A/N: I'm back! Ready for chapter 10? Oh my gosh, I just realized that this was chapter ten! :) Wow. Thank you so much, people who have reviewed this story. You're the ones who keep me going with it. There may be a teensy cliffhanger in this chapter, but not really.
Erik watched in fascination at Juliet's performance. The music still made his heart twinge a little, but it wasn't as bad as it used to be. The young prima donna was excellent. Her voice soared away through the rafters and echoed hauntingly in the hearts of the audience, and Erik as well. His fingers kept straying to the cheek she had kissed. She'd actually kissed him. Right on the cheek. He could still feel the soft, gentle touch of her lips on his skin.
When it finished, the applause nearly shook the building down and he found himself getting to his feet and joining in. Grudgingly, he had to admit that the leading man was pretty good as well. Certainly, he was better than Piangi. During the bows, she looked as though she was searching for something. Perhaps... no, she was probably looking for a friend that had come.
In distaste, he watched Gaston approach her and embrace her, talking excitedly to her. He gave a bit of a growl of disapproval, but nothing could have prepared him for when he leaned in and kissed her... on her mouth. And he did it in front of the whole cast, and the audience, or what still remained in the theatre. It was as though he were claiming Juliet for his own right then and there. And the worst part about it was that she didn't push him away. Her eyes were closed, as were his.
Turning on his heel, Erik stormed back to his lair in a black, stormy mood. Will you ever learn?He asked himself angrily. You don't get the girl or fall in love because there will always be someone else. Someone better. No matter what you do, you will always look like this. He denied the urge that was begging him to punch a hard, unyielding object.
He was too absorbed in his thoughts and emotions to notice that Nadir was in his sitting room. "Did you see the performance, Erik? I've never seen anything quite like it," he trailed off at the thunderous look on his friend's face.
"Oh, I saw it," Erik growled. "I saw all of it." He strode into his room and slammed the door. He dropped into the seat at his writing desk and put his head in his hands. His newly, almost-healed heart was right back where it started when Chris—she had left him, falling to pieces and in jagged shards that made life in general painful.
This, he thought, was the perfect example of why music shouldn't be a part of his life. It only brought heartbreak and pain.
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"So, mademoiselle, how's your phantom?"
Juliet gasped, struggling against the rough hands that held her captive against the wall. She knew that voice, now. "Phillipe?"
The man merely pressed her to the wall harder. "What's the matter, mon cherie, cat got your tongue? I said, how's your phantom? Is he doing well?" he leered frighteningly at her.
"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," she spat, regaining control of her thought capabilities somewhat. Suddenly, a cold, sharp pressure was held to the warm skin of her throat. She hazarded a glance down and received confirmation that there was indeed a long, wicked-looking knife blade pressed to her throat. Her heart began to beat faster than she thought was possible.
"Haven't you?" he asked quietly. "Perhaps this will change your mind." A lot of angry yelling and tramping feet sounded from far off down the corridor. An evil smile curled the corners of his lips up. "Oh, good. Our entourage is almost here."
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Gaston saw a bunch of the lower rank stage hands standing around smoking and knew this was his chance. He touched his lips briefly, remembering the kiss. You wanted me to use my imagination, Phillipe? There you go, I used it. He pulled himself together and put his most persuasive face on.
"Hello, gentlemen," he said, sauntering over to their huddle. They eyed him suspiciously.
"What do you want, Gaston?" Henri, one of the more outspoken, volatile men of the group asked bluntly.
"Only a moment of your time," he said smoothly. The vibe he got from them was a thoroughly unimpressed one.
"Alright then, you've got a moment," said a short, scrawny man he couldn't remember the name of. "Make it fast, Rosseau."
"You all remember Armel, my brother, right?" he asked, inserting a note of hesitancy into his voice for good measure.
"Yeah, he was a good kid. I liked him," an older man with a bit of a potbelly said. "Shame that damned Opera Ghost got him." The others nodded in firm agreement.
"He's picking us off one by one," another man with copious amounts of ear hair declared. "It could be any of us that's next!" The men were getting a bit rowdy, agreeing with the man and some were even saying that he needed to be stopped at last. Gaston grinned to himself. It couldn't have been working out better.
"Part of the reason I came over here was to say that I've got a bit of a problem, or rather, our new prima donna does. The ghost is so good at manipulating to get what he wants that he's brainwashed Mademoiselle Leroux into thinking he's a good, honest person." Gasps of outrage were heard throughout the group. They liked the prima donna, she was always nice to them if they had a chance to talk to her. "And she doesn't even know she's brainwashed! You don't want her to end up like Christine, do you?" he asked, going for the inflation tactic.
"No!" was the roared response.
"Do you want to stop the monster once and for all?" he yelled.
"YES!" the overwhelming response was just what Gaston had been looking for.
"Then take up your arms and let's go!" he bellowed as the men scrambled for anything they could find. Rope cutters, rope, burning candles, knives, anything that you could potentially hurt someone with. This wasn't fair, Gaston realized, eight men against one. It was a good thing Gaston was not a fair man.
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The stomping and shouting grew ever nearer and Juliet fought against every instinct she possessed to scream at the top of her lungs for help. Whoever those people were, they weren't going to help her. They weren't on her side.
Her question as to who the people were was shortly answered. Gaston appeared, face alight with a determination that made the initial one she had seen pale in comparison. He brought with him a crowd of stagehands. Every single one of them carried a weapon of sorts and malice saturated their expressions heavily. His eyes fell on her and his lips twisted into a frightening imitation of a smile. "Ah, the lady of the hour. Don't worry, my dear. We'll soon free you of the mind control of that monster."
"He's not a monster!" Juliet protested against her better judgment. "He's not the one with a knife pressed to a woman's throat."
"Yes, but you're not dead, are you?" Phillipe asked her, his tone indicating that that particular fact could change if she so desired. "If the Phantom had gotten you like this, you would be dead now, no questions asked. Just look at what happened to Buquet, Piangi, and very nearly my own brother just to name a few."
Juliet's anger got the best of her and what tumbled out of her mouth next was not exactly the smartest thing to say when someone has a knife blade pressed to your neck. "Your brother is an arrogant fop who pays no heed to warnings or advice he is given," she snapped venomously.
"Was my brother an arrogant fop as well?" Gaston asked. "He was merely curious about his new workplace and was killed heartlessly for it."
"I never knew anything about your brother!" Juliet exclaimed.
"Enough talk!" one of the stagehands shouted. She recognized him as Marcel, one of the ones who was kind to her. "Let's get going!"
"Going with what?" Juliet dared ask, even though she thought she knew the answer.
Gaston smiled grimly. "We're going to pay your Phantom friend a visit and you're going to show us the way."
"And just how do you figure I'm going to do that?" she asked, trying to sound as brave as possible. What Gaston said next made her heart stop.
"Through the passage in your mirror." At gunpoint, Juliet was made to unlock the door and make her way over to the mirror, knowing that a wrong step would result in her becoming a human shish-kebob.
As she opened the mirror her hands began to shake and tremble ans she nearly collapsed. I'm so sorry, Erik, she thought, tears beading in her eyes as Phillipe and Gaston took ahold of her arms firmly. She kicked and struggled, but the return of the cool metal to her skin soon stopped any wild motions.
She knew she had only one chance to give Erik an advance warning and she took it. "Erik!" she screamed. "There are men coming who want to kill you! Help—" A rough, calloused hand clamped over Juliet's mouth, choking off her words.
"So that's what he told you his name is?" Gaston chuckled, a low, humorless rumble. "Mademoiselle, you should know that monsters such as him do not have names."
He looked her in the eye and she gave him the darkest glare she could manage given present circumstances. If they let her go for even a second, she was going to fight. Perhaps to the death. It was her mistake and she would take the repercussions.
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Nadir looked up from the book he was reading, one he had borrowed from Erik's shelf. A faint scream echoed through the cavernous expanse that served as Erik's living space. It sounded like Juliet's voice. He caught Erik's name and the words 'kill', 'you', and 'help'. Then he heard her voice brutally cut off which was almost worse than the scream. He got the gist of the message though. There were men that wanted to kill Erik and they evidently had Juliet with them. Ransom, probably, he thought, feeling slightly sick to his stomach.
"Erik!" he yelled, running down the hallway and bursting into his darkened room. Didn't the man ever have it properly lit in there? He looked wearily up at him.
"What do you want, Nadir?" he asked quietly.
"A group of men have got Juliet and they're coming down here—" Erik butted in.
"She probably brought them down here, I saw her kissing that leading man, Gaston—" he began to say, but now it was Nadir's turn to interrupt.
"Erik, the day you let me finish a sentence properly will be one for joyous celebration," he remarked in irritation. "For God's sake, man, she was screaming for help! To you for help," he said pointedly, giving Erik a significant look.
Something in his friend's eyes changed ever so slightly. "Are you sure?" he asked.
"As sure as I'm standing here," Nadir said firmly, impatient. "Now come on, we've got to—" This time it wasn't Erik interrupting Nadir. A group of stagehands burst through the semi-closed door and converged on the two men before they had time to think.
"Two birds with one stone, eh?" one of them called as Nadir and Erik were forcefully bound together, back to back, by the wrists. "We got the Opera Ghost and his accomplice all in one go!"
Nadir felt a tapping sensation on his palm. Erik was tapping a message in morse code. Don't do or say anything until we figure out the gravity of the situation. I think I can get us untied. He gave a faint nod in response as he felt Erik's nimble fingers going to work on the coarse rope.
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Ambushed in my own home... this is embarrassing, Erik thought as he and Nadir were dragged through the hall toward the main expanse. He worked at the rope binding their wrists, loosening and untying. The stagehands knew how to use rope, he'd give them that. But to his credit, so did he. However, his efforts stopped completely when they came into view of the rest of the group. Two men, one he recognized as Gaston and the other looking suspiciously like a de Chagny, had Juliet between them. A hand was over her mouth and a knife pressed to her throat, but she still stood tall and proud. Her composure slipped when she saw Erik, though. Tears beaded in her eyes.
Gaston smiled widely. "Ah, monsieurs. How nice of you to join us. Now we have everyone here. I assume you two gentlemen know her?"
"Would you care to explain why you're holding an innocent woman captive?" Erik asked, trying to rise above the red haze of anger that was beginning to settle in his eyes.
"Tell me, monsieur," Gaston's voice rang out, sharp and clear. "Do you have any recollection of a young boy named Armel Rosseau?"
It was the young stagehand that had managed to find him and then remove his mask blatantly. He had wondered why that last name had sounded so familiar. Now he knew.
Still, he did not acknowledge that fact. No sense in letting him win this quickly. "The name seems familiar, why?"
The leading man's face became as hard as granite. "Perhaps it's because you killed him without a thought," he spat.
"Oh I assure you, there were many thoughts in my head at that time," Erik said cooly. "But you have not yet answered my question. Why are you restraining Mademoiselle Leroux in such a manner?"
This time, the other man spoke. His voice was like poisoned honey. Sweet, yet deadly. "Think for a moment, monsieur," he said softly. "Look around you and think." He paused for a moment to give Erik time. He didn't need to, he knew exactly why Juliet was there and it made him sick.
"Oh yes, of course," he murmured sarcastically. "Two men with holding a knife to a woman's neck have the audacity to come into my home and give me a choice of my life or hers and have the absolute audacity to call me a savage beast. How quaint."
"Then you know what you need to do?" Gaston asked, tightening his hold on Juliet's arm and making her whimper quietly. Erik silently attempted to burn a hole in his head with his eyes.
"Of course I do," he said, finishing with the rope but holding it in place, tapping a quick message to Nadir. On my mark.
"Do you agree, then? Your life for hers, monsieur. It's the only way to save her," the other man purred. "I assure you, I won't hesitate to dye this blade crimson should you fail to do what we ask."
At that moment, Juliet bit Gaston's hand and when he drew it away with a shriek of pain and a torrent of curses, she cried, "No, Erik! Don't, please don't!" The leading man smacked her across the face and she cried out in pain, falling silent, tears tracing down her cheeks. Erik nearly tore the man to shreds right then and there.
Erik injected a note of defeat into his voice. "May I... may I just say goodbye to her properly?" he asked quietly. The men holding her looked as though they might say no, but murmurings from their small army prompted this response.
"Make it short," Gaston snapped, releasing the girl from his grasp. Her legs were quivering so badly that she collapsed when they let her go, but she managed to get to her feet and wrap her arms around his waist tightly.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, tears soaking the front of his jacket. He leaned is head down so that his mouth was beside her ear.
"When I say now, get out of the way as fast as you can," he murmured. She looked up at him questioningly, her eyes puffy from crying.
"What—" she whispered, but he cut her off.
"Now!" he bellowed and Juliet launched herself sideways, colliding with the bottom of the ruined organ. In the confusion that ensued, she appeared to go unnoticed. Nadir, not inclined to violence unless he deemed it absolutely necessary, fought his way out of the group of stagehands with his small, yet sharp rapier that he kept constantly on his belt.
Erik was suddenly grateful for the fact that he'd gotten into the habit of keeping a Punjab Lasso in his pocket at all times as he pulled it out. Remembering his promise to Nadir, he tried his hardest to avoid killing the men, but occasionally one of them would be fighting too hard to get around it.
One of them, a particularly thick headed idiot, tripped in a clumsy execution of an evasion and dragged a bunch of candles across a tapestry. Immediately, the fabric caught and began to burn. Most of his domain was made of stone, but it was covered in enough wood, cloth and other potentially flammable things to be considered a fire hazard.
While locked in combat with a stage hand who looked like he might have been related to Joseph Buquet, Erik caught a fleeting glimpse of Juliet still hiding under the organ and saw that Nadir had managed to fight himself free. The flames were growing in size and intensity, making it impossibly hot.
"Nadir, saddle Caesar!" he shouted between blows. The Persian took off without another word, leaving Erik to deal with the two men left standing; Gaston and the unnamed man. Definitely a de Chagny, Erik thought as Gaston lunged at him.
"Have you seen your life flash before your eyes yet, freak?" he grunted, narrowly evading the Punjab.
Erik sidestepped a blow to his abdomen, trying to get behind Gaston. "Many times before this, but not now," he growled, managing to force the rope around the man's neck. He began to constrict it, watching his eyes start to bulge and his face slowly begin to turn a vibrant shade of red. The animalistic bloodlust he tried so hard to repress was on him in full force. He would pay for the pain caused to Juliet in blood, but not his own.
A loud scream diverted Erik's attention. His head whipped over to see Juliet sinking slowly to the floor with an expression of numb surprise on her face as she clutched her side. Red liquid seeped through her fingers. The de Chagny man stood over her, raising the knife he had been holding earlier. It was no longer silver, but stained an ugly color; the color of Juliet's blood.
The anger burst forward into full force in his mind, like a rush of water smashing a dam to bits. With a roar of anger, he flung the weak body of Gaston aside and launched himself at the man.
This time, his aim was true and he got the rope around the de Chagny's neck quickly. Lifting him off the ground, he made short work of snapping his neck. "You can't fight a ghost, monsieur," he snarled, hearing the bone snap cleanly. "Because you can't fight something that does not exist." Throwing the limp body aside, Erik's full attention switched back to Juliet. Running to her, he gathered her up in his arms.
"Juliet, can you hear me?" he asked, begging. "Please, say something." Her head merely lolled to the side and he saw the horrible gash cutting through her side. It was still bleeding heavily. Carefully shifting her, he pulled off his jacket and pressed it into her side. Things were beginning to collapse into piles of burning embers, making moving difficult. He knew it would spread to the Opera House above, but that wasn't his primary concern at that moment.
"Nadir!" he yelled, coughing and choking on the smoke. "Nadir! Where are you?"
His friend's reply was faint. "Over in the stable passageway! Hurry!"
He held Juliet close to his chest and ran. When he got there, he handed Juliet gently to a stunned Nadir so he could get on Caesar's back before taking Juliet into his arms again. To his immense relief, Ayesha poked her head out of one of the saddlebags. She must've come in there when the commotion started. Smart girl, he thought briefly.
"What happened to her?" Nadir gasped.
"One of the men holding her got her with his knife," he replied tersely. "I'm taking her to Antoinette's home. She requires more medical attention than I can give her. Get doctor Frederic, he knows Antoinette."
"But—" he protested.
"Just go!" he barked, spurring Caesar into a fast canter, holding the limp girl tight against his chest so she wouldn't be jarred.
She was not going to die. Not after she had saved his life.
A/N: Bum bum BUUUUUMMMM! I really didn't mean to leave a cliffhanger this time, it just sort of happened. Forgive me.
Did anyone catch what the reference was when Erik mentioned paying in blood? I'm just curious if I have any Bob Dylan fans in my readership. :)