Chapter Twenty-three.
The moon had settled low above the horizon, breathing its silver sheen down gently upon the Parisian country-side. A gentle breeze stirred the curtains, breathing life through the darkened passageways of Thornhill manor. But even in the darkness of the bedchamber he could see her, her pale shoulders moving with the rise and fall of each breath, her mussed curls splayed seductively across his chest. Christine lay asleep against his chest, her cheek pressed against him, her breath fluttering over the scars rippling his skin. Her right arm was thrown protectively around his stomach, and her right leg was entwined rather intimately with him.
Sleep would not come to Erik. He held his Angel possessively throughout the night, guarding her as if the demons torturing his thoughts would reach out and rip her from his life forever. He watched every small movement of her body with fierce yellow eyes.
Admittedly, he was exhausted. Sleep beckoned him to her side, wrapping dark tentacles around his mind, calling him into her oblivion; she was a dangerously clever mistress. He blinked his eyes slowly, settling his gaze upon his angel's form. He was too afraid to move, too afraid that the beautiful creature that lay cradled in his arms would prove no more than an apparition, and he would further be condemned to the darkest hell he had ever known. The places where her body touched his burned like fire. How many times had he had this dream? How many times had he envisioned her, the very picture of perfection, draped lovingly across his body as she slept, her lips curved in a knowing smile? How many times had that warmth been cruelly torn from him as he had awakened to the emptiness of his life, of his reality? Erik shuddered. The last two months had been a torment like he had never known; he had envisioned her often, always the same, her loving eyes gazing upon his grotesqueness with nothing but adoration… and acceptance. But the vision always ended, torn from his mind by the cruel realities of day.
He heard Christine sigh against him, shifting slightly. His eyes raked across her skin, before he finally allowed them to settle and fall close. As though sensing his disturbed thoughts, Christine's arm tightened around his midsection. She inhaled deeply, the scent of his skin filling and comforting her.
He lifted his head to see her sleep filled eyes peer up at him briefly through her lashes. Gently, he ran the fingers in his right hand through her beautiful chocolate tresses… it felt like Heaven against his skin.
It had all been real… she was his…
Christine inhaled his masculine scent once more, pressing his lips softly against his chest and she snuggled closer, instinctively towards the warmth of his body.
Erik closed his eyes. This was no dream.
XxXxXxX
Morning dawned clear and bright over Thornhill manor. A pale stream of morning light filtered into the room, the heavy curtains having been drawn back from the windows, and settling of the tangled form of two figures; so intertwined it was difficult to distinguish them. Erik ran his long white fingers over the soft contours of Christine's face, tracing the line of her jaw, brushing feather-light caresses over her eyelids, the tip of her nose, her lips; all the while drinking in the beauty of his angel, where the soft sun of morning shone upon her fair skin. Sighing deeply, Christine drew the sheet up over her shoulders and snuggled further into the softness of the bed in search of a return to sleep. It was only as she attempted to focus once again on sleep that her senses naturally began to awaken. She stirred from her slumber, her eyes peeping open to reveal those beautiful chocolate orbs Erik adored so much. She smiled up at him.
"Mmm, what are you staring at monsieur?" She murmured softly, closing her eyes again and enjoying the feel of his light caress.
His hand stilled on her cheek, where his thumb stroked the soft velvet of her skin. "Words cannot possibly surmise. Though I venture to say only the most beautiful creature on earth." He tilted her chin up to his and gave her a soft kiss on the lips.
Christine stirred beneath his gentle ministrations, snaking her leg over his. His heartbeat quickened as that all too familiar ache tugged within him. The arm, which lay draped across his chest, constricted, squeezing him to her chest in a reassuring embrace.
"Mmm, what was that for?" He asked.
"For loving me… I still can't believe that you're real, that we are here – together, after so much time apart."
Her lips purred against the base of his throat where her mouth rested. She watched him as his musician fingers danced and skimmed across her soft skin, exploring her body in the morning light. She captured his roaming hand within her own, where she brought his pale, yet muscular hand to her lips, reverently placing small kisses upon his knuckles. As her lips brushed over his bruised skin, her gaze upon Erik's beautiful and grotesque features was unwavering.
He stared at her in wonderment, his fierce yellow eyes melting into a warm shade of molten gold; a liquid amber. He smiled as he leant down to capture her lips in a deep kiss, where he ran his tongue softly along the edge of her lower lip, seeking entrance. She accented and he delighted in delving deep within her, tasting her, eliciting a moan that seemed to reverberate from the deep recesses of her body. He smiled in dark satisfaction, pulling away slightly to gaze upon his angel. "I love you, Christine."
"I love you too, Erik. I can't believe how much time we have wasted… or how I could have ever thought I could live without you." She rested her cheek against the scarred planes of his chest, breathing in his masculine scent, her eyes wide and fearful. When she finally ventured to speak, her words trembled from her lips in a breathy whisper. "D-do you really think there's a chance for us, Erik?"
His hand paused atop her head; his heart wrenching within his chest. He said nothing as long moments of silence settled between them. The mere thought of a future without her left him breathless. How could one be forced back into the darkness, when gifted with a taste of heaven? When his slightly trembling hand finally returned to its caressing, her eyes fell shut. Some questions were far too painful for words. They were both caught up in a dangerous game, where one slip could see them both condemned to a life of torment. He felt tears spring, unbidden, to his eyes. Erik clenched them painfully, wrapping his right arm around her bare shoulders, and tugging her small frame to his possessively.
"I let you go once, mon ange, I will not allow that to happen again so long as I draw breath. You are mine!" He growled.
She pressed a tear-stained cheek against his flesh, seeking out the rhythmic beat of his heart that offered her so much comfort. She wished it were true. He was so solid beneath her. So solid, so real, and so safe. She closed her eyes, softly stroking the small wisp of hair that spattered his chest. She nudged her face against his ribs and felt him flinch.
Christine caught her lip between her teeth and pulled away from his embrace, wrapping the sheet around her slender frame. "Oh, I'm sorry Erik…" she cried softly, inspecting the large bruises that flourished across his ribs. Suddenly she was struck with a deep sense of mortification. She had slept on him, with her full weight pressing down on his cracked rib all night long! Erik smirked a little as she jumped away from him, horrified. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, and reached for her hand.
"Do not concern yourself with me, mon ange, I have suffered a great deal more in my life. Besides," he cocked his head slightly, a wicked grin curling the corners of his mouth. "I happen to be blessed with amazing stamina."
He watched with amusement as she quickly averted her gaze, a slight pink colouration washing over her cheeks and skin. He loved her innocence; her modesty. Her eyes roamed the room, taking in every square inch of detail. In the three days of Erik's absence from Thornhill manor, Christine had occupied herself with cleaning the main rooms on the second storey. She smiled to herself. After all her cleaning, the chamber really did look remarkable… old, but majestic… historical. A sudden thought struck her mind.
"Erik?" she murmured, turning her ardent gaze upon his grossly disfigured visage. His golden eyes stared back at her, his gaze never wavering in its intensity. An involuntary shudder ran the length of her spine; she always felt he was studying her.
"Yes."
Her fingertips traced the creases in his upturned palm. "What is this place? Monsieur Khan said that it belongs to you?"
He did not answer right away. Christine's fingers continued their stroking motion along his bruised skin as he contemplated an answer.
"Indirectly… yes."
"Indirectly… I don't understand."
He sighed heavily, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before resting his chin upon it and smoothing his hand over her haphazard curls.
"No, I suppose you wouldn't. You have known great tragedy, mon ange, but you remain so young, so naïve to the atrocities and depravities this world has to offer." His hand stilled upon her curls, as he breathed deeply, his grip upon her shoulder inadvertently tightening. "I think the time has come, Christine, to tell you of my past… who I really am." His eyes became distant, despite being keenly aware of her presence beside him, her hand now lovingly stroking the marred flesh of his right cheek.
Christine could scarcely believe what she was hearing; Erik was trying to open up to her… to share the ghosts forever haunting his darkened mind. She had always hoped… but never did she actually think she could convince Erik to trust her enough to share his innermost thoughts with her…
"I suppose it all began with my mother. She was a malevolent woman; cold, callous, and cruel, and she loathed me almost as much as I loathed her. From the moment I was born, she cursed me – she could not even look upon the face of her son, so disgusted was she by my… appearance."
He paused, then finding strength in the acceptance Christine granted, he unburdened himself for the first time, confessing the horrors that made up his childhood. "There was a young woman who would visit with my mother; she was a friend of sorts and the only person apart from Father Mansart who treated me with a scrap of kindness and dignity. 'Marie' was her name, and she took pity on me – bringing me all manner of books and intricate toys to wile away the dark hours when I was kept, locked up like an animal within the attic. She told me once, frustrated and angered by my mother's latest antics, that her friend would not allow herself to think beyond the possibility of caring for some 'mindless animal'.
You see, my mother was a selfish being by nature; spoilt, pampered and doted on as a child. The only daughter of foolish old parents, her every whim and desire had been indulged. My mother would constantly retaliate against Marie's disgusted reprimands, screaming angrily that 'her child was a hideous monster,' and somehow the thought that I might be exceptional in any other way only filled her with terror."
His eyes darkened as he gazed out across the room, suddenly overcome with an anger and hatred he had not felt for years. "She quickly found that she could not beat me into submission, though she often attempted to do so. I had a 'will of iron,' which she could not bend, and a spectacular temper which frequently reduced her to violence. You can't understand the horror and humiliation, Christine, of having a mother who could not look upon her only flesh and blood without abhorration. You had the tender care of a father and mother that showered you with kisses and taught you how to open your heart to others. My mother gave me a cold mask and a lifetime of enduring pain."
"Oh Erik." Christine whispered sadly. She kissed his upturned palm and held it to her cheek. "What of your father?"
"My father?" a silent, humorless laugh escaped his twisted lips. "My father was monsieur Charles Deverall. This," he said, with a wide sweeping arm, "was his estate. As you are probably guessing, my mother and he were unmarried. A fleeting summer romance in Rouen had seen to my conception…" He smiled in irony. "I am the bastard son of a rich nobleman.
Apparently my presence, locked away in the attic grew too tiresome for my mother to tolerate. I was still a young boy when she sought out my father, who was until this stage completely unaware of my existence. Much to his relief, I am sure. Oh, my mother wished me dead for years, hoping that one night God would forgive her the wickedness of her past life, and relieve her of her burden. She brought me here, to my father's estate. As you can imagine, he would not own me. He exclaimed that it was abhorrent – a depravity even – that he could be thought to have sired such a hideous creature." Erik clenched his eyes against the overwhelm pain these childhood memories stirred within him. "I will remember that day as long as I live. He refused to support my mother, and furthermore, he turned us from his house."
"That's awful."
Erik turned his head,"Charles died several years back, unmarried and childless… Yet I remained; his deformed, bastard son. How he lived I know not. But perhaps his conscience ate away at his mind through those long, empty years, for in one last grasp at what I suppose to be redemption he bequeathed the entirety of his estate to me."
Erik laughed bitterly.
"Naturally I declined accepting any title, having at this time inhabited the cellars of the Opera House for several years. Since he would not own me I refused the name of 'Deverall', opting instead for, and adopting the name 'Deveraux'. However, I returned once to this estate; only to dismiss the household servants and close the gates on Thornhill forever."
His eyes grew dark, the fierce yellow fading to a dull amber as he stared of toward the open window.
Christine had listened quietly, her chocolate orbs slowly filling with tears. "I cannot believe that anyone could be so cruel…" She finally spoke, at length. "…especially to their own son."
She buried her head within his chest. "Oh Erik, I cannot take away the pain of the past, though I wish I could heal the scars on your soul." She clasped his hand once more. "What your parents did was unforgivable."
Tears immediately threatened to spill over her eyes, but she fought them back. Erik did not need her tears. He needed her love, and her acceptance.
She leaned in hesitantly, softly kissing his jawline and his mottled cheek, before pressing her lips gently to his. She felt him stiffen, and then relax under her gentle ministrations, calling him back from the dark and dangerous recesses of his black mind. Erik intensified the pressure, slipping a hand around her back. Their mouths caressed one another for several moments when Erik broke from her, breathing deeply as he gently massaged the soft skin of her shoulders. His fierce yellow eyes stared into her own swimming orbs, boring into the depths of her soul.
"You are all I need, Christine." He growled darkly, drawing her mouth to his own again. "The rest of the world be damned…"
Needing the reassurance and acceptance that only Christine could give, he wrapped his arms even tighter around her slight frame, vanquishing every square inch of air between them. Breaking their heated kiss for want of air, Erik immediately captured her roaming hand and brought it to his lips, his stormy eyes settling upon the gold band that clung to the fourth finger of her left hand. She would be his! He marveled at how small her pale hands looked within his, and yet how they seemed to fit perfectly together. Like one.
The tender look that softened Erik's eyes called out to Christine's soul, and she wept internally for all the torment and loneliness he had endured at the hands of the world. He was a genius, and had he been born with a face that mirrored the strikingly handsome visage of the left-hand side, he would have been celebrated amongst men, instead of shunned by them. Christine unconsciously clasped Erik's hand tighter. He frowned slightly at the sudden pressure.
"Erik, I still don't understand…" Christine's voice broke the silence that had descended between the two. "Why did you never seek to use Thornhill? Why shut yourself off from the world and condemn yourself to a life of solitude, when a life above ground was yours for the taking?"
"You must understand, Christine that I do not have happy memories of this place. Besides my mother's house, this is the place where I was scarred and humiliated the most – made to feel like no child should be forced to feel. Granted, it was the gypsies who tormented and abused me physically; vile creatures that they are. I suffered some of the worst atrocities known to mankind at their ruthless hands. I proved quite an attraction for their traveling fair. The Devil's Child… they called me. Crowds paid handsomely just to get a glimpse of my hideous visage. Day after day I was thrown before the gawking masses, abuse spat at me from beyond the confines of my cage… my prison. When the laughter and scorn became too much to bear, I would resist… but my captors had methods of making me… somewhat less subversive."
A small gasp escaped Christine's lips.
"Yet beyond the memories haunting this place, something else bound me to that opera house."
"What was that?" She whispered quietly, tears spilling down her cheeks. She pressed her tear-stained cheek against his chest, just above his heart. The familiar rhythmic thump comforted her.
A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Your naivety amazes me Christine. It was you. You captivated me. I first saw you, when you were just a child… in the chapel. Do you remember what you called me then, Christine?"
"The Voice," she whispered with a soft, sad smile. "My Angel of Music."
"Yes."
He thought back to the moment he first saw her. He was a young man at the time, and she merely a child, sad and frightened. He remembered that unmistakable look in her eyes, that emotion that called out to him, speaking to the overwhelming emptiness within his own heart; she too was lonely. He had loved her then, furiously, passionately, eternally. It had seemed as though God had finally gifted him one mercy in life – the possibility of love. From that moment on, she became as intrinsic to his survival as breathing. Looking at her now, her wide tear-stained eyes gazing upon him sorrowfully, he couldn't help but feel it was fated that they would inevitably end up here, in each other's arms.
"I knew that once I saw you, I could never leave you. And so it is, even now, to this very day." He kissed the top of her unruly curls
Christine settled once more within his arms, pressing faint kisses to the multitude of scars that criss-crossed the broad planes of his chest; careful not to miss a single one. He sighed and hissed softly as he drew her deeper into his arms, pulling her lithe body against his sturdy frame.
There was a long moment where neither dared speak, and a heavy silence settled between them. Tentatively Christine ventured to speak.
"Erik, I did not think that you would ever let me in." She rested her cheek against his shoulder. "I feared that you would close off that section of your heart to me; claim one small piece for yourself where you may harbour all your darkest thoughts and desires out of reach." Her small fingers dug unconsciously into the taught flesh of his shoulder while she spoke, leaving small half-crescent imprints on his firm skin.
"I feared we would not be equal, for I have given you all my heart, and as much soul…"
Erik mulled over her words silently, feeling his fierce grip upon her shoulders soften. He knew she was right. As minutes passed in silence, he could not help but wonder… how would Christine respond to the real horrors of his past? She knew he was a murderer; the deaths of Piangi and Buquet had seen to that truth beyond dispute. So how then, could such a small, innocent creature find the capacity to forgive, and perhaps more importantly accept a history such as his?
He shook his head bitterly; he already knew the answer to that question.
She wouldn't. She couldn't.
She had run from him before.
"Erik?" She asked tentatively. Her hand stilled in its movements across his chest. Her small fingers suddenly prying at the silky folds of the sheet, as she twirled the material within her hands. He could tell she was anxious.
Erik felt an involuntary chill race up the length of his spine, causing him to shudder. He clenched his eyes painfully, willing the sudden erratic beating of his heart to calm; the blood pounding in his ears was drowning out all other sound.
This was it.
"Erik, tell me about Persia…"
Those few words broke his heart.
He shook his head mutely, feeling as though his heart had torn in two. "No."
Why Persia? Why must it ALWAYS come back to Persia?!
"No?"
"No."
She pulled herself up onto her elbows, trying to look at him, but his eyes were clenched shut. She reached out to him.
"Erik, please…"
"No!"
He roughly pushed her arm from his chest, shoving the covers off his body and swinging his legs out of the bed. In a blink he was sitting at the edge of the mattress ready to leave.
"Erik wait!" She grabbed at his hand. He shook her off.
"You will never be satisfied, Christine!" he muttered darkly, dragging his haggard hand through his wild raven hair. "Is it not enough that you strip me of my mask, that I divulge to you the most intimate and painful experiences of my childhood? You won't be satisfied until you have me naked and vulnerable at your feet, groveling on all fours like a beast!"
"No Erik! Please hear me out. Please just listen to me!"
He stilled momentarily… finally reaching out to the bed stand for the white half-mask he had deposited there the night before. Placing the leather securely on his face he leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees and breathed deeply.
His barriers were back up.
Christine climbed to her knees behind him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as she continued.
"Please, Erik. I want you to open up to me – I don't want there to be any barriers between us, including this one." She placed a hand against the cool leather of the mask.
You don't understand, Christine. My past would destroy us.
"I can't. You won't understand…!"
"Then help me understand, Erik."
Though she better understood his past, and what made him who he was, the fact remained that Erik was a murderer. An assassin. A master of torture. He was possibly the greatest and most efficient killer that had ever lived. If this young woman, this pure being of light knew the depths of darkness that possessed his soul, she would surely run from him in terror. He could not risk losing her.
If you shut her out, you may just end up losing her all the same, Erik.
She stared up at him mournfully, her chocolate eyes wide and entreating.
"Oh Christine," he cried, allowing his head to fall to his hands in defeat. "If you knew who I truly am… of the horrors I have committed… you would leave me, and I would not blame you."
He grabbed her hands, suddenly impassioned. Tears shone through his furious yellow gaze. "Christine… why do you not already fear me? You know that I have blood on my hands! You know I have a dark stain on my soul that nothing can erase."
In answer, she slowly drew his hand to her lips, turned it palm side up, and placed a kiss at its centre. She pressed the palm of her hand flat against the side of his cool leather mask.
"I know you, Erik. I know the type of man you are, and the type of man you have the potential to be…. Our pasts may shape us into who we are, but they do not define us." She paused, taking his large hand within her two much smaller ones. "Do you know what I see when I look at these hands?"
"I see the beautifully strong… talented hands… of a musician and artist." She kissed the tips of each of his fingers, her gaze never breaking from his stormy eyes. "I love you, Erik. Not for the man you were, but for the man you are… the man you could be."
Erik's eyes were glued to her soft lips. His breathing grew deeper; his heart raced wildly within his chest, slamming against the confines of his ribcage, that he was sure that at any moment it would burst free.
Could it be?
"I do not want you to tell me of your life in Persia because I am afraid of you. Or that I am beginning to doubt my love for you." She ran a soft hand over the hardened skin of a particularly brutal scar, the pads of her fingers tracing the contours of his shoulder blades. "I want you to tell me, Erik, because you trust me. I'm not like your mother, Erik. Nothing you say now could make me love you any less."
"Please," she whispered, replacing her hand upon his cheek. "Trust me…"
Erik turned to her. She was easily the most beautiful creature on this earth. The morning light illuminated her from behind, giving the illusion that a heavenly aura surrounded her body. She was an angel, there was no illusion. She was his angel.
He ran his thumb over her quivering lower lip, drinking in the beautiful emotion shining through her eyes. She leaned her face into his light caress, willing him to trust in the love and acceptance she offered without restraint. His heart constricted painfully within his chest.
His hand dropped away.
"I will tell you, Christine." He murmured sadly, turning away from her once more. "But I am afraid you will despise me for it."
His fingers clenched the hard contours of the leather mask hiding the horrors of his macabre face. "Some things are better left in the past…"
TBC
A/N: Reviews… please?