Hi, guys. I meant to get this chapter out by Valentine's Day, but school has been keeping me busy. Anyway, it's a little fluffy at spots, with a little angst for good measure, and it contains some mature references. There's nothing that graphic, though, so I'd still give it a T-rating. I wanted to take a look at all of the main characters, and so this is like three vignettes in one.
Thank you for all your kind comments. Thanks to MadLizzy for looking this over. I hope you all enjoy the vignettes.
Read and Review!
Upon first seeing him at the airport, Marisol had cried, kissed, and hugged him for about ten minutes. As Gavin eagerly returned her affections and assured her that everything was just fine, he thought he might actually be off the hook. Who cared where he had been? He was alive, right? He'd rested a hand on her stomach, feeling a little burst of excitement in the center of his heart.
But, of course, Marisol wanted to know everything. On his first evening back, she sat him down on their worn couch and asked him where 'in the hell' he went. Still tired from the flight, Gavin had rubbed a palm over his eyes and hesitated, trying to avoid saying something stupid. That only made her frown widen. "Gavin? Just tell me what you were doing. For several weeks, I barely hear from you. And then suddenly you're involved in that mess over there."
"Well, there you go," he began, his mouth a little dry. "I was investigating the story. I was trying to expose Falcon for what it was."
"But why did you go there? How did you even know what was going on? And don't tell me the newspaper sent you. After you left, they called back and asked if you wanted another interview since you cancelled the last one." She looked more hurt than angry.
"My friend needed help," he replied, shifting. "She…was in trouble. You know, she was engaged to Raoul Chagny, and they were both involved and in danger. I had to help."
"Christine Daae?"
"Yeah." He saw her expression twist into a knot. Gavin leaned forward and took both her hands. "Believe me. It was nothing but helping a friend in desperate need."
Marisol shook her head. "Why didn't she call the police or something? Why you? You're just an amateur journalist." Slightly stung, Gavin drew back. "Sorry," she murmured, looking down. "I didn't mean it like that. Just…"
"It's long and complicated," he replied, leaning back into the couch cushions. "I was the only one who could help them. I'm sorry. But…I had to."
"I still don't understand."
"I know." He couldn't explain everything, though. For one thing, Gavin knew that Christine and Erik might move somewhere nearby. He wasn't sure he could explain Erik's past to Marisol without her wanting to call the police. For another thing, he simply wasn't ready to talk about it. He'd seen men murdered right in front of him. He even had the occasional nightmare of being chased through London.
"Whatever happened to Christine? I don't see her in the news anymore." She eyed him closely.
Gavin paused. "She's engaged. I imagine she'll be married soon."
Marisol's face brightened slightly. "She's engaged? To Raoul Chagny?"
"No. He's—it doesn't matter. Some other man."
"Oh. I see." Her eyes were still clouded. She picked at a loose thread in the couch.
Gavin reached over and embraced her, kissing the side of her head and running a hand through her thick, dark hair. "We'll be fine, sweetheart. That mess is almost over, and I won't go anywhere for a long time. I'm pretty sure I can find a better job now. We can buy a nicer place…get some great things for our baby. I promise that I'm not going anywhere. I love you." He felt her nod and hesitantly embrace him.
Things were quiet for the next few weeks. He never had to sleep on the couch, but their bedroom remained a little cold. Every so often, he caught his wife staring at him with uncertainty. He took her out to the dinner several times and to a highly-rated play, trying to close the gap between them.
There was one occasion where he went to help Christine and Erik rent a car after their return to the United States. As guilty as he felt, he didn't tell Marisol where he went that evening. He had the feeling that she might want to meet Christine…and Erik. And it was way too soon for that.
When he briefly saw the couple, Gavin was glad that they appeared in good spirits. Christine was glowing with a quiet happiness. And Erik silently stood there with a constant hand on her shoulder, his eyes shining with nothing short of adoration. An energy connected them-two inseparable, opposite poles. The air nearly cooled after they'd departed in the Toyota. Gavin couldn't help but wonder if it was even possible for any other couple to achieve the connection that those two had.
On some level, he knew that it wasn't possible. They were unique. But Gavin also admitted to himself that there was no way in hell he would have traded his life for Erik's.
When he returned to his apartment, Gavin found Marisol watching a televised movie, one of those female-issue ones, and took a seat close beside her. "How are you-"
"You know why I think you really went to London?" Marisol interrupted, still staring at the screen.
"What?" He sharply looked at her, wondering if she knew that he'd just met with Christine. "Why?"
"Because you can't settle down. You always have to move from one place to the next, and you want excitement. You can't stand not being part of something big."
"Well…" He scratched his head. "You're right that I like a little adventure in life. But I do want to settle down. This thing in London…it was completely unexpected. Half the time, I was scared out of my mind, afraid that I was either going to be shot or strangled. I don't really want to do anything like it again." He could still hear the pop, pop, pop of necks breaking in his head.
Marisol's eyes widened, and he inwardly kicked himself for revealing that much. "You were shot at? What if you had been killed?" Her shoulders drooped. "I would have been alone with…"
He was about to say that never would have happened, but it wasn't true. So he just said, "I'm here now. I made it back with only a few scratches. And I won't take any more dangerous trips. I promise."
"All right," she whispered with a sniffle.
He wrapped his arms around her. She swallowed and relaxed against his chest with a sigh. Gavin finally realized that the thought must be frightening to her-widowed and a single mother.
If he hadn't gone to London, though, Christine, Erik and Raoul might have died. And Leonie would still be in control, terrorizing people left and right. Although Gavin would never say it to Marisol, he couldn't regret going.
A week later, they went to the doctor to find out the gender of the baby. Gavin could tell that Marisol wanted a girl. He'd be happy either way. So when the doctor said, "Congratulations. You're going to have a baby girl," Gavin grinned as his wife released a soft squeal of delight.
"I'll let you pick her name," he said as they walked out of the office holding hands.
She eagerly nodded, still smiling. "Rosalinda."
Gavin laughed; she'd obviously had it planned for awhile. "All right, then." He noticed that the glint of distrust was finally fading from her eyes.
It was two days later that Gavin got a call from a newspaper. He'd interviewed for a couple of jobs over the weeks and was debating some offers, at least feeling somewhat secure about that part of his future. The employers always asked about his adventure, and he told them enough to hold their interest. He was excited by the call until he found out how much international travel they wanted from him, including to some places that weren't exactly friendly toward foreigners. Gavin declined the offer after only a brief hesitation.
After switching on a lamp, he sat down in front of his laptop and started on the next chapter of his book. It was the one that he was nervous about, mostly because the section was one giant lie. With a yawn, he began to type.
Even as the entire story of Falcon becomes public, many mysteries remain. For example, who murdered Firmin, Andre, and Lawrence? Who was responsible for the kidnapping of Raoul Chagny and Christine Daae? Some people have claimed in interviews that there's some sort of ghost out there. A few lucky witnesses will tell you there was a black-clad masked man who wreaked havoc on those associated with the company. The apparition supposedly possessed "eyes that looked like yellow flames" and the "clawed white hands of the Grim Reaper."
Sounds like a good horror movie to me.
As entertaining as it is to think there's some lone agent for justice out there, I find it difficult to believe. During my investigations, I found no traces of such an eerie and supernatural figure. This so-called ghost is likely another one of Falcon's distractions to make themselves look like the victims. My guess is that Leonie herself had the other members of the company murdered for personal gain. The only monsters there were the owners of Falcon
A hand on his shoulder nearly made Gavin jump out of the chair. He whirled around to see Marisol. "Jesus. I didn't even hear you come in." His heart calmed.
"That sounds nice." She nodded toward the computer screen. "And creepy."
"Ah." He chuckled and swallowed. "Well…it's just a story." Liar. "I'm exaggerating to make it sound good."
"It sounds exciting. I'd read it."
"Thanks. Hopefully I'll get somewhere with it." Gavin stood. "How about if we go out for dinner? Someplace nice and expensive. You, me, and Rosy."
"Rosy?"
Gavin laughed. "Rose, then?"
"I guess. Poor Rosalinda is going to have a lot of nicknames, isn't she?" There was a trace of a smile on her face. "Anyway, let me go get ready. I hope I have a dress that still fits."
"I'm sure you'll look wonderful no matter what you wear."
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right. Give me a couple of months. Or years." Marisol went into their closet, and he heard the faint clink of hangers being moved.
Gavin turned and added one last sentence before switching off his computer.
If by chance there really was a vengeful spirit out there, maybe he can finally rest in peace.
His lawyers analyzed all of his accounts and gleefully told him that most of his assets couldn't be touched by the onrush of lawsuits.
Had his father known that it would all come crashing down one day and secured his sons' futures? Raoul didn't know if he was grateful or disgusted.
As he watched the news from his hotel suite in London, he continued to see some of the victims come forward. Many of them had relatives who had died of cancer. A few of them were disfigured. There was a woman whose forehead was pushed in to a disturbing degree. There was one man that had no hands and another with webbed fingers. Most were from Eastern European nations where the poor were still confined to little villages. And the disfigured were outcasts.
"I think I can get you some of the earnings from the company's investments if we play this right," said one of the leading members of his legal team. The older man took off his glasses, the corners of his chapped lips turning upwards.
"No." The word came out of Raoul's mouth instantly. "I don't want Falcon's wealth. Let the victims have it."
His lawyer frowned and put on his glasses. "We're talking about millions of dollars here."
"I don't care. I have enough in my trust funds. Let the victims tear Falcon apart." The lawyer looked irked, but Raoul didn't care. He didn't want any more blood-stained money.
There was really only one thing in the world that he did want. Or person. And she was far gone now, likely back in the United States…maybe married. The thought of Erik touching her still made him nauseous.
As Raoul went through the motions of keeping his finances in order, he was empty. He gave a few speeches for the news, assuring the angry public that Falcon was no more and that Leonie would be locked away forever. He talked to government officials, along with former members of the company who had been unaware that anything illegal was occurring. As each day passed, he felt more robotic.
Finally, the loneliness got to be too much. At a meeting with former Falcon employees, he met Anna, and they went to dinner at a French restaurant. She was a former vice president of finance for one of the company's Canadian branches. With her job gone, she was a little depressed.
All right. She was really depressed.
"I went to Yale, for God's sake," Anna muttered, staring into her sparkling drink as her dark blonde hair fell in loose strands at the sides of her face. "I was promoted one month before it all fell apart. I had everything—even a house on California's coast like I'd wanted since I was a kid. It's not fair! A few people screwed up, and I'm paying for it. Now what am I supposed to do?"
And Raoul, of course, was also depressed. "Tell me about it," he said.
After several glasses of wine, they went to his hotel suite. He supposed they shared the same thought that it was good not to be alone for another miserable night. At least they could lose themselves for a few hours. Anna stayed for a second and a third night, too. After that, she awkwardly bid him goodbye and flew back to Ontario. Raoul wasn't upset, though. Outside of being depressed and enjoying wine, they didn't have much in common.
There were several other women in those months, all with various statuses and personalities. It wasn't that he wanted woman after woman, but none of them ever felt right. They temporarily dulled the pain, but Christine was always sitting in the back of his mind, mocking him with her beautiful smile. And the others could tell.
"No one ever sticks around," he'd said, wearily watching as Rachelle, a primary school teacher with bright red hair, began to gather her things from the floor. He'd folded his arms against his chest. "I'm starting to think there's something wrong with me."
"Wrong with you?" she asked, her eyes widening as she slipped on her high heels. "I assumed there was something wrong with me."
"What?"
She shrugged and looked away. "It's not like you tried to get to know me. I mean, I had a great night. But…isn't that all you wanted? A fun night?"
He unfolded his arms and took a step toward her, a heavy weight crushing his heart. "I'm not like that."
Rachelle shrugged again, folding her coat over her arms. "Why shouldn't you be? I'm just a silly teacher. I wasn't expecting anything else. But I may brag to my friends that I was with the Raoul Chagny..." She leaned forward, eyes twinkling. "Daphne—that's the music teacher—she's going to be so jealous. She thinks you're adorable. She's just going to die when I tell her this."
He stepped back, the heavy weight sinking down into his stomach. "So you're just using me?"
Rachelle weakly laughed and grabbed her purse. "Darling, I think we used each other."
Raoul knew she was right.
He felt the worst about a girl named Teresa. She was blonde, sweet, and fairly docile. In a sense, Teresa reminded him a little of how Christine had been when they first became engaged. He remained with her for a week only because of that reason.
As he was kissing her one evening, Raoul had looked into her eyes. They were hazel. Hazel and not blue. And this upset him.
Knowing that it would never work, Raoul had quickly ended it. Teresa had left the room in tears despite his reassurances that it had nothing to do with her.
As the loose ends of his financial matters were tied up, Raoul began to make plans to return to the United States. He was growing tired of London weather and wanted to clear his head in a less populated area. Maybe he would buy a house in southern Florida and take a well-needed vacation.
He'd gone to a final meeting with some former executives and lawyers to discuss plans for the upcoming year. If there was anything left after the lawsuits, what would they do with it? What would become of all the plants and the former employees? Some of Falcon's businesses had been legitimate, and Falcon had been the supplier of many companies who used adhesives, plastics, and other compounds in their manufacturing processes. Now there were product shortages. Raoul finally understood the difficult decisions that his father had faced. Whether Falcon lived or died, people's lives were destroyed.
As he was leaving the building complex, he spotted a television screen in the lobby. The newscasters were talking about Falcon and showing the victims again. They were describing how the man with no hands had used his feet and toes to get by in life, depending on relatives whenever he needed help. The woman with the pushed in forehead lived in poverty with two children; her husband had died six years ago of liver cancer. A six year old boy with only a tiny bump for a nose was also shown this time, clinging to his grandmother's hand.
Raoul paused and inhaled, feeling a lump form in the pit of his stomach. Before he left, he went to a bank inside the building and wrote a check to give the victims five hundred thousand dollars from his untouchable funds. He'd have to track the money to ensure no greedy lawyers got their hands on it.
After he was finished, he went directly to a restaurant and pub that served moderately priced seafood. He met Caroline there, an outspoken woman who managed a clothing store. And for the evening, the pain was numbed again.
But just for the evening.
Christine didn't know where Erik had gotten a deck of cards, but he was eager to provide entertainment on the first day of their honeymoon. After he'd performed a few magic tricks, she gently took the cards and set them on the coffee table. That slightly desperate glint had entered his eyes, and she wanted it to go away. She scooted closer, put both hands on his cheeks, and kissed him. Their first night together had demolished another one of his carefully constructed barriers.
"Do you want anything?" he asked, letting his fingers run through her hair. "I have begun to recall more of the crafts and tricks I learned in India. I will share them with you."
"I'd like to see them."
"What else do you want? My wife should have everything that she desires."
"Well…" She smiled, hoping it wouldn't be too soon. Christine reached for a newspaper and turned it to the entertainment section. "Pick a movie," she said, handing it to him. The idea had been stuck in her head ever since she and Erik had stood on the tiny balcony in London.
He stared down at it, his fingers wrapping around the edges. His mouth twitched. "I…do not care."
She laughed. "Well, which one sounds good to you?"
"I do not know. You may decide."
"Fine. We'll see this one." Christine pointed and read the little caption aloud. "It's two and a half hours of comedy and heartwarming romance that the whole family can enjoy." Of course, she was kidding. The last thing that Erik wanted to see was beautiful people caught up in stupid misunderstandings.
His expression of revulsion almost made her laugh. "Perhaps I will choose the movie."
To her slight relief, he skipped over the featured horror film and chose a psychological drama about a schizophrenic. It wasn't exactly uplifting, but she got the feeling that Erik wasn't quite ready for uplifting.
That evening, she put on a nice skirt and a little makeup for their honeymoon festivity, giddiness still making her skin tingle. Throughout the afternoon, she could see Erik folding and unfolding his hands, curling and uncurling his fingers. "Are you okay going?" she finally asked after a dinner of turkey subs.
"I am fine," he slowly replied. "So long as we remain undisturbed."
She couldn't really make that promise. But it did turn out to be a wonderfully uneventful evening. She bought the tickets as Erik stood to the side in a dark corner. The ticket taker was preoccupied with a female friend and barely noticed as Christine handed him the tickets and walked by. The movie had been out for several months, and only a few other people were in the theater, most of them middle-aged or elderly couples. She and Erik sat in a far-right corner and remained there undisturbed. After sitting through half the movie looking ready to pounce on something, Erik finally relaxed and half-watched. She took his hand and squeezed his fingers, feeling her own heart calm.
"Did you like it?" she asked as they walked through a side exit. The night was warm. Laughter echoed in the distance.
"It was adequate," he replied, his eyes searching their surroundings. "Better than the last one. With the little monster."
"I told you that it was an alien, Erik."
"It was still repulsive. Even more so than I am."
She smiled and shook her head, resting her cheek on his arm. "Thank you for taking me."
He said nothing in reply, but his eyes became content.
It was late when they arrived home, and Erik immediately carried her to bed. With a blush, she gently attempted to guide his hands and slow the night down. Erik still didn't quite understand, but the look of joy in his eager eyes made her hesitant to explain. She supposed they had years to get it right. And the feel of his arms around her bare back as she drifted to sleep made her happy enough to forget. The sound of his strong heartbeat and steady breath was the lullaby she wanted to hear for the rest of her life.
Their success at the movies encouraged her to continue their pattern of going out into public. "It's supposed to be nice this evening," she began the following morning, watching as he adjusted the strings on his violin. He wished to get her singing regularly again. "We should go to the beach. Just for a little while."
Erik looked up. After only a brief hesitation, he agreed to take her.
Unfortunately, it wasn't as uneventful as their night at the movies. She had expected the beach to be empty, but plenty of people were walking along the shores. Some teenagers were having a party with a barbeque, and children were playing in the sand. The sun had almost set, though, and she hoped that no one would notice them. Christine could feel Erik's tension as she took a slow step toward the ocean. It was highly doubtful that she could get her husband to run barefoot with her into the water and play a splashing game. Still, at least she had gotten him there.
There was evidently still enough light for others to see them. A few people, mostly kids and teenagers, did pause and glance at Erik with curiosity. His black suit and mask made him stand out, even if it was too dark to see his pale skin. Christine could feel him tighten his hold on her hand, and she decided that they could return on a night when it was less crowded. "We can go if you want," she murmured, turning to head for the car.
"Let us." His voice was at a whisper.
Just as they started to walk back up the hill and toward the parking lot, two teenage boys passed and looked them over with glazed eyes. One said, "Woah. Nice mask, dude." The kid was obviously half-drunk, but Erik still appeared ready to grab him by the throat. His yellow eyes were inflamed as the two guys lumbered away without a clue. One boy laughed as he nearly tumbled into the sand.
"Ignore him," she muttered. "He doesn't know what he's saying."
"I wish to rip off his very large ears."
"He's just a stupid boy," she replied. "He'll probably pass out soon." Christine tugged on her love's hand. Finally, Erik turned and followed her, muttering beneath his breath.
It was mainly the black mask that drew attention. If Erik had been walking around in bandages or a surgical mask, most people would have given him a glance of sympathy and moved on. The black mask was almost decorative, though. For all anyone knew, Erik was an eccentric artist.
Feeling responsible for his disturbed eyes and tense muscles, she sat down on the bed with him when they arrived home. "Erik." She took his hands and hoped that nothing she said came out hurtful. "If you wore a mask that was the same color as your skin, it would help."
"People will always stare. It is not merely my face; my entire body is a monstrosity. Perhaps it is best if I remain here. And you may go out. I do not wish to shame you."
"I'm not ashamed!" She was hurt that he even thought that. "I'll never be ashamed of you. I just thought you'd be more comfortable with another mask. The black mask draws attention because…well…people find it interesting, I think. A lot of them aren't even trying to be mean. I just…"
"You what?"
"I like going out with you. I don't want to stop."
"They will always stare."
She shook her head. "I don't care if they stare. But maybe another mask would get them to leave us alone." She touched the faded sores on his face. "Maybe it would be more comfortable for you, too."
He closed his eyes. "It may take funds to obtain such a specialized mask."
"We have some money. And I'm going to get a job soon. I'll start applying tomorrow."
The corner of his mobile lip turned downwards. "I do not wish you to do so."
"We'll be fine." She kissed his forehead and nuzzled his shoulder.
"An honest living can be highly overrated."
She drew back. "Erik!"
His fingers stroked her cheek. "I will do nothing to alarm you. But I—you are meant to shine. The world should be at your feet. I have known that since I first heard you." His eyes became distant.
"Maybe I'm not meant to have a singing career," she softly replied. "But I'm happy like this. People have to work and support themselves. That's what life is. We'll be fine."
"But you are special."
Christine intensely protested this statement, but Erik refused to believe any differently. Finally, she just said, "We're going to get you a better mask no matter what we have to do. You deserve it." And that was the end of the conversation.
It was one of the few nights that Erik fell asleep before she did, his cheek resting on her head. He always held onto her tightly, as though he was afraid she might disappear during the night. Christine knew that she was special-but not for the reasons that Erik thought.
She was special because she was loved so much.
She only prayed that Erik didn't go to…unusual measures to prove his love.
