Disclaimer: Well, thanks once again to Gaston for creating him, even if he made him into a rather creepy character...Thanks most of all to Susan, Andrew, and Joel, for making him so devastatingly mesmerizing!
Chapter 19: A Most Unusual Journey
Christine blinked, and looked around. She could not determine where she might be. She was still lying on the ground, but knew that she was no longer on the dunes near the coastside inn. There was a diffuse light all around her. To her great relief, she saw Erik standing a few feet away from her, looking as stunned as she herself felt. He now walked over to her, and, taking both of her hands in his, pulled her up to stand before him. Cradling her protectively in his arms, he tenderly kissed her forehead.
"Are you all right, my love?" His voice was a welcome balm to her soul. She trembled with need. She could not control the effect he had on her. Never would she tire of him, of his intense, passionate, masculinity, his sweet love for her, his relentless desire...Her eyes met his, and she gave him her soul anew...
He took her lips in a gentle, yet unmistakably possessive, kiss.
Then they heard the voice of the angel.
"You are to marry this woman at once, Erik."
Still holding on to each other, they turned to face the voice.
The splendor of his light was awe-inspiring. He was tall, with translucent skin, and robed in white, appropriately enough.
"Where are we?" Erik dared to ask him.
The angel's resounding, melodious voice answered, quieting their fears, but not eliminating their nearly overpowering sense of awe. "You are in a place between worlds -- not quite on Earth, yet not in Heaven, either. And you are most assuredly nowhere near Hell. Indeed, you are completely out of HIS reach here."
"Why have you brought us here?" Erik continued.
"It was the only way to prevent a tragedy that would have destroyed the three of you. You would never have been able to fulfill your destiny, Erik, had you been allowed to kill Raoul."
"And what IS my destiny?" Erik was not quite over his surprise at having a conversation with one of God's angels. He was, after all, the spawn of the Devil, was he not? Such he had been called far too many times...
"To marry Christine. To escape forever from the clutches of evil, and enter the kingdom of Goodness."
Erik's eyes filled, and Christine's arms tightened around him as her eyes also grew moist.
The angel smiled at them, opening his arms.
They went to him, then, and he enfolded them in his warm embrace. The light suddenly intensified, enveloping the three of them. Erik and Christine closed their eyes agaisnt it, even as they held on to the angel.
The light suddenly disappeared, and they ventured to open their eyes.
The brilliance of the morning light was as nothing compared to that of the heavenly light they had experienced. Still, it was quite bright, and both of them felt temporarily disoriented. Looking around, they discovered that they had somehow been transported to the village located down the road from the inn. People were walking about, good stout French villagers who worked from dawn to dusk, every day of the week. They went to their church on Sundays, lifting up their eyes to God in their simple faith.
Erik's left hand instinctively went up to his mask. He could feel the sidelong stares of some of the villagers.
Christine looked up at him as she squeezed his hand in reassurance. Turning, she smiled at some of the passersby, eliciting a few smiles in return.
Erik was not reassured in the least. He knew that seemingly good, decent people were quite capable of the greatest cruelty, especially when confronted by the strange, the unusual, the disturbingly different.
Grasping Christine's arm firmly, he steered her toward a shadowed space between two buildings, shielding his mask with his left hand as they walked.
"Christine, we must get away from here...they are all staring at me. I cannot bear it!"
While understanding his agitation, Christine could not help but be relieved to be away from the inn, where she knew Raoul lurked.
"Erik", she now whispered, attempting to calm him down, "we have been sent here for a reason."
He drew a ragged breath, his heart pounding. "Yes, to keep us away from that despicable boy, for which I am most grateful! I wish our heavenly benefactor had chosen a more secluded location, however!"
She smiled as she brought her hand up to his unmarred cheek, which she stroked lovingly. He reacted immediately, capturing her little hand in his large, gloved one, tenderly kissing her palm.
"Erik, the angel sent us here for another, very good reason."
"Ah..." He smiled down at her. "Might it be the one dearest to your heart?"
Her smile broadened in reply. "The very one, my angel!"
He sighed, pulling her into his arms.
"I do not deserve such goodness, such love...So you still wish to be my wife, Christine? You are not afraid to marry this man who is a monster, whose soul is the Devil's own?"
"Erik," she chided softly, "you are NOT a monster! You are the sweetest, most wonderful, most passionate man! And as for your soul belonging to the Devil, well, he shall certainly not have you in the end! I shall not let him take you!"
Smiling, he leaned over, and placed a peck on her nose. "My defiant little diva! How do you do that?"
"Do what, Erik?" She smiled up at him with some bewilderment.
"Bring your purity and sunshine into my darkened soul..." He sighed, and lowered his head to cover her lips with his own.
The kiss was everything she had ever wanted a man's kiss to be -- tender, passionate, possessive, a blatant declaration of eternal love. She felt herself inexorably falling, falling, into a vortex of dark, tempestuous desire...
"Bah, Monsieur, that is no way to kiss a woman!"
"If you come into my arms, cherie, I'll give you some kissing that will curl your toes!"
Raucuous laughter suddenly surrounded the lovers. Erik lifted his head as the anger began to uncoil within him. Turning, he scowled at the small crowd that had gathered around them. He was quite satisfied to hear two or three shocked gasps from the front of the crowd. Taking a threatening step forward, he snarled like a cornered animal. He could feel Christine beginning to tremble beside him, but he could not allow that to deter him. He would die fighting before he would allow any of these perverted village louts to lay a finger on her.
The crowd drew back, stunned, murmuring about this most unusual phenomenon. Never had they encountered such a formidable personage. The louts in question also took a few steps back, but they did not leave, as Erik had hoped. He swiftly thrust Christine behind him, snarling again while he felt the pockets of his cloak with one hand. He was not quite surprised to discover that the lasso had mysteriously disappeared. Well, perhaps not so mysteriously, he mused wryly.
"Who are you, Monsieur?" One of the insolent louts now dared to speak to him.
One of his companions guffawed. "More to the point, Jacques, WHAT is he?"
"The son of the Devil, perhaps!" A voice cried out from the back of the crowd. This was followed by more gasps, and several of those present hastily crossed themselves.
The one called Jacques sneered at Erik, seemingly unafraid.
"What is your business with this woman? Do you not know it is indecent to kiss a lady in public the way you were kissing her? Unless, of course, she happens to be a whore!"
There were more shocked gasps, more raucous laughter.
Erik was shaking with anger. "The lady happens to be my betrothed, Monsieur! If you value your life, you would do well to watch your words! How I kiss her is not your concern! Now let us pass, and we shall be on our way!"
Jacques did not move a muscle, giving Erik stare for stare. "Oh, but it IS very much my concern, Monsieur..." His voice had become dangerously smooth, silkily sarcastic. "I do not think the lady truly cares for your company. I would take her off your hands without any trouble. What say you, lads, eh?"
His cronies burst into laughing cheers. "Have at him, Jacques, my boy!" one of them cried out.
"Erik..." Christine whimpered, as she felt him tense, preparing for the inevitable charge from Jacques.
"Christine, you must run as fast as you can when he comes at me! Do you hear me?" He hissed at her, pushing her away with one hand, while he kept his eyes fixed on the burly man before him. Although the villager was at least ten years younger, Erik knew that he would be no match for his own strength. The problem was that his friends would then jump to his aid, and Erik would be outnumbered. They would bring him down, tear off his mask, pummel and kick him...
"Bonjour, mes amis! What have we here?" The loud, booming voice came from the back of the crowd, and everyone stilled at once. Jacques moved back slightly, but kept his eyes on Erik. His friends stepped off to one side, as if suddenly intent on keeping their distance from him.
The members of the crowd began to move aside, avoiding each other's gazes, looking exceedingly uncomfortable. Erik, still in battle stance, warily looked from one face to another, puzzled as to what had caused this abrupt change. Still they stepped aside, as the owner of the booming voice moved through their midst.
A veritable giant of a man, sporting a luxuriant mustache and beard, cheerfully appeared at the edge of the crowd. Seeing Jacques, he clapped him on the shoulder, smiling broadly.
"Good to see you, my boy! I have not had the pleasure of seeing you warming a pew in church recently! How is the fishing this beautiful day?"
Jacques lowered his head like a guilty young boy caught stealing apples from a neighbor's tree.
"The fish are biting, thank you, Father," he muttered, sheepishly.
"Glad to hear it!" boomed the unlikely-looking priest, again clapping him on the shoulder. Erik had to suppress a smirk when he saw Jacques wince. He had already pegged the man as the village bully, and well he knew from his own experience that all bullies were miserable cowards at heart.
The priest looked around at the people gathered behind Jacques and his friends.
"Well, well! What a lovely surprise to see these faces that have not graced my church in a month of Sundays! Maurice, I have been missing the presence of your rather large brood. Kindly give my regards to your lovely wife. Ah, my sweet little Gabrielle! And how is your sainted mother?"
The young girl in question shyly met the priest's eyes. "She is doing very well, Father. We both thank you for your prayers."
"Well then, I trust I shall see you at Mass this Sunday, so you may receive the Lord Himself in Holy Communion!"
"Yes, Father," she murmured. Curtsying briefly, she scurried away into the crowd.
The giant now turned toward Christine and Erik. Christine had come to stand beside Erik, and he had put an arm around her protectively. They both met the priest's somewhat startled, but kindly gaze.
"Ah, Monsieur and Mademoiselle, we do not often see visitors in our fair village! Whom do I have the honor of addressing?"
Christine, overcome with astonishment, could not utter a word. Erik answered for both of them.
"Well, Father," he said with some embarrassment, as he had never been on very good terms with the clergy, "this is Mademoiselle Christine Daae, my betrothed, and I am, simply, Erik."
The priest reached for Erik's hand. Erik gave it to him, rather uncomfortably, and was surprised to feel it warmly shaken. Christine was next, as the priest gently took her hand, gallantly bowing over it as he kissed it.
Straightening, he smiled even more, and introduced himself. "I am Pere Michel Devereux. Welcome to our beautiful village, and of course, to my church. Both of you do attend Mass on Sunday, I presume?" His eyes twinkled merrily.
"Why, of course, Father," Christine managed to say, surreptitiously digging an elbow into Erik's side.
"Well, that's wonderful news, my dear!" Devereux beamed at them, as if he had known them all their lives.
Turning back to the crowd, he announced, "Well, I trust that the curiosity of all of you wonderfully curious people has been amply satisfied! You may all disperse now, and go about your business! Antoinette, my dear, hurry home so you can tell your cousin Linnette all about it!"
With an outraged flounce, the woman named Antoinette turned and hurried away, followed by loud laughter.
Devereux turned a mock suffering glance toward Jacques and his little band, who were uncomfortably staring down at the ground, waiting for their leader to give the word so they could leave.
The priest loudly cleared his throat. "Happy fishing, Jacques!"
Jacques gave one final glare at Erik, and then, nodding his head, stalked away, followed by his pack of fellow troublemakers.
Devereux turned to the lovers with a sigh of frustration.
"He has always been a problem, that one! Ever since he was no higher than my knees! But come, my dear ones, you must find lodging for tonight."
Erik also cleared his throat. "We already have lodging, Father. We are staying at the inn down the road."
"Ah," said Devereux. "What brings you into town, then? Perhaps you wanted to see its loveliness? Although I must really apologize for some of its inhabitants." He laughed ruefully.
"We...would like...to be married, Father." Erik continued, with some hesitation. He was suddenly feeling apprehensive as to the actual event. He had, after all, never set foot in a church, although he knew that he had been baptized into the Catholic Church.
"Well, well! You have certainly wasted no time in finding the appropriate person to perform the deed, eh?" Father Devereux laughed heartily, and Erik found his lips curving into an unaccustomed smile.
"Yes, we certainly have, have we not?" He rejoined.
"Come, then! You must see my church! I am sure you will find it much to your liking!"
Turning as he said this, he led them down the street, paying no attention to the stares they drew. No one would dare accost the visitors while the priest was with them. Erik and Christine walked along with him as he supplied them with a never-ending stream of lively conversation.
Erik could not believe that the priest had not mentioned his mask at all...