A/N: I don't know if anyone is still reading this, but if you are I am profoundly sorry for the long delay between updates. I've been on a bit of a Year 12 hiatus, and now that mid-year exams are over, I've had time to get stuck into a bit of writing. So here it is, and thanks for being so patient!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters, they are the brainchilds and brilliance of Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Any song lyrics used are strictly the property of Andrew Lloyd Webber, Richard Stilgoe and Charles Hart.
Chapter eighteen.
London.
There was no sound, there was only silence. The only movements bar the faint rustling of the curtains were the slight rise and fall of Erik's chest as he looked down at his beloved angel cradled softly in his arms with wonderment. Her small hand was curled tightly about his thin white fingers, the sunlight dancing off and enhancing the milky quality of her skin.
Christine lay atop Erik's bare chest, facing away from him, her brown eyes widened in contentment and fear; contentment that she should have her masked man again, and fear that her newly found happiness should be cruelly ripped away. Ever so lightly she felt one of Erik's long white fingers curl about one of her gossamer strands, twisting the lock of hair between his fingers lovingly. She was afraid, she was afraid of the uncertainty, she was afraid of her feelings, she was afraid of the insatiable passion she felt unlocked deep within her soul; the intensity of which frightened her.
Erik closed his eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling her sweet scent, allowing it to fill him until her was sure he could take no more; the sheer proximity of her burned his skin and ravaged his soul. She smelled like lavender and sweet summer flowers. "Christine…? He swallowed as Christine slowly lifted her head off his chest, his skin instantly screaming for the lack of warmth,
Christine turned her enchanting doe eyes upon Erik's face, the stormy gold of his own blazing behind the hard contours of the mask mixed with another unmarked emotion; insecurity and uncertainty.
She faltered at his expression, her dread filling every inch of her with a sudden coldness. "Erik…?"
"I appreciate your concern for me, however.." he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. "I understand why you said what you did. And I don't want your pity Christine…"
Christine stared up at him through incredulous eyes, "you think this is all out of pity?"
"I came to accept a long time ago, that no-one could love a monster… a thing… as abhorrant as-"
He was cut short as Christine captured his lips forcefully. His eyes momentarily widened in shock, before he settled into the warmth of her kiss. This seemed all too unreal for him, like a vivid opium-induced dream. It wouldn't be the first… he mused darkly. Christine pulled back, "what's wrong?"
Just then, the door creaked open to reveal Nadir leaning casually on the door-frame. Christine yelped and removed herself from Erik's bed, blushing furiously as the Persian's eyebrow quirked in amusement.
"Ah, Daroga… my betrayer."
A smirk crept across Erik's lips as they curled into a grimace. His muscles were cramping mercilessly beneath the blankets again, shooting searing pain up his legs. Erik felt his forehead dampen under the effort of concealing his afflictions. It had been enough that Christine had seen his pitiful displays of weakness, but he was no stranger to pain. At least his body had not betrayed him this time; he was desperate to cling to any scrap of dignity he could lay hands to; at least he could suffer through this in dignified silence.
"You are a very fortunate man, Erik."
"Some would accredit this to fortune?" He sneered, grimacing from the struggle
"You're fortunate that you have someone who obviously cares very deeply for you. If Christine hadn't found you when she did, I have no doubt that you would be dead at this very moment." He frowned and took a few carefully measured steps forward, looking sternly down at Erik. "You owe her your life, Erik."
Erik felt the back of his neck warm, the sweat now trickling into his eyes. He had never owed anything to anyone before. The situation he now found himself in, indebted to another, was alarming and unnerving for him.
"Monsieur Khan," Christine got to her feet and pulled a slip of parchment from within her bodice. "could you please deliver this to Madame Giry? The address is on the envelope." Nadir raised an eyebrow. "It is merely telling her I am safe and well, and not to worry."
He nodded understandingly, "this shouldn't take long."
Erik began to cough and splutter, the control he had been holding over his body giving way to an onslaught of chest spasms that rendered him breathless. He lay back against the pillows are Christine brought him water and a dampened cloth. Once his breathing had steadied she allowed herself to kneel reverently by his side.
"You never told me, Christine…"
She frowned as she tended him, "told you?"
"W-what you are doing here… in London…" Erik rasped between breaths.
Christine shied away. Erik noticed the darkening of her eyes, how her complexion drained, turning a sickly pallor.
"What is it?"
"It doesn't matter…"
"It matters to me!"
A violent coughing spasm wracked through Erik's chest, as he fell back in a fit against the pillows.
"Shh," Christine filled a cup with water and brought it to his bedside, holding it to his parched lips, "Monsieur Khan said to keep your fluids up; the cramping is a direct result of dehydration."
He lay back against the pillows and sighed with weary eyes. "This does not mean that you get out of telling me…"
Christine smiled, "I know, and I will… when I'm ready."
He looked up at her, "I do not like you seeing me so…"
"…ill?"
"Helpless."
"Why ever not? It's comforting to know that you're real, that you have faults… I suppose it humanizes you in a way…"
"If this is what it means to be human, then-"
"-No," Christine brushed a kiss against his palm and pressed it to her chest, "this is what it means to be human." Her hand crept across his face, her fingers gently tracing the edges of the mask, seeking approval. His squeezed his eyes shut and gave a small nod as she gently pried the mask from his face. The skin beneath the mask was hot and itchy, yet he could forebear the discomfort - his exposure he could not. Her soothing hands ran the damp cloth across his forehead, his cheek, his lips until he felt some of the irritation leave his skin. It felt wonderful to have his face bear to the cool air, yet he cringed internally every time he felt her bare skin touch his – as though it were some perverse crime, like his deformity could spread and infect those who came into contact with it. His eyes opened in wonderment as she placed a feather light kiss on his ravaged cheek and replaced the mask.
He gazed at her warmly, and then raised his arm to gather her close, breathing into her hair – small shallow breaths that somehow comforted her. Christine curled up beside him, entwining her fingers with his. She could hear his heart beating beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. It was a reassuring sound, the rhythmic thumping of his heart; duh-dum duh-dum duh-dum…
"I like it," she whispered quietly.
"What?" he murmured into her hair.
She brushed a kiss across his knuckles, "the sound of your heart…" He smiled warmly into her hair, but offered no reply.
It was a nice sound, the sound of life, a sound that held all the promise in the world. It was a sound that held a future. She felt him draw her closer to him and closed her eyes, and once more thanked God and all the heavens above for saving her angel.
XxXxXxX
The air was cool and crisp against Christine's cheeks. Dawn was just breaking over sleepy London, the coolness in the air soon to be sucked from the sky by the sheer heat of the sun. She pulled the thin shawl about her shoulders tighter as she moved about the rooftop, the sky clean and bright. She stopped at the edge of the rooftop and peered into the street below. A light flickered in the house opposite, the drawn curtains yielding no silhouette of its inhabitants.
The tiny hairs along the back of her neck prickled as she heard the sound of the door closing and the tell-tale rustle of a cloak. Surely enough, Erik's breath tickled her ear moments later. "Christine…" he whispered. He inhaled her lavender scent slowly, feeling his grip on reality start to slide at her proximity. She felt the shiver run down her spine, shuddering involuntarily. Without turning around, she sighed in contentment and allowed her head to fall back softly against his chest, and felt his arms wrap around her possessively, tugging the cloak about them both. She loved the feel of his arms around her; he made her feel safe, like she had never felt before.
Erik breathed deeply. The last time he had followed Christine to a rooftop he had found her enfolded in the arms of her boy-lover, singing words of promise and love. Oh how his heart had ripped in two then, the sheer want of revenge curdling his blood. He had been frozen, powerless. But now it was in his arms that she sought comfort. He nestled his face in the crook of her neck, tracing the curvature of her neck with his lips leaving a trail of kisses in their wake.
"Erik," Christine gasped, "you really shouldn't be out here, the doctor said –"
"I know what the doctor said," he replied impatiently, "but I know what the best medicine for me is…"
Christine smiled, and turned about in his arms. Erik's lips quickly descended on hers, eliciting a slight gasp from her before she melted into his embrace. They stood locked for several moments, the entire world seeming to grind to a halt as he pulled her tighter to him, deepening the kiss so that she moaned ever so slightly into his mouth.
"Erik," she pulled away from him, fearful of prying eyes, "maybe we should go back inside?"
"Why?" He tried to pull her back to him.
"It's just… people are waking now. What if someone sees us?" She felt his muscles tense and his jaw stiffen.
"I see." He was silent for several moments as he stepped away from her. "If you are too ashamed to be seen with me, then it is best you go."
Christine's eyes sparked with amusement at his irrational reasoning and she fought to repress a small smile as she reached up to pull his face down to hers, her lips playing faintly upon his and eliciting a fire deep within him. It was not worth wasting what precious time they had on arguing, "I'm not going anywhere." Erik's hands wound about her waist as he lightly touched his forehead to her own, still incredulous over her desire to be with him. "Erik, your stubbornness will be the death of me."
A shadow flickered in the corner of Christine's eye. She turned abruptly to see the curtains quickly drawn in the house opposite. A sudden chill worked its way down her spine.
"What is it?"
She frowned; sure she had seen someone standing in the window watching.
"N-nothing" she said, "Can we just go back inside now?"
He nodded silently and held is arm out to her, and receded into the shadows.
Cornelia de Martineau drew the curtains once more, the candlelight flickering shadows across the room. She smirked as she watched their retreating forms on the rooftop and turned to gaze at the parchment lying atop the desk; the drying ink shining in the candlelight. She let the curtains fall once more…
It appears we share a common goal once more… Comte
XxXxXxX
"I should be the one helping you…"
"Nonsense. Now lie back." She pressed down on his shoulders, forcing him to lie back against the pillows.
"I do not need to see a doctor."
"Erik, you almost died!"
"It would not be the first time," he muttered darkly.
Christine frowned with disapproval, and started to unbutton his shirt, slowly sliding it off his shoulders. He hissed as her hands grazed his scars - he was still uncomfortable with being so revealed. His skin was damp from perspiration over the efforts of walking to the roof this morning. His body had yet to recover fully, and any physical exertion left him shaky and weak. Christine dabbed at his forehead with a wet cloth
Christine was just about the remove his mask when there was a short rap on the door. Erik quickly pulled the covers up over his torso as Christine opened the door.
An elderly man with sparse patches of white hair and thin, half-moon spectacles stood holding a black leather medical bag in the doorway.
"Dr. Charles Zweigger," he extended a hand to Christine, his speech slurred by some heavy foreign accent. The man had a thin, weathered and worldly look about his face. His eyes shone through their sunken cavities, as he smiled briefly.
"Bonjour doctor, please come in."
As he stepped over the threshold and took in the havoc of the room, his eyes quickly fell upon his patient. Christine noted his initial surprise over the presence of Erik's mask, which he quickly covered with professionalism. He noted silently the impropriety of the situation, as his eyes flicked back and forth between Christine and Erik, noting the absence of any wedding bands. Christine followed his gaze and shifted uncomfortable. What must he be thinking?? She saw Erik's jaw tense and his eyes harden. This was not going to be easy for either of them.
Dr. Zweigger settled himself by Erik's bed and began unpacking his medical supplies. A frown was etched solidly into his features, as though his brow were carved of stone. Erik sat rigidly to his side, his arms crossed defensively across his chest.
"I am to understand that it was morphine, sir."
Christine winced at the severity of the Doctor's tone. Though he attempted to mask it, his voice was laced with stern disapproval. It was quite apparent that he considered any self-inflicted afflictions unworthy of his time or consideration. Dr. Zweigger held out his hand for Erik's arm. When Erik refused, he cast his steely gaze upon Erik's own.
"Come now Sir, I have seen a lot worse than you, so do not attempt to drown yourself in self-pity. Mr. Khan has informed me of your… circumstances, and I give them no heed. Do not embarrass yourself even more so in front of the lady by refusing my requests, it only serves to enhance your shame"
Christine bit down hard to stop herself from gasping. Never had she seen anyone speak to Erik with such disrespect and insolence. He could see the murderous look flame in Erik's eyes as he stared at the doctor. Christine had to commend him, there were few who could hold Erik's gaze without fear. If he did indeed possess some, then he masked it well.
What surprised Christine even more was when Erik reluctantly held out his forearm to the doctor. Dr. Zweigger frowned as his old calloused fingers explored the welts and puncture wounds disfiguring Erik's forearm. The intensity of the blue pulsating veins had waned a little. Dr. Zweigger sighed disapprovingly.
"How long have you been using?"
There was a brief pause. "Five years," Erik hissed reluctantly through gritted teeth. "Though it has crossed my path before in the past."
Dr. Zweigger said nothing as he removed an ampoule from his medical bag. "You will be unable to rid yourself of the vice if you do not have the willpower sir. If you do not have it, tell me so at once for I am wasting my time here."
Erik took one look at Christine, their gaze locked as he explored the vast depth of her brown orbs. He nodded in ascent, "I have."
Dr. Zweigger injected a syringe into the ampoule and withdrew a small portion of clear liquid. He flicked the syringe lightly with his finger. "Withdrawal has to be very gradual," he spoke now to Christine as he administered the serum into Erik's bloodstream, "when he has recuperated fully from this, he may be able to start treatment. In ordinary cases it could take a few weeks, perhaps months. He may need to go into a special sanatorium. Even following all these precautious, not everyone is able to defeat their…" he glanced at Erik, whose eyes were beginning to glaze over, "…inner demons.
As Erik's head hit the pillow, his eyes rolled back and he was still. Christine could not think of when she had seen him more relaxed and content. She felt very alone at that moment and shivered despite the warmth of the room.
The doctor closed the lid on a box. "He will regain consciousness in a few hours." Christine nodded mutely as he handed her the small box. "There are fourteen ampoules inside, each of a progressively lower concentration. They are individually marked with the date of which they must be administered. Administer only one a day and I will return in two weeks."
As he walked to pass her, he turned about on his heel and frowned empathetically at the young woman staring reverently at her lover, "he is like a dog in need of weaning mademoiselle. If we do not free him of the opium vice it will destroy him… and from what I can judge, you also in the process." Christine smiled sadly at him as he donned his hat.
"Good-day to you mademoiselle."
XxXxXxX
Paris.
"… It can't be! Are you sure?"
"Most definitely-"
"-but the mask, was there a mask?"
"I am sure! How many do you know of, who wear a mask that conceals half their face? It is him, I assure you."
Raoul dragged a hand through his bedraggled hair, his eyes blood-shot and furious. He looked half mad.
"He's supposed to be dead! I'll kill him! I'll kill him!! And this time, he'll stay dead!"
"No! Do not be so stupid Comte; you know just as much as I do, that he cannot be so readily killed. If you want to exact your revenge, I suggest we plan this very carefully."
Raoul narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "And what makes you think I won't kill him straight away?"
"She would never look at you again." Raoul lowered his gaze, his nails digging hard into his palms as he clenched his fists tightly. "Who are you fooling Raoul? You need me…"
"And what interest is it of yours? I have not forgotten… Cornelia."
"I care only for your well-being Raoul." She advanced on him, coyly winding a serpentine arm about Raoul's shoulder. She felt the rigid muscles in his back tense at her touch. "I can see what her absence is doing to you…" Her hand roamed his chest, "so much anger…"
Raoul's eyes rolled back as her fingers slid behind his neck, rubbing the knotted muscles and stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. It had been so long since he had been touched so by a woman. "After what I did, I cannot blame nor feel anger towards her…"
"But they found one another once more…" her hand came to rest on the triangle of bare skin his ruffle shirt had left uncovered. Her fingers snaked their way down to the first button and deftly unfastened it. "Even death could not separate them. What if she doesn't want you back?"
Raoul's eyes snapped open as his fingers caught her wrist forcefully. "Careful," he whispered dangerously, "I have eyes for only one woman."
Cornelia took a step back from him, "who are you kidding? You need me…"
Raoul struck as quick as a cobra, his fingers fastening tight about Cornelia's throat. "The only thing I need is Christine! And I will get her back… one way or another…"
He released her and Cornelia narrowed her eyes as she watched him stalk from the room, her fingers tentatively rubbing her throat. We'll just see about that.
XxXxXxX
London.
"How are you feeling?"
Erik was buttoning a silk shirt, tying the cravat firmly about his waist. His hair was still damp and hung about his face; his skin had yet to return to its usual pallor.
"As well as can be expected, my dear." He tried to rise, but Christine pushed down firmly on his shoulders.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Erik looked up at her with piercing eyes, gripping her wrists and pulling them lightly off his shoulders, "work."
"It has only been two weeks! The doctor said-"
"-I know what the doctor said," Erik brushed past her into the bathroom, "but I have an opera in need of completing, and an orchestra in need of rehearsal." He emerged moments later with his hair neatly slicked back, and his mask firmly in place. He smiled in amusement as Christine stood before him, her small hands on her hips in a mark of disapproval. "You're not going to let me go that easy, are you?" She stuck out her bottom lip in defiance, "I see…"
Her teacher smirked and slowly stepped towards her and reached out with his hand, searing her palm with his touch. All speech was silenced as Erik, in a single elegant motion, pulled her tightly towards him. Christine smiled despite herself as she was swept into his arms, feeling his warm breath tickling the fine hair about the nape of her neck. As his strong arms encircled her tiny waist he elicited a slight gasp from Christine, and she flung out an arm to steady herself. His lips quickly captured hers in a searing kiss, and Christine felt all resolve crumble within her, as she closed her eyes and let the flood of sensation that threaten to overwhelm her sweep her away.
As Erik slowly broke the contact she felt the warmth leave her, only a light tingling sensation reverberated in her body. Her eyes remained closed as she whispered with intense longing and resentment, "I hate it when you do that."
She opened her eyes to see a flicker of a smile cross Erik's face as he nuzzled her neck, nipping lightly at the skin, "And dare I ask if you feel the same way about this too, Mademoiselle?"
"Yes, that too." She sighed, conceding defeat, "fine, go to work, but if anything happens you have only yourself to blame."
He smirked and slipped his vest on over his shirt, "I'll take that under advisement - you know where to find me."
Christine turned, "actually I d-" but the door had already closed behind him. She sighed, "what am I going to do with that man."
XxXxXxX
"… you said something that morning." Christine spoke softly, not wanting to ruin the quiet moment she and Erik were sharing, as dusk quickly crept over the London streets.
"I said many things that morning," Erik murmured, absently stroking the head of curls that lay in his lap, a book perched upon his knee. Christine sat reverently at his feet, content to laze and watch the light slowly fade from the room, and listen to smooth voice of her Angel as he read from ancient books in foreign tongues. They had sat like this for most of the afternoon; Christine drifting in and out of sleep as her teacher patiently read the original Persian print, and translated each passage for his angel. She liked the rich sound of the words pronounced on her masked man's delicate tongue. She yawned, pulling absent mindedly on a stray thread from her dress.
"No," she considered thoughtfully, "this was something else. You said it in barely a whisper, like a thought that had strayed out loud."
"There have been many of those too."
"I remember a rose… and a nightingale… it was beautiful, whatever it was…"
Erik sighed, closing the book silently. "Ah yes," he conceded, "Night after night the nightingale came to beg for divine love, but though the rose trembled at the sound of his voice, her petals remained closed to him." Erik's voice shook a little as he said this.
"An old Persian fable, one of many that I know of."
"You never speak of Persia," Christine mused. Erik's stroking of her hair ceased. She frowned, "what is it?"
"I do not speak of Persia. You must know that I can never go back there," Erik's tone hardened with apprehension, "for reasons you cannot comprehend."
"I do not understand-"
"-you are not ready to understand, child. It was a dark time; and would only serve to frighten you."
She removed her head from his lap and knelt before him, her brown eyes trained firmly upon his stormy gold one, "in some way I understand your unwillingness to tell me of your life before Paris, Erik, but I am no longer a child. You will have to trust me with your secrets one day."
He allowed himself a small smile as he recognized the favour she was doing him by not prompting him further. "Soon," he conceded, "but not now." His hand once again fell upon her hair, and the need to reassure himself that this moment was indeed real.
The room had become too dark to read from natural light, so Christine and Erik contented themselves to sit silently in one another's presence, each reveling in the feel of the other. After a long while Christine stirred once more.
"Erik?"
"Yes my dear?" Erik purred, twisting a chocolate brown lock of Christine's hair about his long tapered fingers.
"There's something I've been meaning to ask you." She nervously twisted the hem of her dress between her fingers as Erik's hand stilled on her hair, listening intently.
"Would you…?" She began tentatively, "have you ever wondered…?" She paused as her head rested against his chest, listening to the melodic beating of his heart beneath her. Her own heart began to flutter wildly as she began to comprehend the enormity of what she was about to request. Erik frowned and turned her face towards him, his smoldering gold eyes searching her face, "what is it?"
The intensity of his eyes made her lightheaded, as his hand fell to her neck, where he lightly brushed the tips of his fingers against her skin. The man swallowed. "Tell me," he spoke again, his timbre smooth and low.
Christine breathed in deeply, her stomach fluttering wildly from not only his caress, but the thoughts that raced through her mind – dreadful, dangerous and yet… exciting and passionate ghosts from the past that could be resurrected.
"Would-you—ever-consider-teaching-me-once-more?" She almost gasped as the words tumbled from her mouth in one breath, too late to be taken back. Her eyes clouded with fear as his hand jerked back from her neck, as though he were burned, his face remaining impassive and closed to her. After a few agonizing moments he gave her a long, half-distant look, as though he were studying the shape of her face, and rose from the chair. He stood with his back to her, silently staring at the wall opposite, before turning his head slightly to gaze at the piano in the far corner. Christine watched on, fearfully wondering what he was thinking. She had thought this was what she had wanted, to bring to life something they had shared so long ago. She was afraid to speak and as the silence stretched on, she was filled with a painful, impossible desire for him to say something, anything, to give some sort of recognition, be it 'yes or 'no'.
"I don't know," Erik said after a long, long silence. There was no hardness in his voice, only a quietness that sent shivers down her spine.
She swallowed, "why?"
"Why?" He echoed her words quietly and turned to face her, the infinite pain and sadness welling within his eyes startled her. "My music is my soul, Christine… and I gave you the pitiful remnants of my soul willingly once before, only to have it cruelly ripped away…" he turned away from her. "And still," he mused darkly, "and still you ask more."
A flicker of doubt crossed his mind. Could he..? Dare he…?
He watched apprehensively as she rose from the floor and walked calmly towards him, her mouth set in a grim line, yet her eyes warm and welcoming. The confidence of her words shocked him, as she reached out to place her palms against his face and the smooth contours of his mask. "Yes, I do still want more." She felt the passion ignite within her at Erik's apprehension and desperation, yet she pressed on, knowing this was something they must overcome… together. "I want all of you, Erik, not just pieces. I want your heart, your mind, your music… and your soul." She lightly traced a finger along the edge of his mask, feeling his heart beat madly beneath her. Laying a palm on his chest she drew his ear down to her lips, and murmured softly, "all of you, Erik."
She drew back to see the fire ignite within Erik's molten eyes, as the obsession he had harboured for her for so long clawed at his insides, desperately trying to break free. He inhaled sharply as Christine's hands found their way inside his jacket, encircling his waist as she pulled shyly at the cravat tied about his waist. As the flames licked higher within, Erik felt himself brought to the edge of pain and felt he could bear no more. As the dam broke he desperately captured her lips in a ferocious kiss, whispering hoarsely against her skin, "you will be the death of me, Christine."
Christine managed to free his shirt from its bounds, and felt Erik's hands travel the length of her wrists to her neck, slowly entangling within her trellises. His fingers gently tugged the white ribbon that restrained her haphazard locks, and ran his fingers through her dark curls, allowing her hair to spill about his face. The scent of lavender overwhelmed his senses, driving him over the edge and he moved his attentions to her neck, carefully lowering his mouth to the soft skin there. He felt her shiver in delight, or fear, he did not know. Christine pulled his lips back to hers, her entire body awash with emotion and overwhelming sensation; things she had never felt before. Erik felt extremely satisfied when he felt his angel moan softly into his mouth, and resumed kissing her as if he had waited a lifetime to do so, and could continue to do so for eternity.
"Erik," Christine pulled away to study his face; his eyes wild with desire for her. Her angel frowned in protest and lowered his head to recapture her lips, but she neatly dodged his advance. Laying a palm against his chest, she smirked lightly, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "You still have not answered my question."
Erik stared at her incredulously, baffled by her antics. "Christine…"
"It's a simple question, monsieur."
"But, I-"
She smoothed the tips of her fingers over his stomach and ribs, as her hands crept about beneath his shirt. His eyes rolled back and closed momentarily, before he sighed in defeat. He lowered his lips to her ear, "whatever you desire mon ange…"
Christine drew back and her lips gently enveloped his own in a sweet kiss, she whispered softly into his mouth, "that is one of two things…" The shock of her tauntingly light caress sent shivers through Erik's spine as he slowly deepened the kiss, feeling the heat of Christine's body sear through his thin shirt as he pressed her closer to him.
A sharp, short rapping unexpectedly sounded across and the room and moments later Madame Giry burst through the door. Her face was sternly arranged as her grey eyes quickly swept the room. She frowned excessively as she took in the sight of Christine enveloped in Erik's arms, one hand wound about his waist, the other clinging to the silk lapels of his jacket
"Madame Giry!" Christine yelped in shock, pulling out of Erik's grasp and attempting to straighten the creases in her dress awkwardly.
"Antoinette," Erik seethed at the incredibility of her timing, his irritation at the disturbance thinly veiled.
"I was told I could find you here, Erik. Christine, are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine," Christine assured her, breathing deeply and attempting to straighten the fly-away mess of curls that was her hair. However, no amount of hair-straightening could conceal her red, slightly swollen lips and the unmistakable flush that spread across her face and down her neck.
"I did not kidnap her, if that is what you're thinking, Antoinette." Erik sneered, re-tying his cravat about his waist. Madame Giry glared steely at him and ignored him.
"Erik was very sick," Christine offered, grasping at a means of distracting her from the present situation, "I hope Monsieur Khan delivered my message."
Madame Giry nodded and Erik's fingers unconsciously wound their way about the puncture wounds on his left forearm. "I see," she murmured quietly, the disappointment in her voice unmistakable.
"There are worse things to come." Her demeanor changed swiftly from disapproval to concern. "There isn't much time. Erik, you have been discovered. Do not ask me how, for I know not how they came to discover your true identity, but the Parisian police have been alerted to your presence. You cannot stay here…"
Christine stifled a gasp. Her hand flew to her mouth in horror. Erik rose to his full height. "Does anyone else know?"
"No, they came to the house looking for Christine first. I did not alert them to your whereabouts, but it shan't be long before they come here. You must leave."
"But where?" Christine felt her stomach tighten with fear and panic, "where can we go where they will not follow? We can't go back to France…"
Madame Giry gazed at Erik. He paused for a moment, dragging his hand through his dark hair as his mind worked furiously over every possible scenario. His eyes hardened in cold determination as he lifted his gaze to Madame Giry, and spoke with no warmth to his voice, "we must disappear."
"And go where?" The shrillness in Christine's voice could not be masked, as she felt the dream she had been carefully constructing around her and Erik, crumble to pieces at her feet. She felt the tears well in her eyes, "if we cannot stay in London, and we cannot return to France – where shall we go?"
"Do not worry, my dear, I will have everything arranged shortly." He donned his hat and his cloak, "stay here and out of sight. I will return shortly."
He spun on his heel and stalked towards the door, "Erik!" Christine flung herself into his arms, breathing heavily as Erik's hands hesitantly encircled her petite shoulders. He breathed in her scent and felt something wet brush against his cheek, she was crying.
"Shh, mon ange," he brushed a gloved finger against her tear-streaked cheek as she stared up at him through watery eyes, silently begging for him not to go. She kissed his palm and held it to her face, wanting to impress every feature of his face, his eyes, his lips into her memory forever.
"Be careful," she whispered frightfully. A sad smile tugged at his lips as he nodded and bent down to give her a swift kiss, "I will." And then he was gone. And then there was silence, ever present silence. Christine felt her heart break a little.
XxXxXxX
Erik walked swiftly along the side of the dark alleyway, his cape billowing around his ankles from a sudden gust of wind. He slipped silently into the shadows, tilting his head slightly to listen for quiet footsteps, rustling leaves, anything that might betray another person's presence in the alleyway. He turned and beckoned to his companions, holding a lone finger to his lips to assure their silence.
Christine ducked around the corner and tucked her small frame into stone beside Erik, her heart was pounding heavily within her chest, and she shivered in spite of herself. The very air around them seemed alive and charged with energy, the thrill of fleeing raced through her body like an electric charge. She turned her gaze towards Erik; every muscle in his sharp face was contracted in a keen sense of heightened awareness. She suddenly found herself wondering if this was how he looked and felt when he stalked and killed people. She shivered at the thought, and pushed it as far from her mind as possible – disgusted with herself.
"Antoinette," Erik addressed the third member of their party, "the Persian will return to the Opera House. You must tell him what has transpired; he will know where to find us. I dare not tell you, it is better that you know as little as possible."
Christine grasped her hand in farewell, "Please tell Meg that she's always been my dearest friend, and that I'm sorry I couldn't say good-bye."
"Rest assured I'll tell her." She pulled Christine into a tight embrace, "oh ma cherie we will miss you. Take care."
"Antoinette," Erik stepped towards her and placed a small wrapped bundle in her hand, "take this, for yourself and Meg."
Madame Giry gave a short half-smile, "just make sure nothing happens to her."
Erik and Madame Giry shared a brief moment of understanding, "We must go. I will take care of her, rest assured nothing else matters now."
The metallic trill of a sword unsheathing reverberated through the night air. Erik's head whipped around, "No, you're absolutely right…" a voice drawled from the opposite end of the alleyway, "nothing else does matter, does it… Phantom?"
XxXxXxX
The metallic click of loaded guns echoed through the darkness, and they knew they were surrounded. Erik hissed at his incompetence; he had let his guard down for one brief moment to walk into an ambush! He cursed beneath his breath, extending an arm to shield Christine behind himself as the faceless person stared out from the shadows, his entire being cloaked in darkness. He indicated to Christine as he stepped out of the shadows, his eyes a cold, icy shade of blue, "restrain her."
Christine's eyes widened in disbelief, "Raoul?"
Two officers attacked her from behind. Erik reacted with lightening-fast reflexes as quick as a cat, unsheathing his scabbard, the silver blade of which glinted menacingly in the moonlight. He deftly disabled one of the men with a clean slice of his sword, the man's body falling to the ground with a heavy thud. Christine gasped in fright as the keen edge of the blade quickly came to rest against the throat of her attacker. Erik breathed heavily, his eyes shining an iridescent yellow in the darkness of the alleyway. The man's eyes widened in fear. The irrepressible desire to kill seared hot within his veins, as his skeletal hand flexed expertly on the hilt of his weapon. The thrill of the kill seemed all too familiar to him. His eyes quickly flicked to Christine's, which were overwhelmed by fear. He faltered, fear of him, or fear for him? He had murdered. He had murdered before her eyes. The cock of a rifle in the hands of a nearby officer reminded him, and for a split second he hesitated. Suddenly, a great force came down hard upon his back, sending him tumbling down hard onto the grimy cobblestones. He quickly turned himself around as the boot of his attacker collected him soundly in the face, the man's strong arms viciously coming down upon the hand that still held the scabbard.
Erik was dimly aware of Christine's screams of protest as she was quickly apprehended by two of the remaining officers. Erik snarled viciously as the fury within rose up inside of him, and with one powerful push, he managed to dislodge his attacker, a murderous gleam in his eyes. He then quickly pounced upon the man, effectively pinning him face-down beneath his weight, as his hand fumbled for the discarded scabbard. As his fingers found the silver hilt, the sharp tip of a sword dug into the crevice of Erik's throat, momentarily paralyzing him.
"No," Raoul shouted, as several officers rushed forward to detain Erik, Raoul's blade still keenly marking his prey, "this one is mine."
The man squirmed his way out from beneath Erik, as a cruel smirk donned his lips, "ahh… Monsieur Comte de Chagny…" Erik whispered without turning around, "It is an honour. I might have wondered when you would come crawling back…"
Raoul kicked him hard in the small of his back, sending him sprawling across the cobblestones. He skidding to a halt, and turned to face the boy he had cornered on the end of a death string merely two years ago. He was slightly taken back by the appearing. The once round, boyish face had lost its charm and appeal, now appearing hollowed and pale. His bright blue eyes had been diminished to a cool gray, and he no longer possessed the youthful golden locks that had aided in his boyish appearance; his hair was now slicked back, and a short trimmed moustache adorned his upper lip. Erik's eyes quickly flicked from Raoul to Christine and back again. The pure look of fear on her face told him all he needed to know. She was afraid of him.
"Phantom," Raoul spat, pointing the tip of his scabbard once more at Erik's chest.
"Come to arrest me, have you Monsieur?" Erik leered, his eyes flashing. "Turn me in to Scotland Yard perhaps?"
"Among other things," Raoul narrowed his eyes coldly, his voice calm and measured.
Erik's eyes quickly flicked around, taking in the gravity of the situation and sizing up his opponents. At least eight officers surrounded his party, two each restraining both Madame Giry and Christine.
"Yes… I am sure that I could answer many questions that have plagued them for years."
"Oh, I am in no doubt of that," Raoul conceded. "I rejoiced in the news of your death, Monsieur, yet something within me knew it was too good to be true. Christine could never truly be free of you, and alas, I was right. I see you are very much alive-"
"-your powers of observation once again astound me…"
"-And now, who am I to deny to Parisian people the revenge the have so longed for upon the infamous Opera Ghost…" Raoul leered, the tip of his sword tracing the curve of Erik's neck.
Christine whimpered behind him, "please Raoul, please don't do this…"
Raoul turned of her, "my sweet Christine… does it pain you to see your 'beloved' angel crawl before you like a dog?!"
He released his grip on the Erik long enough to punch him soundly, his fist connecting so hard with the man's face that a stream of blood gushed from his nose. Erik grasped the mask, furiously pushing it firmly back into position, his breathing laboured as he fought through the blood and pain – having not yet fully recovered from the morphine overdose.
"If you hurt her," Erik coughed, his chest spasming in pain, "I will kill you."
Raoul's eyes flared in barely suppressed rage, "how stupid do you think I am, Phantom…?! Unlike you, I would never dream of hurting her." His fist collided with a sickening crack against the side of Erik's face. His temple exploded in pain as he heard Christine scream out in protest.
Tears were now streaming thickly down Christine's face, as she flinched with every blow Raoul delivered Erik. Tightening his grip on Erik's throat, he roughly kneed the man in the ribs, causing him to crumple in pain. Ordinarily Erik would have killed the boy where he stood, with little to no thought for his own safety. But with so many officers surrounding them, he could not take the chance of Christine, nor Madame Giry being caught in the cross-fire. It was a risk he would never take so long as he drew breath. Every breath would be Christine's… even his last.
"You thought you could take her from me again?" Raoul's fist collided with Erik's face once more. "You thought that I would never find out?" Blood was now gushing from Erik's face as Raoul kicked him fiercely. Grabbing a fistful of hair, Raoul yanked Erik's head back and sneered into his face, "you're not so tough now without you torture chamber or your lasso, are you?" He pushed Erik forward onto his knees, spitting on him as he kneeled before Christine.
"And you," he turned viciously on Madame Giry, "how long have you been helping him? How long have you been his accomplice?"
"Leave her out of this," Erik choked through the blood that was congealing in his throat.
Raoul smirked, "perhaps you should have thought of that before you got her involved, phantom." He turned back to Madame Giry, "Please, enlighten me… I really am intrigued."
"Raoul, please don't do this," Christine pleaded from behind her restraining officer.
"Quiet!"
"Monsieur de Chagny?" The officer restraining Christine spoke as she struggled to free herself, "we cannot stay here. We must take that… thing… back to the lock-up."
"No, I want this woman to be incarcerated as well - for aiding and abetting the kidnapping of my wife…"
"No Raoul, please!.. You can't do this to them!!"
"Watch me," he whispered dangerously, indicating for two officers to arrest Erik, "Take them away!"
"No!.. No!" Christine screamed as Raoul dragged her out of the alleyway towards the carriage, "Please Raoul, don't! I love him! I love him!... Erik!! Please don't do this, please…!"
"Oh, I am not the one doing this," Raoul whispered as he slammed the carriage door to stifle her screams. "My dear, sweet Christine… you are."
A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers for the last chapter;
ktswaz, Evelyn Stone, LoveofOpera, draegon-fire, phantom-jedi1, Marieena, CatoftheOpera, Lady Wen. Luckii Jinx, mooneasterbunny, Friendofphantom, Ayesha, Lair Lover, Fumblepaws, and Free2bFroody. Cheers guys!