Chapter 184 Fog

Nadir lifted the heavy black veil from the doorway peering out to be certain that none were watching as they passed from behind the heavy gilded mirror. Though Meg and Madame Giry passed through it now with such casualness, it was all still very new to Nadir. With each step he felt as if he was ascertaining, taking in all of the years that Erik had found himself in seclusion. Unlike many a recluse, Erik, from all that Nadir had seen with his eyes, had been more productive than any man that lived on the surface of the earth he hid beneath. Erik was brilliant indeed, Nadir thought to himself as he watched Madame Giry push the mirror tightly against the wall until he could hear the click of a latch. She and Meg were traveling through the room in near obscurity now, toward the door leading out into the corridor to the foyer.

"Nadir?" Madame Giry said, reaching out to take his hand, "we really must go now. Erik's words were true, we have need to make most public notice of retrieving our dinner. It is necessary again, though I dare say I am a bit out of practice." She smiled at him as a small sliver of silvery light passed her face as she moved through the shadows. Her eyes glistening in the shafts.

Nadir nodded in the darkness, realizing his own folly. "Of course," he said in a most agreeable tone. "No doubt there are those who are loyal to Raoul, and when he awakes and takes realization that Meg has gone, he will no doubt have questions. It is best if there is only one version of the story for anyone to tell."

Madame Giry led him to the door where Meg even now waited patiently.

The trio made their way quickly out into the hall and down to the entrance on the side of the foyer. Nadir smiled at the two women. He knew that there was need to make a display of their entrance so as to appear, for any wandering or watching eye, that they'd just come into the Opera House. He nodded his head at them as he opened the door that they stood by and held it for a few seconds to be certain that a cool rush of air rushed in before he began to laugh heartily. "Ladies, I do not recall a finer evening. I dare say all of the imposed seclusion after the storm has made people quite mad! Now, do you think we might still find supper? If not, we could venture back.,…" Nadir carried on loudly as they made their way into the foyer proper stamping his boots for proper affect.

Madame Giry was behaving as if she was removing her outer garments, just having come in from the out of doors. Meg smiled, finally understanding her mother's command to put everything on just before they passed through the mirror. Though it seemed that there was no one there to view this supposed entrance, if there was, it would all appear copasetic. Perhaps the ability to live and conduct oneself with utter congruity took a bit of maturity. It was indeed a skill she dearly hoped she would learn with time; for her life would be lived in this altered world, having to keep straight two competing and opposing lives, for the benefit of both. Though it would be with great cost that she would maintain such a charade, she could conjure no suitable alternative that would allow her keep all of those whom she loved in her life. It was to be, now she'd only to find the courage, strength, and abilities to carry on.

"Nadir, I assure you this is a most attentive staff…" Madame Giry paused, a more prim and proper tone in her voice, "at least they were, I do so hope that they'd brought the same staff to cook for us, you will find that one in particular is a wonder. She was raised along the Mediterranean, and her dishes are infused with olive oils and spices not normally employed in most of Paris. Her ability to make use of what is in season is most exceptional. There is one dish in particular that…" She stopped dead in her tracks. She saw movement in the shadows of the darkened doorway.

"Madame Giry, how lovely to see you," the woman came forward to greet her properly. "And Miss Meg, it has been some time, I dare say you've grown more beautiful each day my dear." The woman's eyes were curiously studying the male companion that the women would most certainly have brought with them from DeChagny's. It was well known that the two had been staying with Raoul since the fire, much whispered conversation had passed through the halls in that very regard. "And who might this gentleman be?" The woman stepped forward as Nadir lifted his head now unable to avoid the woman as he had hoped. She gasped in horror, without a thought she retracted her hand, stepping back two steps. "Sir," she nodded her head.

Madame Giry and Meg stared at Nadir with such question, their hearts beginning to race, did the woman know him? And if she did, what were they to surmise of her reaction?

Nadir walked forward shaking the woman's hand. "I trust that the obligations I'd entrusted you with yesterday were taken care of?" Nadir tried to inflect as much question into his voice as he was able to, already knowing full-well the answer.

"Yes..yes, Monsieur, it was taken care of as you requested, last evening in fact. I understand that the woman was to be buried this day, if not on the morrow sir."

Nadir suddenly wondering what had led the woman to this knowledge…had she opened and read the note before its delivery? He frowned. "And you good Madame, how is it that you've knowledge of the woman's arrangement?"

The woman was suddenly uncomfortable. She'd need to be careful, not betraying any of the events out of her haste to reply. "You see sir, I'd asked for an escort last evening, a lady must not travel alone in the evening sir you understand."

Nadir nodded, hoping the woman's reply would not be painfully verbose.

"I did find someone, a gentleman to accompany me." She shook her head, brevity would aid in her ability to keep that which she wished to remain unknown, left in obscurity. "It was he sir, that the time came for high-tea this afternoon, delivered news to me that all had been cared for. I do believe that he'd returned to be assured that the man, Perdue was it?" She looked at Nadir for confirmation, and he nodded. "He made mention that the woman was taken care of and she was to be buried, and I was to share as much with you should I have opportunity to see you again." She flashed a glance toward Nadir.

Inwardly Nadir was relieved. "I see then, very well." He took on a more austere tenor. "Do you think it possible that an evening meal might well be…"

The woman smiled, she herself a bit relieved that he'd ask no more questions of her. "I've.."

Madame Giry came forward smiling at the woman, taking her hand, moving toward the corridor that led to the dining rooms below the foyer. "Nadir," she said looking over the shoulder, "this is the very woman of which I spoke! You simply must indulge in whatever she might find for us…even her toast tastes different!" Meg was nodding in agreement, having sampled some of the woman's delicacies. Though most often they were subjected to the common fare that all other Opera House staff were given, there were occasions, when the woman herself would provide them a treat, most often on Sundays.

The woman smiled at Madame Giry, "I've a lovely tomato augratin Madame, I know how very much you loved it so. When the carriage driver made mention that you'd most likely be taking in dinner with us…I hope you do not mind that I was so bold as to have selected your dinner for you mum."

Madame Giry smiled, sighing just slightly. It was good to be home. The Opera House had been the one place, in all of those years, that she'd felt at home, even though it was simply her place of employment, something about simply being within those walls filled her with a comfort that she'd forgotten. She'd appreciate it, embrace it while she could, for she, in truth, did not know what the next months would bring.

Nadir followed the three woman now to the lower levels. He was as curious as he was hungry. The last time he'd been in such a place…had been in Persia, and going to the lower levels there…it was never a memory that one had want to keep.

XXXX

Christine batted her eyes. Through the layers of thick black lace she could see a soft glow coming from the stove that lay off in the corner of the room. She could feel the warmth of the arms that surrounded her, and hear the steady, even breathing of a man now deep in slumber.

Somewhere along the way, Erik had risen to build the fire that was now providing comfort to the previously chilly cavern. She smiled as she woke further to realize that Erik had somehow wrapped his entire body around hers forming a human cradle within which she was safely nestled. She could feel the palm of his hand that lay so tenderly over her abdomen.

Something inside her had been satiated in what no doubt had been hours ago that they'd shared in their passions. It had been a deep painful wrong that had been righted. A dream, a fantasy, or whatever other word would be suitable, it had been what they both needed to leave this other life behind, having not left this one thing undone.

She turned her head on Erik's chest, looking up at him as she carefully slid up in his arms so that she might look upon his sleeping face. There was something odd about the way his face now laid, half in shadow. If she'd let her imagination run away with her, she could nearly imagine it being covered in the half-mask he had worn. She smiled. It was as if she loved two men…the one he had been…and the one he now was. Perhaps a part of her would always miss the Phantom, the power, the mystique. But what he was now…a man unafraid, unencumbered by the previous persona, oh how she loved him so.

Christine could not imagine going back…not for him, to that tortured time when he had no choice but to hide in darkness. The things that had been done, even those without his permission, had been a betterment in his life, allowing him the freedom to move about in society without a thought he'd be recognized. What irony, it was now she that had need to hide, be kept away from prying eyes for fear of discovery. Though she'd no disfigurement, her face would have caused equal horror; it was still something she would fear every time they were in Paris.

Carefully, slowly, she began to run her hand along Erik's cheek, pushing away the few stray hairs that had fallen across his forehead. He was handsome to her in so many ways. He was to her rather like one of the Greek Gods she'd read about in mythology, strong, Adonis like. Her attraction to him was equally intense no matter if she'd behold him with her eyes or her mind, for she loved him with all of her, not simply what she could see.

She nestled her head closer to his on the pillow and found herself wondering if he too would feel relieved that they'd tarried there. If he too would feel a sense of longing having met its satisfaction. She wanted to believe so in her heart. There was so very little that she could give him, but this, this one thing she hoped, would fill a part of him that had long been empty, for she knew in her mind that it had for her. She had wanted him, so very much wanted to be touched by him, loved by him, taken by him, that simply finding herself in his arms, in that bed, having surrendered herself to him in the most intimate of ways, was titillating. It was a dream, nay a fantasy come to life. She sighed, leaning in kissing his neck, then nestling her face into the deep recess between his flesh and the pillow he laid upon.

Erik's eyes fluttered open. The warm breath on his neck had begun to tickle at his skin. He turned his head, placing a kiss on Christine's forehead. He repositioned his arms around her, beginning to run his hands up and down the length of her back. "Christine…" he said in a sleepy voice.

She kissed his neck again, pushing herself back up once more to look him in the eye. "Erik, my love…" she leaned forward brushing her lips softly across his.

They lay looking into one another's eyes. Their thoughts seeming to search one another for confirmation that the other was as happy as they. Christine smiled, kissing Erik once more. He wrapped his hands firmly under her shoulder blades, pressing her against him, rolling her up on to his chest so that she was looking down at him. He left her to rest there as his hands wandered up to her face.

"My dear beautiful Christine. You are a wonder to me. How is it possible that you surprise me each day with your wisdom…love me with your heart in ways I'd not known existed…"

Christine leaned down placing a tender, yet decidedly more intense kiss upon his lips. A tingle running up and down her spine. Their lips parted. "Erik, I do not know…I dare say I do not know what it is, or how I find…I do not know…it is what comes into my heart each time I am near you. I simply do not fight it I suppose. I allow our love to make its own way." She looked down at him, kissing his temple, slowly sliding down to lay next to him.

Erik turned on his side so that he faced Christine on the pillow, their eyes once again searching the other's. "Your love to me is like an ocean, and each day I swim in it fearing I'll drown, and somehow I float along its gentle waves, and find myself safely on the shore each morning, yearning for only one thing, to dive back into the surreal depths of it yet again." Erik said as he pulled Christine closer to him, kissing the tips of each finger of the hand that had been gently roaming his chest. She smiled, a rosy blush covering her. "In all of the great love stories…Tristan and Isolde, Romeo and Juliet, King Arthur and Lady Gwenevier, in all of that reading, I thought I'd come to understand great love." He touched Christine, his eyes glistening as he looked deeply into hers. "I could only have imagined what joy it should be to love, and be loved by another in such a way." He leaned over kissing her softly. "Those untested thoughts that wandered in the wilderness of my mind, in the winter of my soul, before you came to love me, now seem infinitesimal. I've come to know, one can never truly understand that of which they have not partaken. I shan't have ever imagined how very replete, satiated, I would feel, now having known such love."

Christine could do nothing more than gaze admiringly, dotingly, at Erik, for she knew that her words would seem frail and amateurish in the brilliant shadow of his eloquence. She leaned forward, her lips tenderly caressing Erik's. Her hands passing behind his neck, pulling her flesh tightly to him. "I love you," she whispered in his ear as he took her once more into his arms.

"And I love you Christine," he breathed into her lips as he held her. "This night a dream, nay a fantasy was laid to rest here my love. I shall be forever indebted to you Christine…"

She beamed as she came to rest on his chest playfully. "It shan't be so my love, for do you not think that I too had longed for this? Had I not confessed as much to you? A maiden ready to throw herself from a rooftop is not merely looking for chance to hold her wanton lover's hand! I needed to be yours in all of the ways that mattered my love…." She breathed once more on his neck as she planted light kisses on it, causing Erik to shudder. She laughed, "and now I am. There is no debt here…promise only that you'll love me forever."

Erik paused, a swell growing in his chest. "Until the ends of time itself Christine, until the sun ceases to rise, and the moon refuses to glow…until God removes them both from the heavens, only then will I beg of Him to have mercy on me to love you even still."

Christine's lips began to tremble, a tear growing in her eye….that is all she wanted to hear…though in her heart of hearts, she had known it all along.

There was a brief moment of intensity when they held one another. When no speech was necessary, a pair of souls joining on the bridge of love, walking over to the other side. A love that knew no bounds, and would never again turn back to anything other than what it was now…love in its rawest, purest form.

A great smile grew across Erik's face as he looked up at Christine with the love of a husband in his eyes. Erik growled as he turned Christine to her back kissing each cheek. She let out a staggered breath. "Erik?"

He held his face away from her looking into her eyes.

She longed for one more thing, one more thing to be done… "play for me?"

Erik flinched. It had not all been what he had expected. It had been a very long while indeed since his hands had graced the organ in the depths of the Opera House in the way that Christine was referring. Yes, he'd run his fingers over them when he'd been there the hours ago, but now…she was asking for him, nay, the Phantom to return in his glory? "Christine…I…"

Christine ran her hands up behind his neck, holding his face straight so she might look upon him without distraction. "Erik, it was what we longed for, the very song that you sang to me…how is it that we could share music together so many times, and now, in the pinnacle of the moment when tutor and pupil can at last satisfy their unrequited love, how is it that we could possibly avoid, abandon that most intrinsic part of the dream….for it is your music that brought us together my love. I've no intention of asking you to remove yourself from it…it is part of who you are…the man I've come to love." She kissed his lips tenderly. "Play for me Erik…let us create the music of the night, here…here in this place, as it should have been. It is what we wanted, what we imagined, what we longed for, let us not neglect this part of the dream dear Erik…let me be yours once more in all of your dark glory, all of that which drew us to one another…for it goes to the very core of our longings…how can we deny ourselves this?"

Erik's heart began to swell in his chest. She had understood him, had wanted what he wanted, and now, even though she loved him, had become his wife, she wanted his every fantasy satisfied within him. He could scarcely take it in that she'd the ability to love him as she did, to know what he needed, even more than he himself knew.

Without a word Erik crawled from beneath the comforts of the silken sheets, donning his white shirt. He lifted Christine into his arms, swaddling her in the sheets as he carried her in his arms over to the organ. He sat her gently on the top so he might gaze into her eyes as he began to play. He inhaled running his fingers across the cool ivory. He was nearly light headed from the euphoria of what was now transpiring…a fantasy come true in the flesh. He closed his eyes as he had always played the instrument, pushing his fingers down, the instrument a bit reluctant. A shiver went up his spine as Christine reached out running her fingers along his collarbone, and up his cheek. He no longer had need to close his eyes. He no longer had to imagine it, wonder what it would be like, for his dream had come true. There she was, beckoning him to return once more to the fantasy that had raged so many years unreleased inside of him. A part of him he no longer had to wish would die to release him from his agony. For she had reached into him, breathing life into that part of his being, changing it forevermore to be mended, whole, satisfied.

"Play for me…" she entreated with a smoldering glance.

He returned her gaze with the intensity of a brilliant sun as his hands began to move in utter familiarity over the keys, his voice growing to join the music as the time came for it.

Everything about the man she now watched enthralled Christine. Her trembling flesh could only drink in the experience, for they would never be there, in that place, in that time, in that way again. She knew as the music wafted through the cavern, circling her, taking her in from every direction, that these moments would be ones that they would remember for all the rest of their days. Fantasies so seldom came true…but they were making theirs.

XXXXXX

The man had finally come to rest, book in hand, satisfied with his day's work. He was ready for her visit, all with exception of the food to be prepared. He leaned back against the cool stone, one arm tucked behind him as he opened the book, leafing to the page whose corner had been bent the night previous to mark his place. He inhaled, and began to read. As he did, his brow furrowed. He sat up, placing the book down on the bed. He stood, and walked over the wall behind his bed. Placing his knee on the top of the small trunk of clothes, he leaned forward, pressing his cheek against the cool, smooth stone. He closed his eyes.

"No!" he exclaimed under his breath, "it cannot be!" He pulled his head away, his eyes now wide with terror, a cold sweat quickly forming on his clean-shaven upper lip. He paced a few steps, hands firmly on his hips. "It is my imagination run away with me…it cannot be." He muttered to himself.

After a few minutes time he ventured wearily back to the wall, knee on the trunk, leaning his other cheek against the stone. He closed his eyes. Breathing a sigh of relief. It was his imagination. For a fleeting moment he had thought he could feel it. The old familiar deep vibration of the stone that seemed to come from the center of the earth just before the Phantom presented himself somewhere in the Opera House.

He'd at first thought it to be a coincidence, and indeed sometimes the vibrating did not produce a visit. But, it had seemed, more times than not, that when the vibrations were at their worst, something terrible would befall someone there. He'd noted with particular interest it was at its worst after DeChagny had arrived, and often after Carlotta performed in recent years. He shook his head. Oh how he'd let his imagination get the best of him since the night that he and the maid had traveled to LeMortem Street. He'd been certain that was who he had seen then, now this…. No, it simply was his own fears rising to threaten him.

He retreated once more to his bed, reclining, taking the book into his hand. This time, he leaned his back carefully against the wall. He'd read a few more pages, when he felt it again. This time he dropped the book, leapt from the bed, pushing the trunk out of the way with his foot, pressing not only his cheek, but his entire chest against the wall. He closed his eyes. Yes…he could feel it indeed. The rhythmic vibration of the stone against the sensitive surface of his flesh. His eyes grew wide as he backed away from the stone, nearly tumbling to the ground as he tripped on the trunk he'd flung to the center of the room. "No…." was all he could manage. He stood in the center of the room, entirely paralyzed with fear. If the Phantom had returned…how great would his thirst be now….now that he'd had a taste for it?

XXXXX

The night was in its fullness; the hours until morning arrived were few. The darkness swirled in the vapors. The fog so very typical of London, now seeming to have paid a temporary visit to the City of Paris. The gas lanterns of the streets casting an eerie glow through the smoky haze, little if any vision was possible more than several feet beyond the length of one's arm.

A distance from the city proper laid the cemetery where Sara herself had come to rest that very afternoon. Several fresh graves had been dug that day, most yet unoccupied.

Through the swirling mist, if one were very careful….looked closely…they would realize that they were not alone. A dozen, nay, more than that, dark cloaks moving silently among the grave markers. It was an eerie quiet, punctuated only by several shrill cries of hares being snared here and there. The fresh turned earth had produced the greens the rabbits had searched for beneath the snows. It was the only place near the City where the animals would venture out, their point of making their way there that night.

The eerie glow cast by the moon in the cemetery through the fog, leant only ever more veracity to the terror that would have been witnessed had any unfortunate souls found their way there that night. The grave-diggers having left only hours before had quite unknowingly left their scent behind. Undoubtedly it had enticed them out of hiding. The City as of late, had produced little in the form of promise; in large part due to the storm. They were grateful it only happened once or twice in a hundred years time.

The group had momentarily huddled on one grave in particular, at the crest of a small knoll, overlooking Paris. A silent agreement had been reached, it was not to be touched. Even the animals had shunned that bit of earth; it seemed tainted, poisonous.

A sudden thunderous resonance caused a flurry of cloaks in the blackness. It was the pounding of the hooves of a large horse just beyond the cemetery gates; someone obviously on their way in earnest into Paris. They'd thought about falling upon the passerby, but they had tarried. One such as he gone missing would raise too many questions. They'd simply have to wait…wait until the streets of Paris returned once more to a more favorable plethora of suitable scourge. For now, they'd found what they'd sought. Morning would not be far off….they'd a theater to return to…and so they made their way.

The great white horse disappeared into the thick fog. It's rider obscured by the veil of darkness and a long hooded cloak. It was if the beast knew the way into the City by heart.