Chapter twenty-four.

"…are you afraid of me, Christine?"

He was gripping the back of the heavy-set mahogany chair with one hand, the other was held out as if to encompass the room. A long silence stretched heavy and thick between the masked man and his ingénue. Christine felt her eyes make an inventory of his face, the shadow around his masked eye and the line at the corner of his mouth. His black hair fell wild over his white mask and his chest rose and fell quickly, with each breath. His stormy eyes snapped to her face, as if sensing her probing gaze. Despite her best efforts, she could not conceal the fear that pooled into her swimming orbs.

Christine lifted her gaze a little, her eyes raking over the bare skin of her former teacher's naked torso, tracing the raised scars that snaked across his broad shoulders with wide eyes, and the ugly bruises that spattered his ribcage. Christine searched for a word, a sentence, anything, but one thought kept running through her mind… Erik is a murderer…

But she had already known that… what had changed. Was she afraid of him? No. He would never hurt her… would he?

For a time there was no sound but his ragged breathing, loud and painful. She averted her gaze as she felt a heaving sob wrack violently through her small body, her pale hands trembling so violently that she clenched them tightly behind her back.

She watched Erik close his eyes and inhale deeply before he spoke again. His voice was deadly, but calm and controlled. "Well, Christine?"

His shadowy form hovered before her blurred vision like a silent wraith, his yellow eyes blazing brilliantly in the morning sunlight. She swallowed against the lump that formed in her throat as tears spilled gently down her pale cheeks. As she fought desperately to control the violent trembling that threatened to overtake her body, her lips parted and she exhaled slowly, her voice wavering as a breathy whisper fell from her lips.

"No."

Erik laughed. It was a strange, echo-less sound, more like a sob. Then he turned away towards the window, as if he did not want to see her. Between them, the old floorboards gleamed where they had been polished by too many treading feet. He kept his back turned to her as a small tear slipped free from his dark lashes and disappeared behind the cold exterior of the mask.

"Well… my dear, sweet Christine… perhaps you should be…"

XxXxXxX

Erik leaned forward in the wingbacked chair, his fingers steepled against his lips in intense study.

How long had he sat there, simply staring at the floorboards? Minutes? Hours, perhaps? The soft rush of air from Christine's breathing was the only thing to betray the presence of another living soul within the manor.

The house was as quiet as the grave; the only sound to be heard was the occasional creak of the walls rendered by the gusting wind outside, and the soft, cadenced ticking of the still-working mantle clock in the library.

But, where to begin on a tale that would irrevocable bring with it more pain and unanswerable questions?

…I must start somewhere…

"You may be surprised to find, Christine, that it was monsieur Khan who first brought me to Persia…" Erik cleared his throat. "I met Nadir when I was living amongst the gypsies in Russia. He came to me with fantastical stories of an eastern land where word had reached the khanum of my unparalleled talents for magic. You see, by this time I had traveled widely, young and overconfident in my abilities, I exploited my many talents for the benefits of a well-endowed crowd." He smiled bitterly. "I was a selfish creature; I took all that I wanted, simply because I could. The khanum had sent Nadir – then the Daroga of Mazenderan – to fetch me to Tehran, and intrigued by the power of the Persian court, I agreed to accompany him back."

Erik stared out across the room, his eyes unfocused and glazed as he absently roamed the dark and barren wasteland of his inner mind.

"'The Lover of Trapdoors'… that is what I quickly came to be known as in Persia, Christine. It is a name I have long sought to scourge from my memory. You'd think I could coerce my mind into forgetting… think I wouldn't remember after all that I have been through, but I remember everything… everything… I was cursed with these extraordinary powers of recall…."

His golden gaze hardened.

"I was the Shah's favourite, as well as the khanum's – the shah's mother. I believe they found my bluntness refreshing, for I stood before the throne and declared myself an equal. I had resolved by then, to never allow myself to be subjected to the rule of another." A faint smirk tugged the corner of his lips. "It was as though life in Mazenderan palace was a game. I was quickly employed as an advisor, magician, and royal architect among other things. I built them a grand palace – some of my finest work; a jewel of genius that has yet to be rivaled by any other architect. But soon my repertoire of talents was cast aside as the khanum came to realize that my greatest dexterity… was for death.

That is when the killings began." His glowing yellow eyes snapped to her face, which he noted had turned deathly pale. "If you wish me to stop, tell me so now – I will not spare you any details." Erik growled brusquely, his fingers clenching and unclenching the material folds of his black slacks.

"No," Christine whispered, her voice wavering with a mixture of trepidation and fear. "I want to know."

"Very well." He muttered, clenching his hand in a tight fist. "I was encouraged by the khanum to kill for sport; she demanded that each murder be fresh, creative. Men condemned to die – some innocent, others not – would be brought into a courtyard, armed with a long pike and broadsword. I was granted only my lasso to separate me from what seemed a certain and swift death. Yet the khanum soon found that a lasso was all I needed. By that time I had become… somewhat of a master of strangulation... and each one of my adversaries was felled with a strategic flick of my wrist and a quick snap-"

Christine's sharp intake of breath resounded throughout the room like an ominous clap of thunder. She immediately clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the cry that threatened to burst forth from her body. The rippled muscles along Erik's back immediately stiffened, and she saw his head turn slightly towards her. He watched her reaction with a disturbing amount of satisfaction, and emboldened and empowered by the sudden physical manifestation of her fear, he continued.

"-I did not think twice as I tore the life from their pathetic bodies, and at first I took some sick, abhorrent pleasure from savouring the power I wielded over them. Despised and hated by my mother and father, time after time I would envision their bodies, their faces twisted in agony as I dealt the final death blow. As much as I wanted them to love me as I child, I hated them with a passionate intensity unrivaled by any other man…" His voice grew cold and distant.

"The khanum, however, was a callous woman who soon grew tired of my prowess with the Punjab lasso. She challenged me to build marvelous contraptions and devices intended solely for torture. I had not thought to encounter a mind as corrupt as mine, but I soon came to see that her depravity ran deeper than the darkest pits of hell. She sought immense pleasure in death and indulged in malicious – if not insane – fetishes of every kind, always centred about pain and humiliation."

Erik sat back on the bed and silently contemplated the hands that had wrought so much death and destruction.

Then the blackness stirred within him once again-the memories of feelings that had long been repressed, feelings that always came after he killed…

He raked a hand through his disheveled black mane, cursing his weakness… staving off the darkness. His eyes were dark wells of fear – wide and unfocused – as though he saw plainly before him the very horrors that haunted his every waking moment. When he spoke next, his words were hollow; the wretched despair that clung so vigilantly to his heart stole his breath as he slumped forwards.

"The evil that exuded from her was like a black river of disease, poisoning all who came into contact with her… I felt its venomous tendrils coil about the withered thing that beat feebly within my chest, blackening my heart…

Until then I had not realized the depth of her madness, nor the source of her great fascination with me. At first I put her evident interest in me down to arrogance. What else, other than my great efficiency as a murderer would recommend me to the most powerful person in all of Persia? But it was exactly that which spawned her infatuation; a depraved lust born only of my macabre appearance and dexterity at murder."

He shook his head bitterly, for no matter how greatly he tried to shut away his despair, wretchedness still wrapped its corpse-like fingers bout his throat, clutching at its prey with an unyielding grip.

"Every life I took brought her obscene amounts of pleasure…" His eyes darkened. "almost sexual… and soon she began to demand more gruesome, hideous deaths.

We had entered into a malicious game, she and I, where human beings were the pawns. Upon completion of my torture chamber, the one monsieur le comte had the terrible misfortune to stumble upon, the khanum amused herself with executing all manner of prisoners within her grasp, including those arrested merely for petty thievery or slander against the shah. She sought deep satisfaction in watching a hundred men die horribly slow and painful deaths, and, when she saw I would not break, her depravity sank to new depths."

Erik glanced at her face, taking in her red, puffy eyes and trembling mouth. Her tears were strangely comforting; for the first time, he felt as though he was no longer alone.

"The next day I was summoned to her chambers, the khanum brought before me a girl; young and beautiful, but most of all… innocent. Her innocence radiated from her like the first breaths of heaven. She was an odalisque, a slave of the royal harem who had completed her training as a concubine, but not yet been chosen to serve in the royal bed. You see Christine, in Persia there is no greater honour for the shah to bestow upon a favoured servant than the gift of a harem virgin… the gift of a wife…"

Erik's fingers dug deep in the taut flesh of his knee.

"Though I fought against it, I could not hide the ravening hunger I felt towards her then; the sheet lightning that struck without warning, shocking in its savage intensity." He hissed. "I wanted her. I had never felt the warmth of a woman's touch… and somehow the khanum knew this. Though it did not take me long to see the evil, the malice and the sick pleasure my union with the girl would insight within that vile woman, for the girl had been told of the horrors that lay beyond my mask… and through her undisguised terror, knowingly sought death over the reality of laying with me. The khanum had sought to torment me with the one thing I could never truly have in the hopes of driving me further into the depths of my madness, and confronted with the vicious reality of my revulsion, she very nearly succeeded!"

He turned away as Christine sobbed silently, tears streaming down her cheeks. One hand angrily swiped her wet eyes; the other clutched her throat as she tried to steady her breathing.

"I demanded the girl be removed from my sight, and when I saw her next, she was entombed within the very instrument that I had constructed to amuse the khanum; that little slave girl was made to suffer the same fate as so many before her. The khanum's lust for death knew no bounds. I was later informed that she was just fifteen years old. She was just a child!

I cannot begin to convey to you the depths of my despair, Christine, nor the strength with which that darkness bound me. I viewed my own death with an intense and dark satisfaction, a habit I took to when hashish and opium had robbed me of my senses. Oh, those drugs had such intoxicating influences; time would telescope inwards upon me and the faintest sound would be heard as a deafening roar; ecstatic euphoria would be succeeded by intense physical desire and a savage need for violence. Though I am by far an unreligious man, the thought of ridding myself of the world did not bring the immense satisfaction I craved so desperately… rather, I envisioned the khanum leering over my mangled body; the final victor of the silent war that had raged between us. I knew then I could not take my own life.

Before I came to Persia and fell under her malevolent influence, I had never killed purely for pleasure. Granted, I felt satisfaction after killing Javert, but only to secure my freedom. But with her drugs and her insatiable desire for novelty she awakened within me my sleeping hatred of men, releasing a demon of savage ingenuity which I could no longer control.

I am a loathsome thing Christine, a shallow wreck of a human being; twisted and evil… In short, she turned me into a monster…"

XxXxXxX

A dark fog descended upon the pitiful masked man, it hovered about him; dark and impenetrable as he struggled uselessly to extricate its icy, merciless hand from his soul.

Then came the worst of it—the overwhelming blackness of mind that washed through him, overshadowing all other senses: despair, hatred, and detestation of the world and all that was in it. But most prominent was the self-loathing he harbored—a monster, a slaughterer that would rot in hell for his deeds.

The knowledge of a hundred men's deaths stained his hands red, brandishing him for the monster he was.

He had killed and killed again… each time severing a link to his humanity, allowing an icy layer to form a shield around his heart, so he wouldn't have to think…wouldn't have to feel…

But the horror never went away!

Christine could feel the tears streaming down her flawless cheeks, at the overwhelming look of complete and utter self-loathing and hatred that consumed her beloved's every feature. She could see now the horrors of Erik's past. He had believed he was in control, and was using the shah and his mother for his whims. But in the end, he was the one that had been cruelly used. They took his brilliance and twisted it for their own diabolical purposes. She could see it! But how could she make him see it too? How could she heal him? He was such a broken man, both haunted and terrifying at the same time.

Consumed by his inner demons, Erik turned sharply at the sound of her choking sobs, his eyes snapping to her face.

"Why are you crying? Do you fear me now, Christine?" He reached out and easily caught her fragile wrist in his strong grip and pulled her towards him. She stumbled and fell against his strong frame, her wrist twisting agonizingly. He held her there against his body, bending forward to brush a hard whisper into her ear, "do you see now the life you have condemned yourself to, Christine? The type of man to whom you are bound?"

Although the bare skin of his chest had burned beneath Christine's touch, the fingertips of his good hand were surprisingly cool as he traced the marks of the tears upon her face. His eyes burned with unshed tears, as his gruesome face contorted with a mixture of shame and wretchedness that bordered on anger. A dark shadowed hovered behind his eyes, overpowering him. He shook his head slightly, the pressure of his fingertips growing in intensity as he clutched her face, blinking back hot tears. He growled bitterly, "I do not want your tears, Christine, be them of pity or fear."

Erik pulled away from her, his bare hands gripping the hard wooden edge of the dark mahogany desk so tightly, his knuckles turned white. His shoulders shook slightly as he attempted to control his wavering voice, his next spoken words driving daggers of ice through his already withered heart. "You should leave now, Christine - I will not stop you."

Christine stared at her angel's retreating form, his words shocking her into angry disbelief. "Leave you? I'm not going anywhere!"

He broke then, rounding on the young woman with a desperate and animalistic ferocity. "Then you are a fool!" he violently snatched her left hand and wrenched it upwards, brandishing the golden wedding back before his now tear-stricken face. "This is who I am, Christine! Do you really want to pledge the rest of your life to someone who once tortured and murdered purely for the entertainment and amusement of others? How can you of all people bear to look at me now, knowing the atrocities I have committed… the hundreds whose lives I've cruelly ripped from their-"

Erik's harsh words were immediately silenced as his angel's hands pulled his face down and her lips gently brushed the corner of his mouth, just under his mask. His entire being went rigid under the soft burn of her body, the shock of her tauntingly light caress driving all common sense from his mind. He felt the tears free themselves from his lashes and slip beneath his mask as her small fingers speared through the raven locks that brushed the nape of his neck, holding him firmly to her lips. He sucked in a breath as he felt her love sweep through him, bringing warmth to every corner of his body and driving back the mind-numbing cold that had crept within his veins. He felt the anger that had festered and crawled beneath his skin threatening to burst free begin to recede as he lost himself within the healing power of her kiss.

As her lips played upon his, fire slowly consumed him until he felt the edge of pain. The flames licking higher, he threaded his fingers in her dark tangles of hair and tried to press his mouth desperately to hers. Oh God! How could he have ever thought, even for a moment, that he could ever let her go? She was the only one who could save him!

Before the fire could be quelled, Christine abruptly pulled away. His eyes were clenched shut as his chest heaved beneath her, his breaths coming in short, swift, gasps. Another small tear slipped from beneath his dark lashes and trailed down the hard curve of the leather mask. She placed her trembling hand against the smooth skin of his flawless cheek, as she softly touched her forehead to his own.

"Come back to me, Angel…" Her voice wavered slightly as she ran her other hand over his scarred shoulders coming to rest at his neck. Erik shuddered against her, involuntary tears now trailing freely down his face as he convulsed against her soft body. "Let go of your anger and your hatred… and come back to me…"

Her small fingers traced the curvature where the cool leather met his hot, sweaty skin. She watched for a reaction, but he remained frozen as she slowly pried the mask from his macabre face. She placed the palms of her hands flat against his face, marveling in the grotesque and the beautiful.

"Erik, look at me." She mustered all her feelings of strength and resolve as she waited patiently for Erik to look at her. He needed to see this as well as hear it. Ever so slowly Erik opened his eyes, small rays of golden light so thick with unspoken emotion they threatened to bring tears once more to Christine's eyes. She choked them back.

"I too, see something in your eyes, Erik. I see regret, remorse… and guilt. I know the violence and the horrors you have been subjected to… the type of life into which you were brought. All your life you have been treated as though you were some sort of animal, incapable of possessing anything akin to human feeling. You were beaten, broken, humiliated." She searched deep within his swimming golden orbs, seeing the fragile, broken and lonely child that they held within.

"You are not that man anymore, Erik! I know there is good in you – I have seen it. God teaches us forgiveness… trust in that. Trust in me, Erik. Trust in my love for you. Just please, you must let go of your hatred..."

Christine's lips hovered mere centimeters below his own; her warm breath glided softly over his clean-shaven chin and brushed his half-open mouth is a salving kiss. Her palm remained pressed firmly against his flawless cheek, as her brown eyes widened; searching and entreating his own. Erik's eyes flicked over Christine's face, as the darkness and self-doubt slowly seeped its way into his mind again. There was silence for a long moment, where neither dare speak and Erik's breathing had settled to a low rasp. His face was an array of emotions; an internal war raged within him as he fought to repress his inner demons. He felt as though he were on the edge of a precipice, desperate to cut the bonds with which his hatred had imprisoned him for so long. What he craved more than anything else, was freedom.

With a whispered prayer for forgiveness he leapt into the abyss, descending on her mouth like a starved man, desperately claiming her lips for his own. His groan filled her with a desperate longing as she felt him let go of his anger and insecurities, and in turn she opened to him without any urging on his part. He pulled her down onto the bed beside him, as a powerful and desperate longing took hold of his body. Her mouth was warm and moist, and she tasted of apples as her sweet tongue melded with his and sent his head reeling. Her kiss breathed life into him, and he clung to her like a drowning man clings to a single piece of floating debris; survivors of a shipwreck thrown out to sea.

All I ask of you is to make me human again, Christine... If you could accomplish this one thing, then I swear that I will live every day of my life for you…

Suddenly, the masked man wrenched away from his angel's intoxicating embrace and stared at her heatedly, the molten gold mingling with his unabashed obsession for her as his breath thundered through his chest. She lightly traced a finger along the edge of his mask, feeling his heart beat madly under her palm.

Forcing his fervor to cool, he spoke again, his timber smooth and low. "How is it that you can forgive me for my past, Christine?"

Christine watched bemusedly as shock suffused his features. She drew him to her again, clutching the taut flesh of his naked torso. "Because I love you."

The Phantom had been the first to incite any sort of desire in her young body. Strong, powerful, terrifying and possessive, he had stirred feelings so terrible and passionate that they had been buried deep when she thought him lost to her, only to rise up in her dreams like wicked wraiths. Even Death had not been a force powerful enough to tear them apart.

They were destined.

Erik's breath caught and he swallowed against the lump in her throat. Her eyes darkened to a deeper shade of brown as she stared at him, trying to infuse in her gaze all the love and acceptance she could muster. She needed to believe that Erik was a different person to who he was under the Khanum's influence. She had to.

Erik's brow furrowed and he broke the concentrated stare, Christine's hand dropping to his side. Moving off the bed towards the dresser table, he was careful to sidestep her trembling frame as he lifted the silk shirt Christine had disposed him of the night before from the countertop.

"The damp air makes you shiver," he said absently, despite the bright sunlight that encompassed the room. Erik pulled the shirt over her bare shoulders, tucking up the sleeves awkwardly, and then raised his arm to gather her close, breathing into her hair – small shallow breaths that somehow comforted her. Christine curled up inside him, and pretended they were happy and unburdened by troubles.

A long and empty silence descended between them.

"Erik, tell me something." Christine breathed.

"What?"

She drew his large hand into her two smaller ones, pressing her lips of the bare skin of his knuckles. "What made you finally leave Persia?"

"The game lost its luster," Erik said after a long, long silence. There was no hardness in his voice, only a kind of muted note that made Christine's heart tremble. "The Shah soon realized that his court magician was too powerful for his own good; he was convinced that I would betray his secrets to Persia's enemies." He paused again, and then added grudgingly, "it was widely known, however, that I cared little for politics or the gains of war…"

"How did you escape?"

Erik gave her a long, half-distant look, as though he was studying the shape of her face. "With monsieur Khan's assistance. He was, after all, the Daroga of Mazenderan, and.. well, let's just say that I had been of service to him… and in turn, he felt he was honour-bound to me…"

Silence.

"Erik?"

"What?"

Christine clenched her eyes shut as she softly stroked the back of his hand. When she spoke her voice trembled in a faint whisper. "Are you sorry for the murders?"

A deathly silence settled between them. Erik did not move, but when Christine met his eyes, she saw an infinite pain there, beyond tears.

"Yes Christine, I am…"

TBC

A/N: Well, I think I will be winding down to the ending of this story soon, but there will be a few more chapters to go, at least. There are a couple of Kay quotes here that I've been dying to use; her take on Erik's past was brilliant . However, this wasn't exactly how I envisioned this chapter would turn out... so please, review!

Thanks to all those who reviewed the last chapter and brought a smile to my face;
Foible, Phantomized, sophiagin, MickPink, Froody, Passed Over, shewillbeluved3, carol, Mirror to my Soul, Mirror of a masked soul, and draegon-fire. Much love to the reviewers.