AN - I appreciate all of your reviews. They are encouraging. I do hope more of you lurkers will drop a word in every now and then, though!
Three cheers for LoveMe1010, my wonderful Lotte Beta. Check out her story The Destiny of Souls Entwined. Very, very good read.
On to the show!
Brigitte Giry was not a woman to trifle with. Her reputation about the opera house was one of a stern disciplinarian. Never known to smile, it was only her son who had ever glimpsed the softer side of her. And one other.
"I am certain something is wrong, Maman. He had no plans to be away. Quite the contrary. He had plans just last night to entertain the new diva! What fool of a man would pass up such an opportunity?" Michal was raving about, as he had been for nearly an hour, in his mothers apartment.
For her part, Brigitte was simply trying to calm him. "Perhaps not all men judge as you do, child.." she scolded.
"That, mother, is not the point! They were old friends. The story was really very rushed as I received it, but Erik looked forward to seeing her very much. Something has happened to him."
"He is a grown man, Michal. Give him peace! If he has not returned in an appropriate length of time, I am certain even the authorities will take interest. Until then, calm yourself and return to your duties. You've tarried far too long here, and have kept me from my own work."
Disgruntled, Michal obeyed and soon Madame Giry was left to her own thoughts.
It seemed only yesterday that she had procured employment for the sad young man, Erik. Upon seeing him for the first time her heart had immediately went out to him. He was a beautiful person, inside and out, and as much was evident in his speech and mannerisms. With him, however, he carried a great burden that was easily read in his gaze. Taking pity upon him and his state of distress, she had easily found a spot that needed filled in the ranks of the opera house. Since then anyone would have assumed she had all but ignored him.
Quite the contrary, she had taken an avid interest in his life. Always one to nurture, she longed to see him thrive and recover from his loss. More subtle in her ways of keeping watch, however, she had never been seen even as she occasionally followed him about. The worst possible scenario had occurred. She had found him as well, and was drawn in by the appeal he displayed. It had only been over a week before when she had overheard their discussion in the tiny chapel, and later had confronted Christine about it.
"You cannot toy with his emotions in such a way! He is suffering a terrible loss and this facade you are playing can only harm him worse! I insist, Christine, that you stop this now!"
Brigitte was rarely frightened of Christine. A silent understanding had passed between them all those years before. Christine would never harm Brigitte. In this situation, however, the feral anger that flashed across the half-masked face sent a shudder through the older woman.
Apparently Erik had changed the equation. Brigitte knew then that nothing she could do would stop Christine in this hopeless pursuit.
"Take care to remember your place, Madame, or I shall have to remind you." Christine spat, and then dissipated back into shadow.
Gathering her courage, Brigitte challenged again. "I will tell him!" Silence. Brigitte thought for a moment that she had won, until the voice that seemed to come from the rafters spoke.
"And ruin him? Indeed, strip away the only thing in this world that brings him joy. I breathe life into his spirit. I indulge his silly religious fantasies, and he is healing all the while. You would take that away?"
"And give him the truth!" Brigitte countered angrily.
"Yes, and how do you think he would accept it?" The voice was now almost mocking, and this time issuing from a lamp. Brigitte had not spoken again. Christine was right. To alert him so plainly to the deception would only shatter his spirit, and perhaps be his downfall. She could not do anything except sit back and watch the horrible spectacle unravel. Perhaps, as long as it was only through voice, the interaction would not be so terrible...
"What a fool I have been!" Brigitte lamented, as she turned the knob on her door with a trembling hand.
A ballet practice demanded her immediate attention and then she would set out on a new course. To find Erik, no matter how far beneath the opera house that journey would take her.
Rehearsals were difficult. Without focus Annabel had missed several important notes, forgot quite a few lyrics, and completely missed her cues. When the impatience of those around her was unbearable, she quickly feigned a headache and retreated as though she would return to her chambers.
Instead, however, she sought out the chipper young man she had seen Erik with a time or two in the halls of the opera house. It was not difficult to find Michal, as a crowd always seemed to congregate about him and he was the center of attention.
This time he seemed to be brooding a bit, while the younger girls and boys entreated him for a story.
"Tell us of the Lady! Please, Michal, just one story." About to deny them again, Michal was silenced when he seen Annabel approaching.
He blushed, quite endearing on such a kind-hearted soul, and bowed low. "Mademoiselle.. Ah.. I am sorry, Erik has not given me your surname."
"Annabel is fine, please. I do not wish to be enthroned simply because of a title or voice. You speak of Erik. Do you know where he has gotten off to? He missed our dinner engagement and that is quite unlike him." Annabel tried to hide her concern, and seem nonchalant about such a query. She failed, however, and her very words trembled with worry.
"No, Mademoiselle, I do not. I share your concern." Michal responded earnestly, glad that someone else was finally taking the situation at hand quite seriously!
"Then please, escort me to his quarters? To...ah.. Leave a note. Yes." Annabel was a horrible liar as well, and Michal easily read through her deception. He did not indicate such, however, as he turned to lead her toward Eriks' room. For what purpose, he could not decide, but he would not deny such a lovely lady.
Warm flesh contrasted sharply with the cool, hard leather. Beneath his fingertips Erik found both extremes, and as though he had forgotten she wore a mask at all, it gave him pause. He reluctantly relinquished the lips he had captured beneath his own to gaze down at the woman beneath him. Both were breathless now, and their position on the floor could remind Erik of nothing other than making love. Even as his body responded to the notion, he attempted to clear his mind.
Although every inch of him screamed to kiss her again. To go deeper, taste more, to know her, he would not allow himself to act in such a manner. The haze over his mind began to lift and he stared down at her, fingers still in place upon both of her cheeks. Now he could see that her eyes were still closed. A look of pleasure rested on her features and he was struck again by her beauty. Dark, enthralling, perhaps even strange beauty. Her lips were swollen from their kiss and parted as she drank in the cool oxygen as one deprived. He began to stroke her cheeks, flesh and mask alike, wanting to see her eyes. Longing for her to look at him, to recognize him as the source of affection. Perhaps that would defray any further grappling for the knife.
Christine flinched as he began to touch her mask, and immediately panicked. Her eyes snapped open and Erik could easily read fear within them. Her hand lifted to brush away his own over her mask and she held it against her face protectively.
"Never, Christine. Not without your permission." Erik replied to her fears without the need for her to voice them, and although she seemed to calm beneath his words, she did not remove her hand. Suddenly realizing himself to still be laying atop Christine, Erik shifted to relieve her of his weight.
The gesture caused the muscles in his arms and shoulders to flex, and he was reminded of his wound. He released something akin to a groan and sat up awkwardly beside her. He turned to survey the damage for the first time. His shirt was tattered, and blood had soaked the entire sleeve. With a glance aside he could see that his own blood had soiled Christines' gown as well, and was even smeared across her bosom. He could only stare at the sight for a moment, before chiding himself harshly for harboring such twisted desire.
Returning to the matter at hand, he attempted to view the wound itself. It spread from the top of his shoulder down nearly to his elbow, and was quite deep. It still bled profusely, but Erik was surprised to find it caused less pain than he would have anticipated.
"Christine," he muttered softly, not having noticed that she had already risen and left the room. When he turned to find her gone, for a moment fear gripped his own heart. If the wound was not closed he would bleed to death, and she had left him for dead in her tomb of a home! The fear was quickly assuaged however as she beckoned from the other room.
"Erik, make haste." He obeyed, soon joining her in the parlor. She had positioned a chair by the fire and motioned for him to sit in it. He did so, and without looking him in the eye, she began to tend his wound.
"I must stitch it," she muttered so quietly Erik hardly heard her speak. He simply nodded his assent, gripping at the arms of the chair tightly. The entire process hurt worse than the wound ever had, and Erik felt weak and nauseous by the time it was completed. Christine moved silently as she cleaned up the mess of blood he had left and put away her supplies. Although he desired to go after her, to force her to speak about the incident in the kitchen, Erik could not find the strength. He simply sat there and, without realizing it, dozed off.