A/N: Man, I'd forgotten how much I enjoy writing fan fiction, it's been a long time since I've worked on stuff like this.
XXX
Damn, damn, damn! The black rage that was boiling inside of him begged to be unleashed; his hand itched for his lasso, which hung concealed under his coat. It took a great deal of his strength to not throttle the woman beside hi,.
The mob had come dangerously close to finding them, once; so close that the cavern they were in lightened a little bit by their torches.
In his frenzied state he had almost panicked. His mind was whirlwind of emotions and thoughts, the most predominant of the latter being: how could she do this to me?
His angel! His sweet, sweet Christine! She had betrayed him! All because of that boy. His heart ached and screamed; how could she? After all he had given her! Love, gifts, a blossoming career! He had hardly asked for anything in return!
And what of this…this…wench?! He would have loved to kill her, she was probably a mistress of the esteemed Vicomte or his brother, Philippe. How could he have been so stupid as to think she was Christine? He felt like an ass.
He had let his emotions run away with him, had entertained the thought that Christine had actually wanted him. Ha! What a fool he had been. She, nor any other woman, could ever love a monster like him.
His lake never seemed more welcoming. The Phantom had the fleeting fancy to throw the woman into the water to leave her as a present for the siren. A pleasant idea, but there was no time.
The bluish light illuminated the particular spot that concealed the Rue Scribe entrance; he dragged the woman behind him, and kicked the stone. There was a 'click' and the stone slid away to reveal the entrance.
He had taken the time to light the passageway with torches, he had planned to go through it with Christine once they made their escape. He didn't want her to trip in the dark and injure herself.
The Phantom smiled bitterly, reprimanded himself for the hundredth time.
Cesar was tied outside the gate, he lifted the woman onto his dark back—she was naught but skin and bones—and mounted behind her, his arms sliding around her frame.
He kicked Cesar into life, the horse took off into a canter.
The night was lit orange and red by the flaming mass that was once the Opera Garnier. Once his home.
He heard the shouts of firemen and gendarmes as they tried to keep the crowds that were flocking around the fire under control, all the while searching for the elusive "Opera Ghost."
For the countless time that day, he swore he would kill the Vicomte.
XXX
Roxanne craned her head around the Phantom's arm to see the Opera Garnier. The flames rose to twice the height of the actual opera house!
She swiveled her head back around, hoping to memorize the roads that he took. She would escape from him, but she knew that shouting for help right now was useless. With all of the panic and commotion in the district over the opera-fire, nobody would pay any attention to her.
Besides, even in her stage costume, she looked like a whore. No one paid attention to whores that were in trouble with well-dressed men.
The Phantom said something in the horse's ear in the middle-eastern tongue she had heard him use, earlier. He took his hands off of the reins, but the horse still stayed on course, even turned the corner.
She felt him feeling around in the saddlebags for something, she turned her head curiously.
He produced a black leather mask and a piece of cloth. After securing the mask about his face—much to Roxanne's relief—he commanded Roxanne to look straight ahead.
"Why?" She demanded hotly.
"You are in no position to be asking questions!" He snarled, "Now, do as I say!"
Roxanne swung her leg around and repositioned herself (almost falling off the horse in the process) to look directly at him, "No!" At this point, Roxanne realized, she had nothing to lose. There was little doubt in her mind she would not live to see the dawn; the consequences of her actions would be of little matter, by then.
The Phantom growled, he produced a rope out of his jacket, "Very well, then, you little viper." He grabbed her wrists in one swift motion and tied her hands behind her back in one swift motion.
"Bastard!" Roxanne hissed as he tied the cloth around her eyes, she bit down on his hand as hard as she could.
The Phantom barely flinched, although his eyes burned a little brighter. He struck her across the face, "Woman, I don't intend to kill you. But don't push me, I'd happily reconsider my position."
She made a frustrated noise, rubbing her smarting cheek against her cold shoulder. She felt little cold feather-light brushes against her bare skin. Snow.
Cesar seemed impervious to the commotion and clashing of wills that had occurred on his back. He continued on his course; fastidiously obeying his master's orders.
The night was cold and Roxanne's thin, skimpy costume was hardly protection against the biting wind, which cut right through her clothing, chilling her to the bone. Her teeth began to chatter, much to her annoyance.
The Phantom continued to ride on, his costume was hardly better than her own; but, if he felt the temperature, he didn't show it.
As her sense of sight was no longer useful, her other senses took over in attempting to discover where she was. She noticed that the further they progressed, the more she felt the wind. They must heading towards the outskirts of Paris; the protective buildings of the city would have blocked the wind. She also noticed that the clatter of Cesar's horseshoes on the cobble-stoned road had gradually given way to a softer noise. Dirt roads. Yes, they were definitely leaving the city.
XXX
The moon shone clearly above him, casting illumination down on the rolling countryside of the Vallée de Chevreuse.
His captive had finally exhausted herself and had fallen asleep against his chest, much to his surprise.
They had been riding for over three and a half hours; Cesar was beginning to grow tired of maintaining the brisk trot the Phantom had kept him at, once they were out of the city.
The Phantom shook his head, he should have exercised Cesar more, these past few months, but he had been so distracted with Don Juan and all the proper preparations for the opera.
He sighed in bitter frustration, all for naught, he thought to himself.
They were about thirty kilometers outside of the city, coming up on the town of Chevreuse, he owned a small house about five kilometers outside of the town.
For the umpteenth time that night, his thoughts returned to Christine. Where had she been, when this imposter-woman was on the stage with him? What had she been thinking? Did she grieve for him, knowing his fate? Or was she impatiently waiting for his arrest, delighting in the idea that the monster whom she had suffered under all this time was soon to be dead?
He ran his fingers through his hair, sighing.
Most likely the latter, he told himself, bitterly, she had not loved him. She had pitied him, as one pities a starveling stray dog.
A sorrowful cry escaped his lips, "Christine…" He whispered.
The woman stirred, muttering fitfully in her sleep.
His thoughts returned to her, what was he going to do with her? He certainly couldn't kill her, it would be wrong to kill a woman. It seemed…low, even for Erik.
He smiled amusedly, after all he had done in his life, he was still conflicted by killing a woman. Shameful.
Unexpectedly, as if the Muses had smiled upon him, an idea came to him. He looked down at the woman, incredulously. Perhaps, she would be of use, afterall…
XXX