Thanks to all who reviewed!
Mrs. Gerard Butler: LOL! Zoloft… I love that little deppressed blob on the commercials, he's soooo cute…
Currently this story is listed under the General category, but I'm thinking about changing that. General is just so boooring! Any suggestions as to which category this story should be in?
Read and review…please… puppy dog eyes
Erik slowly guided the boat to the opposite shore. He took no lantern and went as silently as possible hoping to catch his mystery guest or guests unawares, but even the water slapping against the sides of the boat sounded deafening to him.
His worst fear was that the police had already been called and would be waiting for him on shore pistols in hand. They wouldn't hesitate to shoot, he was sure of it. If that was the case, he would simply turn around, fetch Angelique and leave the opera by one of his secret ways. Once they were safe they could go their separate ways, and of course he would give her a small sum of money to survive on for a while, at least enough to make it safely out of Paris.
On the shore, a fuzzy light wavered and moved as if it were searching for something. It seemed to be only one person. A wave of relief quickly washed over Erik, he could handle one person. With nothing left to fear, he steered to boat closer to shore, without caring if the figure saw him or not. Perhaps they would become frightened, believing they were seeing a ghost, and leave on their own.
Then suddenly a voice broke the silence.
"Erik? Erik is that you?"
He knew that voice.
"Christine?"
Forgetting all thoughts of stealth, he docked the boat and ran to meet her. She had obviously been crying, and looked as though she would begin again any moment.
"Christine? What is it?"
"Raoul" She said as if speaking the name caused her pain. She gave a little hiccup of a sob before continuing, "He's getting worse. His fever won't break, he sweats constantly, and by the look on his face, I could swear he continuously has nightmares. The doctors say there is nothing to be done. They say he's going to die." With this, poor Christine placed her head in her hands and cried like a woman who knows she is about to lose her husband.
Erik gathered her into a friendly embrace and did his best to comfort her. After all this time, he was still her angel.
"Erik, please come see him for yourself."
"My dear, what could I do for him that the doctors haven't already done?"
Christine shook her head. "They are only doctors, what do they know? Please say you'll examine him. If you say there is nothing to be done, then there really is nothing to be done, but at least I'll know I tried everything."
Reluctantly Erik agreed. "As you wish," he said with a sigh, knowing almost with certainty that he would be unable to help Raoul, but perhaps it would ease Christine's mind somehow.
Erik had seen enough death in his time to know what a dying man looked like. There was one laying on a bed in front of him now. Raoul was covered in sweat and yet he was shivering. He mumbled in his sleep, his face was twisted in an expression of pain and fear. He stank.
With a look of disgust, Erik pulled back the sheets. Beside him christine gasped as he tore open Raoul's shirt. Blood- stained bandages crisscrossed his abdomen. They were obviously homemade and appeared not to have been changed in some time. Judging by the smell, the wound was infected.
Erik turned to Christine. "Did you know about this? She assured him the she had known nothing about it. "Surely you did. When, he fell from his horse, did he hit anything on the ground. Anything sharp that might have cut him?"
Christine gave him a strange look. "I wasn't with him when he was thrown. I was in the country at the time. He wished to left alone to attend to some business and so I went off to stay with one of our cousins for a while. I came back immediatley, as soon as I got word."
"I read in the paper that you had been with him. The column said it was your daily habit."
"Nonsense, I can't abide horses. I wasn't there. I only know what his family told me."
"His family? Why would they lie to the press about something like that?"
Carefully, Erik peeled away the bandages. The wound was worse that he had first thought. It was not a cut, the boy had been peirced in the side. Frankly, Erik was surprised he was still alive.
"Christine, I don't think this is from falling off a horse."
"What do you mean?" Christine asked with clear, innocent eyes.
He hadn't the heart to tell her. "Nevermind."He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'll do what I can." It was going to be a long night.
So, Raoul de Chagney had been stabbed, and Erik had a pretty good idea who by. It was just too big of a coincidence. The de Changeys were a bunch of idiots, keeping his true injurys secret even from the boy's doctors. They were willing to let him die just to avoid a potential scandal. It made him sick.
Erik, cleaned and dressed the wound properly. He showed Christine how to do it as well, and warned her not to let anyone know what she was doing. He didn't know how far the family would go to protect their precious name.
"ANGELIQUE!" Erik bellowed as he entered his lair. There was the sound of glass shattering and Angelique ran in from the next room where she had been putting up the wine glasses, wiping her hands on an apron and wearing a very shocked expression.
A very worn looking former opera ghost stood in front of her. His hair hung limply over his face and mask, and his manner of dress, usallly immaculate, was out of order.
"Erik, what is it?" she asked, visibly concerned.
"I demand you tell me exactly what happened the night you came to the Opera house!" He said, throwing his gloves down on the chairside table.
"You demand?" she asked, a little taken aback.
"Yes, I absolutley do. I want to know every wretched detail! Every blasted thing that happened before, during, and after." In the candle light Erik's eyes glowed in a way that frightened her and commanded her to obey.
Angelique did not qauil, but instead looked up at Erik defiantly.
"And, why should I?"
"Because..." Yes, why should she? "Because I have a right to know...as your protector!"
"My protector!" Angelique said, placing her hands on her hips. "Excuse me, monsieur phantom, but I was under the impression that you were my jailer, I your prisoner." She said, qouting the words he had spoken to her once. "Why should I tell you? Why should I give up my secrets freely and allow you to keep yours."
"Everyone in Paris knows what the story of the Opera Ghost. You said yourself, your mother told you the tale.What secrets do I have left? "
"I can think of one." Angelique stepped forward angering Erik to the breaking point with her blatant defiance. Then it dawned on him. The mask. Of course, it always came down to it one way or another. Violently he snatched her wrist and brought her closer still.
"If that is the price I must pay to know the truth, so be it." He said through clenched teeth, and with that he tore his mask off, and flung it to the ground.
Erik's eyes remained fixed on Angelique, intent on taking in her reaction, but where he expected to find horror and revulsion, he read only a deep look of sadness, perhaps even regret, that wavered and changed into one of resignation.
"Very well." Angelique said, her voice shaking if only a little. "I suppose, for that, you deserve to know the truth, and I know now exactly how I must begin."
Gently, she freed her wrist from his grasp and took a small step back. She lowered her head and with trembling hands slowly deprieved herself of the most precious gift she had ever recieved, the gift her mother had presented her with love.
Erik's eyes opened wide and something like a gasp came unbidden from his throat. He stumbled backwards, and knocked over his chair, as if trying to escape. The sight he beheld was more horrific than anything he could have imagined.