Disclaimer: All rights to these characters belong to Leroux, et al. The plot, however, is entirely my own, although some subliminal, and not so subliminal, influences are involved...
Chapter 18: Divine Intervention
The gentle sunlight pricked at her eyelids, and she stirred, indolently. As she opened her eyes, turning her head on the pillow, she became aware that she was alone. Erik was not lying next to her, as she would have expected, after another night of intense lovemaking.
As she pushed back the blankets, puzzled by his absence, her naked skin encountered the chilly morning air, and she blushed. Sleeping in the nude was still completely new to her. So was the experience of having a lover...Tears rose to her eyes. A lover. Erik was her lover. She knew that other women found such experiences to be a normal part of life. Did not even aristocratic ladies take lovers for a time, exchanging them for new ones once they became bored? To her, with her strict Catholic upbringing, such experiences were anything but "normal". She had always despised such women...Well, it was true that she would not callously discard Erik, in order to move on to the next exciting male body. Erik was hers, forever...she would never cast him off, as these other women did their paramours. She must marry him, as soon as possible. She now knew that, whenever he touched her, all her moral scruples would fly out the window, and she would give in to his mesmerizing sensuality...
She was suddenly assaulted by fear. Had he left her? Had he finally decided that, having given him her virtue, she was now simply one more woman who had slipped from a lofty pedestal?
"Erik!"
Her cry was met by silence.
Throwing the blankets back, she arose with wildly pounding heart, attempting to contain the tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks. Swiftly she donned a pair of drawers, a simple gown. They were part of the clothes that she had asked one of the maids, Marguerite, to go into town and purchase for her. She could still remember the maid's wide-eyed stare, her knowing look...
Guilt and fear accompanied her as she dressed, faster than she had ever done, even when pressed by rehearsal schedules at the Opera House.
She did not bother with a corset. After all, there was no one there to lace it up for her...
She quickly grabbed a cloak from the armoire, wrapping herself in it, throwing up the hood.
The sight that met her eyes when she walked into the sitting room left her breathless, and calmed her fears considerably.
An easel had been set up in one corner, on which sat a half-finished canvas. It was a portrait...of herself. The small couches in the room were littered with sketches Erik had made, in preparation for the painting itself. They showed her in different poses -- lying on her cot, sitting next to the wide windows, dreamily staring out to the sea. They showed Christine smiling, Christine sleeping, Christine in all her various shades of being.
Next to the easel, there was a small table, laden with painting materials -- a vase containing clean brushes, a palette that showed signs of recent use, as well as several paint-laden brushes, lying next to the palette. There were also two vases containing liquids that she could only guess at. Solvents, Erik had called them, when explaining to her that he wanted to paint an oil portrait of her.
Now her tears flowed, silently.
Lifting her gaze, she looked out the window, towards the sea. She thought she could see a dark figure walking at the edge of the surf, in the early morning light.
With a cry of longing, she ran from the room, down the stairs, out of the inn.
She ran to him, the man who had captured her soul.
Erik turned at her cry. She was flying down the dunes toward him, her entire self reaching out to him. He felt a stab of guilt at having left her alone, and ran up to meet her.
"Erik, Erik!" She sobbed, as his arms fiercely enfolded her. Her riotous hair was revealed as her hood was blown back by the wind.
"Shhh, my love, I am here...Did you perhaps think that I had left you?"
"Yes...No..." She breathed out, between sobs. "Oh, Erik!" She truly burst into tears, then.
His heart overturned. What was he doing to her? He knew that she truly enjoyed their lovemaking, that she could not resist him... Yet, the very fact that she could not adhere to her moral standards when in his presence was tormenting her, even as she welcomed his touch, his kisses, his hard, masculine body...
He must overcome his fears, and marry her at once.
"Do not weep, my love..." He began covering her face with tiny kisses. "Come, we will go into town at once, and my face be damned! We must find a priest, so that you shall not suffer so!"
Smiling through her tears, she looked lovingly at him. Then she suddenly hiccuped, and he laughed.
"The painting, Erik..." she whispered in awe. "The sketches...they are so beautiful..."
His gaze was warm upon her face. "Thank you, my love," he said, gallantly kissing her hand, "I was inspired by the beauty of my model."
She could not help but blush, thinking that blushing was becoming an enduring event whenever she was around Erik.
"Why...why did you come out here by yourself?" she asked, between hiccups, having decided to change the subject.
Enclosing her in his embrace, he walked her up the dunes, as the wind whipped at their clothes.
"I had to take some time alone, to think what I must do. I wanted to marry you secretly, at night. I did not want to walk into the town with this face, even if covered by the mask, in broad daylight. I came out here very early in the morning, with no one about. It was still pitch black out here, since there was no moon. Now the daylight has caught me!" He laughed, ruefully.
She stopped, smiling, and turned in his arms, cupping his unmarred cheek. "Are you trying to tell me that you are really a vampire?" she teased.
"Ah, yes! I shall feast on you for all eternity!" He nipped at her neck, while she attempted to squirm away.
"Erik! That tickles!"
"You said no such thing last night, my love..." His hot, intense gaze locked on her eyes, and she blushed yet again, looking down.
"I believe you said something about marriage, Erik..."
"At once, my sweet!" He suddenly swept her up into his arms, sprinting toward the inn.
As they approached the building, they were unpleasantly surprised to see that someone was waiting for them.
It was the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny.
Erik was so startled that he nearly stopped in his tracks, but was able to control himself, so as not to drop Christine. He slowed to a gentle stop, and carefully set her down, keeping her firmly tucked under his arm as he faced the young aristocrat.
"I fail to see why you are here, Monsieur. Were you not told, in no uncertain terms, that your presence was no longer required?" He could feel his anger rising, even as he attempted to control it, for Christine's sake.
"You fiend!" Raoul fairly spat at him. "You obviously have her under some sort of spell! She cannot resist you of her own free will!"
"She loves me, you fool!" Erik roared. "Is it so very difficult for you to understand that? You have never struck me as stupid, Monsieur!"
"Indeed, I have become a fool for love..." the Vicomte conceded, sadly. "Yet, why would Christine have agreed to marry me in the first place? Then she encounters you once more, and you place her into this...hypnotic trance!"
Erik growled, and advanced threateningly toward the young aristocrat. Then he felt Christine's restraining hand.
"Please, Erik!" she pleaded. "Allow me to reason with him..."
"There is no reasoning with a man who is deeply in love, Christine!" Erik cried out, passionately. "Can you not see for yourself? This can only end in his death, or mine!"
"No, no!" she screamed. "I could not bear it if either of you were to die! You shall both kill me as well!" She sank to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Ah, Monsieur..." Erik stooped down beside her, all his anger suddenly squeezed out of him, and gathered her into his arms as she continued to weep. "This cannot be...we will indeed kill her..."
Holding her tightly to his body, he wept as well. "Christine, Christine..."
Raoul's own eyes stung with tears, and his lower lip quivered. How he longed to be the one holding her instead! His anger was gone as well. He could not bear to see Christine suffer, even if he believed that this man somehow held her will prisoner.
"Christine!" In his despair, he attempted to reach her. "Tell me that you love him, of your own free will! Tell me that you choose him! Ah...but I cannot accept that! How can you love such a monster, a man who has murdered, in cold blood, and who would not hesitate to murder again if the situation arose?"
Christine looked up at him from Erik's embrace, her face swollen with tears. "Can you not see, Raoul, that I have already chosen? It is he whom I love!"
"But you have told me you love me, as well!" he screamed, utterly beyond control now.
"Enough!" Erik roughly pushed Christine away, and got on his feet, leaving her looking up at him, stunned.
"Take her! She is yours! I will not be the cause of any more suffering! AND I WILL NOT KILL AGAIN!"
Ah, Monsieur, you cannot make such a ridiculous assertion...The voice whispered seductively in his mind, and he turned, even as he had begun to stride away.
He is no match for your incredible strength, to which I shall also lend My own. Take him! I am giving him into your hands!
A red rage rose in Erik, and his eyes blazed as he stopped in his tracks, abruptly whirling to face Raoul. The Vicomte saw the change in him, and stepped back, his hand on the sword at his side.
Christine, disbelieving, lay on the ground, horrified at the change that had so swiftly come over Erik.
As if in an eternity of time, she saw his hand move to a hidden pocket of his cloak, and she knew...
It had never occurred to her that he might still carry that accursed lasso with him. She was not close enough to him to stop what she well knew would come next...
THOU SHALT NOT KILL!
The words came in a blinding burst of light that flooded the scene. Raoul fell to the ground, unable to withstand the onslaught of that light, awestruck by the words.
Erik felt himself swept up in other-worldly arms, in the rush of a mighty wind. There was light, only light, as he heard a horrible voice scream somewhere near him, in utter frustration, only to die away, defeated. Christine! Where are you? Every cell in his body screamed out for her. Then he heard her voice, although he could not see her in the brilliant light that enveloped him. Erik! I am here, my love!
Several long moments passed.
The Vicomte, shaking his head, dared to sit up, and gingerly opened his eyes.
The blinding light was gone. So were Erik and Christine.