I am sorry it has taken so long to update. In an effort to get it out sooner to you, I skipped my wonderful beta for this update. I wanted to just post it more speedily so you could have an update.
Please continue to review, it makes it all worthwhile.
(It's been so long since I've updated. If you don't recall what was in the letter that Anna wrote to Erik, go back to the chapter titled "Letter" and it's at the bottom.)
Erik chewed slowly, because even the line of his jaw hurt. It seemed that no part of his body had escaped the melee and he ached terribly from head to foot. The bread was fresh, however, and Christine had even offered butter to spread upon it. The luxury was sweetened with honey as well, making it an altogether sumptuous affair. He was not sure he had enjoyed a piece of bread so much in quite a long time.
Christine sat directly across from him, watching with an unnerving patience as he consumed the meal she had prepared. Erik tried more than once to convince her to eat with him, and she had politely refused.
Now that his stomach was nearly full, Erik found himself toying with his food and eating at an excruciatingly slow pace. He did not know what to say to her, or what would happen next.
When he could delay no longer, he finally lowered his emptied wine glass and folded his napkin atop his plate.
"Thank you," he said.
"Of course," Christine replied as she stood to clear away the dishes. Erik watched her.
"Christine?" He asked softly, as his thoughts suddenly turned to Anna.
"Yes, Erik?" Christine sounded tired, her melodic voice slow and low in response.
"Your tunnels... I mean, the secret passageways above. Do you see everyone? Everything?"
Put on edge by such a question, Christine cast a sharp glance his way and tilted her head aside a bit.
"Perhaps. Why do you ask, Erik?"
The dishes were cleaned now, and Christine again took her place across from him at the table. Sharing a meal with him, even if she refused to eat, was such a bittersweet experience for Christine. To sit across from him as a normal woman would, to pretend that it was their lives they shared and not just a meal was so terribly pleasurable. And then she would realize that it was not hers at all, but a stolen treasure that she would undoubtedly give back. Probably within a day or so, when he asked to go above and she would release him to his world of light.
His voice called her back from her reverie, and she realized she had not heard his question.
"Pardon?"
A bit of a smirk tugged at his handsome lips. "What were you thinking just then?"
The infamous phantom blushed, shook her head quickly, and gestured for him to continue.
"What were you saying, Erik?" She said, a hint of impatience in her voice. Erik laughed at her, an act which would have warranted his death in any other time of her life. Now, though, she struggled not to smile with him. He could very nearly read her thoughts, and it was unnerving!
"I asked about Anna..."
All of the mirth and joy in the situation died immediately, leaving a cold pallor in it's place. This must have been reflected in Christine's face, for Erik's face fell as well and he straightened a bit in his chair.
"What about her?" Christine hissed, standing from her seat to turn her back to him.
"Do not be so upset, Christine. What has provoked you?" Erik queried, as he moved to stand behind her.
Christine did not reply, but he felt her stiffen when he lifted his hands to her shoulders. In a voice that held too much fondness, he spoke quietly against her ear.
"She is a childhood friend of mine. We grew up together, really. I promised to always care for her, and now she is angry with me and I cannot understand why. Do you know, Christine? Has someone said something off-color to Anna about me?"
Christine felt betrayed, as though the touch of his hands upon her shoulders were a tool used merely to sway her to his whim. Her heart clenched at the thought, but she managed to speak in a cool voice.
"She is a diva, Erik, and you are an ordinary man. What more could you expect?"
The words were stinging, and Erik took a step away. They both remained like that, in her odd kitchen below the earth. Christine felt a great deal of regret for lashing out at him so, but she could not summon the courage to apologize. Erik was wounded by her words. Several moments of silence passed, and then Erik left. He retreated to the room he had been provided upon his first visit. Making use of the facilities, he cleaned himself up as much as he could manage and then returned to find Christine at her piano, composing.
"I would like for you to take me up now, Christine. I am ready to leave."
Jean and Antoine found themselves in the familiar office, drumming their fingers impassively against the arm of their chairs.
"With what we pay him, you'd think he'd refurbish this little room.." Jean muttered in distaste, removing his handkerchief to wipe at his brow. Antoine only shushed him, content to watch the pendulum on the clock behind the desk sway.
After several long moments, Pierre bustled in. His clothes were slightly disheveled and his cheeks were red. It seemed they had caught him at a very inopportune time.
"Excuse me, Messieurs. I was just showing my new assistant how the filing system works and I did not expect you today. What can I do for you?"
Antoine and Jean exchanged a disgusted glance, and then Antoine spoke.
"We will be leaving for Paris for a fortnight, and want a report before we go. What cities have you searched? Have you found any leads?"
The portly man tugged at the collar of his shirt, and began to sift through piles of papers atop his desk. Stuttering, he began.
"W-w-w...well..."
Jean fixed him with an annoyed glare. Pierre cleared his throat, and tried again.
"Several places, Messieurs. I have a report for you here. Nothing so far. Odd that you're going to Paris, that was my next goal..."
"Yes, well. We're simply going to attend the Opera and visit with some friends. The investigative work is still under control, isn't it Pierre? It would be a shame if we had to employ someone different, after all of our contributions to your firm."
The man paled, nodded quickly, and slid the folder across to the two of them.
"Of course, gentlemen. We will find him, and sooner rather than later I am inclined to believe."
Seeming content with the newfound zeal, Antoine and Jean excused themselves.
"Well, then. We're off to Paris. We will expect a report upon our return."
Erik was angry and did not speak to Christine as they traveled toward the surface. The two parted in silence. He was still aching and sore, but under the expert care of his angel most of his wounds had been patched up with ease and once all of the blood was washed away it was not nearly as bad as it had initially appeared. The worst was a vicious cut, undoubtedly the result of a broken bottle, atop his head. His angel had stitched that as well, however, and now he was left to simply rest and recoup from the ridiculous situation he had placed himself in.
And to brood. Erik was furious at Christine. Not as much at the callousness of her words, but at the fact that she was privy to his most intimate thoughts and still chose to lash out at him in such a way. Having pretended to be a celestial being was terrible enough, but to use the knowledge garnered in such a deception to harm him was even worse.
What had angered her so much about his question, anyway? Was she jealous? What a ridiculous notion!
Erik couldn't stand to be left with his thoughts a moment longer. He trudged toward his door, and only when he had pulled it open did he notice the delicate envelope just within the threshold of his room, on the floor. He bent gingerly to pick it up, groaning a bit at the pressure upon his ribs. He lifted it to his lips, a bit of a smile forming as he recognized the sweet scent he had found upon his Annabel the night he had first discovered her. The expression faltered, however, when he remembered the circumstances upon which they parted. What more could she have to say to him. He sat upon the edge of his bed to open it, and read it's contents.
"Always, Your Anna.."
He read the ending aloud, and then immediately devoured each word of the letter again and again. Could it be true? His precious little cousin, no relation at all of course, thought of him in a romantic light? Should he rejoice, or be wary? Did he feel the same? She was beautiful, of course, and his most treasured companion for most of his life. Would it be treachery to Emma to even think of Annabel in such a way?
A myriad of emotions coursed through Erik, leaving him breathless and completely confused. Deciding to pay a visit to his new admirer, he again ventured toward his door. He tucked the letter into his pocket, and his last thought before closing the door upon his pitiful lodging was, "If Anna did not leave the note, and the wine – who did?"