Chapter 25- What You're Made Of.

'Was it you?' she asked the silent room. It did not respond and so she slumped onto her bed, resting her head back against the wall.

It never hurts to have an understudy.

Christine did not believe in jumping to conclusions but in instances such as this, it was difficult not to. Odd, she thought, how a beam happened to plummet towards Carlotta during one of the very last rehearsals before the show began. Stranger also, she thought, that Erik had been teaching her the songs to the opera...

She released the sigh that had been building and waited patiently. If he was not already there he certainly would be soon.

Christine had never sung in front of a group of people before let alone in front of a full audience in one of the best known opera houses in the world.

Nerves tickled her spine as she sat quietly, waiting.

She did not wait long.

'Was it you?' she asked, when she heard the noise she had come to associate with Erik's presence.

'Was what me?' he asked, sounding almost casual. 'You'll have to be more specific,'

She smiled inwardly. 'Did you drop the beam?'

'What beam?'

'You know very well what beam' she said, and then added, 'You sound like a naughty school boy,'

'Hmm,' he said. 'Must work harder at disinterest,'

Christine stopped herself from laughing, she was supposed to be angry with him, she should be, needed to be, angry at him. He had dropped a full wooden beam crashing down towards a member of cast, a human being...

'Be serious,'

'I'm always serious,' he said.

'Then be more serious,'

'Very well,'

She rolled her eyes. 'Was it you?'

'Again...' he said. 'What?'

'The beam,' she sighed. 'Falling... ring any bells?'

Stop teasing, she thought, this is not a teasing moment.

'Yes,' he said simply.

'Why?' she asked, stunned that he had answered her so bluntly.

He was quiet for a moment. 'I didn't hurt anyone,'

'You could have,' she said, firmly. Or at least what she hoped was firmly.

'Well, I know that,' he said. 'I tried to,'

'Erik...' she was surprised but not entirely shocked.

'She's alive isn't she?' he said. She opened her mouth to make some sort of protest but he cut her off. 'And unharmed in every possible way,'

'Except for her being very upset,'

'She was already quite disturbed,' he answered coolly.

'And the person who tried to drop a wooden beam on her head is..?'

'Perfectly rational,' he responded and this time, to her great shame, she smiled.

'It was wrong of you,' she said.

'Apparently so,' he replied. 'Yet it all somehow worked out for the best,'

'Not for Carlotta,'

'Ah,' he said. 'Well, that would require some sympathy on my part and I'm afraid that you get all of that so... I'm all out of the substance,'

She felt a sudden wave cross over her, a sadness, an anger...

'You won't always get away with this, you know?' she said, without the anger, with the sadness, with care.

'Why on earth not?'

'People will...' she paused, looking around her. 'They will want answers eventually, Erik,'

'Then let them ask their questions,'

'What if you ... get hurt?'

'If that happens then it happens,' he said. 'However, I find that an unlikely scenario...'

'Still, it's a possibility,' she said, placing a hand on her churning stomach.

'Always,' he did not disagree.

'Erik...' she said.

'Yes?'

'Those people...' her heart was in her mouth blocking her words.

'Which people?'

She swallowed it back down. 'That died... did you..?'

'Kill them?' he asked.

She nodded.

'What do you think?' he asked.

'I don't know,' she said. 'That's why I'm asking,'

After a brief pause he made a whistling noise. 'This trust thing is very hard work,'

'Don't joke...'

'Fine,' he snapped. 'Did I kill them? Is that what you're asking me?'

Another nod, she was full of intelligent comments today.

'Yes,' was his simple and sharp response.

For some reason Christine felt her heart drop, as if she did not already know, as if she did not already know who and what he was. She knew that she fooled herself about him, blinded herself to any faults he might have. She supposed that she did not know him well enough to make judgements about him but to kill someone...

'Why?' she finally asked.

'It's a long story, Christine,' he said, his voice cool. 'One for another time,'

'You will never tell me,'

'One day I will tell you,'

'And now..?'

'I told you the truth, I answered what you asked of me,'

'Did you have... reason to kill them?' she asked, her throat was dry.

'More reason than I had to kill Carlotta,' he said. 'So probably best that I did not succeed, yes?'

She nodded. 'It's wrong to kill people Erik, you know that,'

'I do,'

'Yet you seem ... fine...'

'That's because I am,'

'Why are you so fine with that? With killing..?' she asked. 'Do you feel no guilt?'

'No guilt,' he said simply. 'Sometimes there are instances where killing is... necessary, whether it is acceptable or not,'

'I don't...' she swallowed. 'I'm not sure I agree,'

'You don't have to,' he said.

She sat perfectly still, letting their conversation sink into her, letting herself think about it. It was not as if she did not know, that she could cope with, knowing. What bothered her was his cold indifference, his simple and emotionless answers. It worried her, frightened her and yet... what really terrified her was that this did not bother her. She was prepared to accept that he had his reasons... and this frightened her most of all.

She had known him for months yet she did not know him at all, the rare snippets she got she treasured as though they were gold.

'You're very quiet,' he said simply.

She nodded, to what she was not sure... to who, even less sure.

'Am I to assume this creates a problem between us?' he asked.

She looked at her fingers, her shoulders felt tense. She had joked with him, teased him, about the beam, about Carlotta... was she so prepared to continue her approach when he openly admits to murder?

'I should probably take your silence as a yes,' he said, his voice low but not angry. There was something else there, something she almost did not recognise in him. 'But you should know...'

She waited, still with baited breath, she could not get enough of his voice, of his company. Her stomach turned over.

'...I only do what I feel I have to,' he continued, as Christine bunched her dress up in her fists. 'I... don't want this to change anything between us. You need to understand that I have grown to care about you... very deeply. I have never cared so much for anyone else before in my life, I want what is best for you,'

She blinked but did not interrupt.

'We all do our best with what we are given,' he said, his voice soft. 'You will learn that about me soon enough. You did ask me to trust you, Christine, and I feel I just made my biggest confession to you. I'd like you to think of it that way,'

She did not know what to say. He was right, it was a big confession, it was a trustful confession...

'Perhaps, at least until the opera is over, you could give me the benefit of the doubt?'

The statement, or question, or whatever it was, hung there in the air between them. Though she could not see him the feeling of him pulled her like the sun with the planets. She had no choice.

He had told her that he cared for her... cared for her more than anyone. She hated to admit that she was heartened by this but she had to. It was what she had wanted for many months.

'Am I being given the benefit of the doubt, Christine?'

His voice cradled her name, gently holding it, caressing it, making it sound like it had never sounded before. Her ears welcomed the sound of it on his lips like she welcomed the smell of soap or the warm sun of her face. The things she loved, her favourite things.

'Yes,'

'Good,' he said, his voice gentle and smooth.

Silk.

'I need to practise,' she said, with a tone that she hoped was equally gentle.

'You do,'

She smiled. 'Shall I go from the beginning,'

'Indeed,' he said. 'Where every good story starts,'

Laurent looked at himself in the mirror. The bruises were all but gone from his face and arms but the ones on his body were being stubborn. He ran his finger gently over the healing cut on his head and winced as he caught a loose section of skin. There were some things to be happier about, he thought, as he sucked in a long deep breath. His ribs no longer hurt, he could take full gulps of air, his legs worked better than they had in a long time.

Scott was still being cautious, sometimes Laurent would fall over from fatigue. His body was not quite ready to be well yet. His mind, though, told him that over two months was too long to be in one place. Scott still objected to his leaving, saying that he was lucky to be alive.

Laurent knew that he was lucky to be alive. This was one lesson that Scott Giry could not teach him. He knew, deep down, that there was so much he could learn from him. Scott was good natured and intelligent, he knew how to look out for his family, provide for them... he knew how to have them.

Laurent had lost all of this.

Still, as much as he enjoyed Scott's company, he knew that his time in his sister's house was very nearly up. He wondered why it was that Gabriele had not sent some of the other thugs out the find him. Perhaps they thought he was probably overcome by his injuries... he certainly hoped they thought this.

He hoped that they did not send Louis.

Now all he had to do was convince Scott that he was ready to leave.

The knock at the door startled him. 'Hello?'

'It's me,'

Meg.

'Come in,' he said, and sat on the windowsill.

Meg walked in with a plate of biscuits and a drink of tea, she was a sight for sore eyes. She had spent very little time with him since he had been here and whenever he saw her his heart would swell.

He was so proud of her.

'I thought you might like some of these,' she said. 'They are freshly baked,'

'Am I to assume that you didn't bake them?' he asked, with a wink.

'Uncle Laurent,' she mock gasped. 'I don't know what it is that you're suggesting but I am a very homely young woman...'

He grinned. 'Right,'

'Right,' she said. 'Cook baked them,'

'And here's me thinking someone had transformed my little niece into a domestic princess,'

She smiled. 'My mother says I should start to be more...'

'Girly?' he asked.

This time she beamed. 'I just like to dance,'

'You'll never marry...' he teased.

'Don't be silly Laurent,' she said. 'I'm too pretty not to marry,'

'Men like to be taken care of,'

'I like to be taken care of,'

He leapt up and grabbed her around the waist lifting her from the ground. 'You're too used to it, that's what your problem is,' he said as she giggled like she was six again. He liked to be like this with Meg, he loved her so dearly. To him she would always be six years old, his six year old niece who loved and worshipped him... who listened to every word he said, watched everything he did.

Eventually, after she kicked his shin and his torso began to ache he placed her carefully on the edge of the bed so that she was sitting.

'Good to see you feeling well,' she said softly.

He caught his breath. 'Maybe not well,' he said, holding his side. 'But much better,'

'I had better go,' she said. 'My father will tell me off for causing you to move too much,'

'You can stay,' he said. 'Share the biscuits,'

'No,' she said and smiled. 'I have already eaten more than I should,'

'You really can't stay?' he asked and hoped that he did not sound too much like he was pleading.

She shook her head. 'I'm sorry,' she said and, to her credit, she at least looked it.

'The new show opens soon,' he said, trying not to sound to disappointed. 'I suppose you need to practise,'

She nodded and pecked his cheek. 'I'll come by later,'

'I'm sure you will,' he forced her a smile.

'I will,'

'I don't doubt it,'

'I really will,'

'I'm not being sarcastic,' he said. 'I'll see you later,'

With a sorrowful glance over her shoulder she opened the door and stepped through, leaving Laurent alone once again.