him no time to think about his part in this. He had not been given the chance to feel fear or nerves. Walking out before all these people, out across the stage to where Christine was stood smiling and holding her hands out to him, did not however make him feel vulnerable- in fact, he felt invincible.
He joined Christine at the centre of the stage, feeling the heat from her skin as she seized his hands and squeezed them- there was elation dancing in her eyes and her face was flushed with joy. He turned towards the audience, still holding onto her hands, but as the violins began to play that shimmering, haunting entrance to their fiery duet he dropped them, slinking away from her to the side of the stage, his theatrical tendencies making him slip into the role of Don Juan. The music swallowed him and Christine- as the cellos began their dark whisperings, he assessed her with the gaze of a hunter, of the predatory Don Juan, picking his prize and luring her in. Christine stared at him with innocence and adoration- the perfect Aminta. The music rolled and surged effortlessly around them, catapulting them back to when they had first joined in this hellish duet- and when his cue came, Erik did not even need to think; his first response was to sing.
A gasp of astonishment and ecstasy fell from the rows of spectators- never had they heard such unearthly, haunting beauty in a voice, not even from this angelic Gypsy Rose. The voice of this male performer they all leaned forward to catch was mingled with the melody as if they existed as one entity- he knew and lived the story painted by the notes. As his voice grew louder and more demanding, the orchestra seemed to follow in an enraptured trance- his voice, so dominant and controlling, showed the audience what the scene should be. They saw the dark passion stirring from Don Juan, felt his triumph as the maiden swooned, heard the breathless sigh of submission as the Gypsy Rose seemed to fall into the melody he weaved.
As Erik coaxed his solo to an end, barely uttering the final words as the violins murmured alongside him, he realised that this was no performance- this was real. He was just the same as Don Juan, impersonating as Passarino to seduce and win the innocent and unsuspecting maiden. Don Juan was never associated with love, just lust and manipulation. How had his attempts to find Christine and bring her home manifested themselves into this deceit? Erik remembered then that it was he who had written this music- of course, it was the perfect opera, it's evil and hellfire so real that it was frightening. So real that he had refused to play it for Christine once, for fear that the music would rape her and ruin her. How could one create such haunting, hideous perfection if it was not within?
As Erik's voice whispered to her, Christine felt herself falling into the same hypnotic trance as the breathless audience.
She felt as if she were being pulled in, as if her heart were knotted tightly and ready to snap. As her lines fell from her submissive lips, as entranced and limp and willing as the maiden she played, she looked into Erik's burning eyes and saw flashes- burning anger, pain, anguish that cried out for love and acceptance. In reality, the Erik standing before her bore none of those emotions in his eyes at that moment, but still she saw them as clearly as if they were before her. It confused her, and she reached out to him, not knowing which incarnation of him was real and present.
At the end of her line she gave a gasp, her breath catching, and Erik knew it instantly that something was wrong- he swept her into a fierce hold, locking her body to his with searing passion, and he held her eyes with his own as they began to sing their final lines together. He tried to assure her with his eyes that everything was going to be fine- that it would be mere moments until the ordeal was over.
But Christine was seconds from dissolving into tears, her head throbbing suddenly and her skull once again being torn apart with that bursting sensation. As Erik sang that last imploring line to her, she clutched at her temples and bent inwards as a fiery pain flared up within her head- her mind was consumed with images and fire; a blonde girl laughing and taking her hand, a flurry of tutus and ballet shoes, a chapel, a candle, a rooftop guarded by an angel, and a voice...a voice that sung and clutched and swamped her as the pain intensified and made her gasp out.
"Christine!" Erik reached for her as she choked out a sob, the applause thundering around them as the song came to its end. He tried to pull her face up to look at him- he could feel her trembling, hear her laboured breaths-
But there was no time. For then there was a snap and an almighty groan as above them the monstrous iron contraption hanging from that grimy ceiling suddenly broke free and began to tear a vicious path through wood and plaster, spitting debris and causing screaming mayhem as it went. Erik watched as it came to the end of its tearing run through the ceiling, and as he imagined, the deadly pendulum swing began. He grasped Christine tightly as the screams and the tearing noise echoed around them, and brought his foot down hard on the trapdoor to alert Nadir, feeling Christine sobbing as she stared up in horror at the monstrosity tearing down towards them.
The trapdoor opened. The rush of air before the contact with the wooden floorboards below was a second long journey, but to Christine it was a slow, drawn out hell. The rush of air, Erik's arms and the horrific sight of the light fixture coming straight at them collided and imploded within her mind- she felt the bursting sensation, there was light and pain, and she screamed as if someone were burning her alive.
She was unconscious when Erik disentangled himself from her once they were safely landed beneath the stage; Erik found that she was lolling and slumped in his arms. There was an ear-splitting crash above their heads, no doubt the light fixture colliding with the stage in happy union, and Erik winced and pulled Christine's limp body away, just in case debris managed to break through and fall down upon them. Nadir appeared out of nowhere, coughing in the dust that had built up over the years in these sub-stage levels, and he wordlessly handed Erik another cloak for Christine. When he saw that she was out cold, he rolled his eyes and took the cloak back.
"What did you do to her?" he asked in a cold tone; Erik raised an eyebrow at the accusation in his tone, pulling his scarf up and adjusting the rim of the fedora, shifting Christine in his arms so that he could carry her. He winced a little at the pain in his back- the landing had been hard and unforgiving against his skeletal frame- but hurried Nadir out of the dusty levels and to one of the many exits, their feet silent along the deserted corridors. They reached the muck strewn courtyard without coming across anyone, finding their horses waiting tamely.
"I can only suggest that she has fainted in fright, Khan." Erik was too bewildered by Christine's reaction onstage and too happy with their success to find the venom to be angry with the Persian, who was now looking anxious. "Now, where is Monsieur le Fop?"
"He was supposed to meet us here. He should have been here already." Nadir frowned. Erik took one look at Nadir's worried face before uttering a curse and deciding that he had better go and fetch the stupid boy himself, before the success of their plan so far was ruined by some unforeseen event. He could only imagine that the Vicomte had become caught up and lost within the crowd.
"Take Christine and the horses out into the trees beyond the edge of town- I will go and find our beloved Vicomte." Erik muttered, placing Christine into Nadir's arms and setting off back into the sub-stage levels of the theatre, all the while cursing and muttering under his breath. Trust Raoul to be so foolish as to become lost- did the brainless idiot not realise that they needed to be out of this theatre before Emilian had the chance to get out and try to hunt them down?!
He broke out into a run once he reached the corridors of the theatre, noticing that the auditorium was already clear, the audience having fled for their lives. Erik snickered to himself as he ran into the foyer, also empty. He opened the much abused door to the grubby manager's office, just to check that Raoul had not meandered aimlessly into this stuffy little room.
As soon as he stepped inside, he knew that something was badly wrong. Raoul was tied to a chair and his face was pale, drenched in blood, barely conscious. He saw Erik in the doorway and opened his mouth, his eyes suddenly wild with the message that Erik knew all too well- he was telling him to go, to get out...to run.
But it was already too late. Of course, it would be. Erik gave an irritable sigh as he felt the sharp kiss of a dagger point at his neck, hearing a dark chuckle. Hearing it, he swore it belonged to a man he knew had been dead for many years- it sounded just like the evil laugh of Javert, the sadistic gypsy master, who he had killed when he was just a child. But Javert was dead.
"Greetings, my masked friend, or should I call you Erik? I hear that this is what you are commonly known as, these days." Emilian rasped gleefully into Erik's ear. "But never mind pleasantries. I know who you are, just as you no doubt know who I am. Let us return to what truly matters- first, you can tell me where you have taken the little soprano. Then, you can explain to me just who in my clan helped this wonderful little scheme of yours. And finally, the grand finale, we can finally put into place the wonderful business of revenge- son for father. How does tonight's repertoire sound to you, Devil's Child?"