AN: Sorry for the delay in updates, everyone. I've been really sick and life in general has been just loony. But here we are with Chapter Nineteen!
Thanks as always to my reviewers, and to TouchingTrusting the super beta who also thought up the title for this chapter. Thanks as well to Mirrordjyn for correcting my little literary title mistake.
Please Read and Review!
Chapter Nineteen: Paradigm Shift
"Get in the car," Erik commanded, his face turned toward the woods. His back was straight, his muscles knotted under the thin white fabric, his very stance that of a predator. Christine opened the door and paused, her heart beating rapidly, her mouth suddenly dry.
"Are you coming?" She gasped out. He didn't answer her. "Please, Erik, get in the car."
"He…" Erik snarled, his long hands curled into shaking fists at his sides as he spoke to himself. For a moment he seemed barely able to form coherent words, his voice ugly and frantic. "I won't let him take you. I won't let anyone take you. He…"
"Forget him, he is nothing." Christine could hear the crashes coming closer, stumbling footsteps in the darkness, and she prayed for just a bit more time. "I'm not going anywhere. Please, please Erik, get in the car. Let's go. Let's go home."
At the word home his posture seemed to stiffen then suddenly relax, as if drained of energy. He turned on the spot to stare at her standing at the car door, her face a mask of fear. He stared at her for a moment before nodding slowly.
"All right," he muttered, his breathing harsh but his eyes slightly less wild. "Get in the car, Christine. We're going home."
When Raoul burst out of the tree line and into the small darkened parking lot the car was gone, taking Christine with it. He stopped and stared out into the night, wondering if he had really seen her at all, if she had just been a figment of his imagination, if it had been another girl. But he had seen her face in the moonlight, known her hair, her body.
"But why did she run?" He muttered, running a hand through his hair, not knowing how she had saved him, how close to death he had come. "Why did she run?"
The inside of the car was silent for most of the drive back. Erik kept both of his hands wrapped tightly around the wheel, his glowing eyes fixated on the road ahead of them as the speed dial slid higher and higher.
Christine clenched the sides of her seat as the car arced alarmingly around sharp bends and dark trees sped past. She didn't want to think about what had just almost happened. She didn't want to think that maybe he would have really killed Raoul, just for being there, near her, just for calling her name. She bit her lip until it stung and peered at the silent figure next to her out of the corner of her eye.
'Why did I assume that he was going to kill Raoul?' She tried to justify in her mind. 'He never said so….he just was angry…and…and…'
And Erik would have killed him. She didn't know how she knew it, but it was an irrefutable fact in the silence of the car, in his ugly words and shaking anger. Erik would kill to keep what was his.
For the first time a whole new fear entered into Christine's mind, replacing the fear for herself that had just recently calmed. It was a fear of others, all others, anyone who might help her or stand in the way of what Erik was determined to see happen.
'And what is that?' Christine wondered, not for the first time. 'Where does he see this road taking us? Is this how he sees forever? Is this my forever?'
The air in the car seemed suddenly stifling and Christine felt her windpipe close up. Without thinking she rolled down the window and stuck her head outside into the quickly moving stream of air, feeling it blow her hair back and tug at the skin of her face. She opened her mouth and the wind pushed air into her lungs; as if coming up from underwater she took a deep shuddering breath and opened her eyes to see trees speeding by, so close to her head. He seemed to be taking a roundabout way to the house but she didn't care; she just breathed in air and tried to calm the tightness in her chest.
As if of its own volition one of her arms stretched imploringly out of the window and toward the trees, as if their long branches could snag hold of her and pull her from the dark car. 'Help me,' she pleaded with them, knowing in her mind that she was being silly, but she wanted it so badly. 'Save me…'
"We are entering a populated area, my dear, I suggest that you put your head back inside the car." His words seemed to be coming from far away.
Sighing, Christine pulled her head back inside of the quiet space; after the rush of the outside air it seemed eerie and charged. She could tell by his stiff posture that he was angry, a set bomb not quite defused.
They were still silent as they emerged from the car and entered the familiar side door of the hulking, empty building. This time she followed without touching him; she was still numb with shock over what had happened and he was still rigid with suppressed rage. Christine nearly tripped several times in the dark upward sloping stairwells as she struggled to follow his near silent figure, but she did not take his arm, nor did he offer it.
'I have to do something,' she thought as they entered the strange house again and the familiar cold draft hit her. 'It's been so hard to be totally alone, to live so silently…I can't go back to that. I can't!'
Suddenly not hearing his voice or his quiet conversation was as terrifying as speaking to him used to be. She had been alone with her fear for so long and she didn't think she could take another minute without company, alone in her head. She had seen something dark and ugly rise to the surface in him that night but he had suppressed it, and that thought emboldened her. Now, here, back in familiar territory, she could maybe gain back what had been lost before it slid forever back into darkness.
'Anything not to be so alone,' she thought, justifying her actions. 'Anything to go outside, to be released. Anything to erase what happened tonight, to calm that anger. I don't know what to do! He scares me, but…but I fear loneliness more. I've had so many days alone.'
He was stalking toward his room but she called out to him impulsively. "Erik?"
He paused and a tremor seemed to run through his thin body, and she realized how rarely she used his name. "Yes, Christine?" he asked, his voice low, still not facing her.
"I, well I mean…would you…?"
He turned to look at her, and his voice was softer. "Yes?"
"Would you like to stay for a few minutes and…and talk?"
He stared at her for a long moment across the room, and somehow the moment struck her as familiar, as if she had stood there looking at him before. "If you wish to," he finally said in a near whisper. "Then I will."
"Good." Something tight eased within her chest as she sat in her usual chair and curled her legs up to her chest. Somehow she had dispelled the tense energy in the room and shifted the focus away from Raoul and all that had happened.
His back and shoulders eased and relaxed as he draped himself onto the couch, his strangely content gaze fixated on her. "What would you like to talk about?" He asked softly.
Christine laid her head on her knees and stared at him sideways, suddenly very tired. "Anything," she said. "Anything."
He tilted his head at her and blinked. "Anything?"
She closed her eyes so she could just hear his voice wrapping around her, so that she could imagine that they were two normal people having a conversation. "Tell me about yourself," she said in a low voice. "I know so little about you."
He sighed and somehow, without opening her eyes, she could sense him stiffen in agitation. "There is much about my life that does well not to be said," he said darkly, and she shrugged.
"Then don't say it." Christine didn't want to know if he had done terrible things in his past, didn't want to know how he came by such frightening power. He was right; it did not need to be said. She didn't need to know his past to fear or respect him, and she didn't need any more stress, any more heavy knowledge to weigh on her at night. "What is your favorite book?"
He seemed taken aback by her unassuming question. "You have seen the size of my library and you ask me to choose just one?" He asked, amusement in his voice.
"Ok then, what about your favorite author?"
"I must choose one?"
Christine almost smiled. With her eyes closed it all seemed so real, so natural. "You're being evasive."
"I can not tell you a favorite but I will tell you one of my favorites." There was a pause as if he was trying to build anticipation. "Dostoyevsky."
Christine allowed herself a small smile. "Crime and Punishment?"
"That, but it's not the only book he wrote. His characters are rounded, lyrical…human," Erik trailed off. "It's like he captures something inescapably real with his words."
"As do you," Christine spoke so softly she was sure he could not hear it.
"And you, Christine? What is your favorite?"
"Anything and everything," she yawned.
"You're being evasive," his voice was gentle, without any hint of mocking.
"It's the truth." Her eyelids felt heavy; she just wanted him to keep talking. "What's your favorite opera?"
He laughed lightly, a surprisingly pleasant sound. "Now that I truly can not choose." He paused. "What would you think it would be?"
Christine grinned despite herself. "Faust," she answered immediately.
"Why?" He seemed genuinely curious.
"Love and redemption, intense symbolism, heaven, hell, not to mention the amazing music and the ever necessary Mephistopheles rising out of the floor. It's so heavy, it's just…" she cracked an eye open to find him staring at her, those yellow eyes unfathomable. "What?"
The visible corners of his mouth curled upward tenderly. "You still surprise me, Christine."
Christine averted her eyes from that intense gaze. "What do you think my favorite would be?"
He was silent for a moment as if he were taking the question very seriously. "La Traviata…" he said finally. "Or Aida."
"Two amazing choices," she smiled. "La Traviata does have the most beautiful prelude. The first time I heard it I think I held my breath."
"Do you love him?"
The room was silent for a long moment as the unexpected question blindsided Christine and her breath hitched in her throat. Slowly she turned to look at him; he was staring at her with an unhealthy intensity, his eyes betraying the calm façade of the mask.
"I…what?" She finally breathed, unable to understand what he was after.
"It's a simple question, Christine. This young man of yours, do you love him?" He seemed so calm, so normal, but the air was suddenly charged.
Christine felt the hair on the back of her neck rise in nervousness. "I…no, I don't think so. I mean, he's my friend, I've known him since childhood."
Even if she had feelings for Raoul she certainly wasn't going to say them here, in front of Erik, who she suddenly remembered, as if waking from a dream, was a kidnapper who was quite possibly capable of murder.
Erik did not seem completely satisfied with her answer. "I did not like you seeing him," he said bitterly. "He is not good for you. He could ruin everything."
Anger flared briefly within her stomach and caused the words to blurt from her mouth unexpectedly. "Would you have killed him tonight?"
He stared at her grimly, then raised his shoulders into an elegant shrug. "Perhaps."
Christine gaped at him as her stomach twisted in knots; hearing him say it was so different from thinking it in her own head. "Perhaps?" She gasped.
He blinked at her as if she was overreacting, his calm suddenly impenetrable. "It was an option. His presence was, is, a threat to our happiness."
Christine lunged out of her chair, her shoulders shaking in fury. "How could you even…"
He rose suddenly to tower over her, his thin form suddenly commanding and imposing. "I will do what needs to be done to protect what's mine, Christine. I didn't think that you had forgotten that."
She stared at him, her hands balled into fists at her sides, her pale face growing steadily redder. "I am not yours," she hissed. He smiled sadly at her anger and raised one long hand to gently brush a few strands of blonde hair away from her face.
"Of course you are," he whispered before turning away, his voice taking on a louder tone. "You're so angry, my dear. Why don't we use that anger to work on your music? I'll choose something satisfactorily vicious. Come." He walked away before she could protest, signaling the end of the conversation.
Christine stared at his retreating back for a moment before following, her anger and resignation sitting within her like a cold weight. She didn't want to, but she went, because he had told her to. Anger and defiance wouldn't help. Nothing would.
This time, as with all times, she simply didn't have a choice.
