Hello there,
Well, well, well... It seems as though all hope might be lost, hmm? So let's summarize: Erik has run away to Amsterdam from Christine (who is now engaged to Raoul, even though he is gay, in order to heal her broken heart), who is the one woman who has seen his face, and accepts him for who he is. Someone's out to get Christine's clients and Antoinette isn't quite sure what to do. So now that I've created a big mess of everyone and everything, let's see how this all pans out, shall we?
Ever yours,
Soprano in Shadow
Christine walked toward his bed, draped only in a rose-colored sheer robe, a sultry smile playing on her lips.
Erik shot up from his bed, bathed in sweat. Outside of his hotel room, the streets of Amsterdam were silent, save for the monotonous hoots from several owls. Shaking his head in annoyance, Erik slid out from under the sheets, and sitting on the edge of the bed, began to wonder when the image of Christine that was burned into his mind would fade away. He also wondered when his head would begin to stop pounding.
A red manicured hand touched his back, causing the composer to stiffen. Turning his head slightly, he was horrified and disgusted to be greeted by the sight of a tousled blond head complete with large blue eyes.
"Who are you?" Erik rasped, demanding to know how a strange girl could dare to act so familiar with his person. Then flashbacks began to stream his mind—flashbacks from only hours earlier.
After a week of failed compositions, Erik had burst into the first bar he could find and growled to the bartender to pour a double whiskey, neat, with a wedge of lime, and to keep them coming. He had downed two glasses within a minute, too frustrated to nurse his drinks patiently and enjoy the taste. Completely terrified, the bartender had done exactly that: he poured the mysterious masked man double whiskeys, and he didn't stop. Several short glasses later, once Erik had confidently decided he was stone drunk, the composer had looked around the bar and picked the first girl he could find who didn't remind him of the brunette he had left behind.
A blonde, blue-eyed girl named Lanette. Although according to her, Erik could call her whatever he wanted—for a price, of course. At that moment Erik hadn't cared, he simply wanted female company. And so he had taken her back with him to his rooms, and enjoyed his fill of her.
Finding himself back in the present day, Erik cleared his throat nervously, not knowing what to do in this situation. In the past, Erik had always found comfort in a woman against an alley wall, far from wherever he was residing.
Confused by his nervousness, the girl tried once more to reach out for him, only for Erik to growl under his breath, his comfort zone unwelcomingly breached, as he grab her wrist.
"No," Erik said threateningly, squeezing her wrist for only a second to emphasize his point. Gulping nervously, the blonde backed away and slipped out of the bed, her nakedness emphasized by the moonlight. At once, Erik's appetite for this woman grew again. He would forget her.
"Come." Erik's voice transformed once again: this time gentle, soothing and seductive, the girl automatically forgot her fears from moments ago, and approached the masked man, smiling. Pushing Erik back down onto the bed, the blonde woman straddled the man's hips and Erik closed his eyes peacefully, trying once more to forget, while at the same time envisioning Miss Christine Daae as the woman before him…
He would try to forget her once again.
…
Frustrated at his disgusting activities for the past sixty hours, Erik leaned his head forward onto his hands, trying to remain calm, as the blonde woman—he had refused to call the whore by her given name—shrieked, trying to contain herself in a corner of the hotel room that would allow the most amount of space between herself and the now unmasked man.
"Mademoiselle, please. I don't mean you any harm. This is an unfortunate birth mark, and I did in fact ask you to not remove my mask at anytime," Erik said, while attempting to refrain from striding across the room and choking the prostitute to silence. Normally those who had glimpsed his face by now were clients who were killed instantly afterward, or accidental observers—like for example Christine.
Christine Daae. The sweet woman who had told him point blank that she had no care of his face, but instead of him. She, in fact after seeing his face, loved him—a feat that not even his own mother could do. Silently, Erik asked himself why he had forced himself to run away to Amsterdam, when he remembered his reasoning: the only way he could protect Christine was by not being near her. He was too dangerous of an eccentric to be trusted with a woman as loving and beautiful as the brown-haired siren.
But was this life worth it?
By now the blonde prostitute was still blubbering. Erik looked up to glare at her, only for Lanette to begin shrieking once again as she shielded her eyes. "H-how could anyone…Please h-have m-mercy on me, Sir! I d-don't want t-to go to Hell! I'll ch-change my life, please! Just pay me my w-wage and let me leave!"
Muttering under his breath about 'classless whores' and 'no respect', Erik grabbed the white mask that had been abandoned in the middle of the bed, and after securing it firmly in place, began to cover his own nakedness with the comforter. Getting up, he ignored the girl's terrified shriek, and went over to the desk. Pulling out a drawer, Erik took out an envelope and, after removing several bills, placed it on top of the desk before turning to face the blonde woman.
"I am now going to take a shower. When I have finished, I expect you to have taken the envelope I have placed here and be gone, and that there will be no evidence remaining of your presence. This portion of your 'wage', as you call it," he raised the money up in emphasis, "is being returned to me because of your lack of discretion, and also for not following orders."
He turned to enjoy a few moments of peace in the bathroom, before pausing and looking at her once more. "And may I also suggest in the future, if you do continue this…choice of trade, that you don't disrespect instructions and pull away from a client, before he's been granted his release. If you were as much of an expert as you bragged our first night together, you wouldn't have lost this portion."
Slamming the door in annoyance, Erik waited for a moment and, after hearing the scurrying of feet and a door slamming, turned on the private shower and stepped in.
"Oh, Christine… If only you knew…" Erik trailed off, unable to even describe to himself his embarrassment. He had cheated on a woman he had loved—even if they had not agreed on being in a relationship as of yet, even something like this was low. He would have to contact Antoinette after all. It seems as though his little getaway in Amsterdam was over.
…
As Antoinette continued hurriedly packing for her trip to New York, Meg came bounding into her mother's bedroom, Blackberry mobile in hand. The past week and a half had been tiresome for the Madame: persuading the council to not send other assassins after the missing composer, while appealing for permission to fly out to New York. Even the head of the Organization had someone to answer to.
Newspapers had caught wind of the continuous killings, and as a result, Christine Daae's name was printed on every front page since Andre had come begging for help.
"Maman, this email just got sent to your account-thought it was important since it was from the Scouting Department and-" Her daughter's rambling was cut short as Antoinette snatched the Blackberry from the young Giry and began to skim the message rather quickly.
"Amsterdam? Of all the foolish… Disrespectful..." Antoinette voice began to lower in volume until finally she trailed off into silence, her anger causing her lack of speech.
"I know you're still angry with me, Maman, but is that by chance where Monsieur Destler is?" The question may have sounded innocent coming from Meg Giry, but Antoinette knew her daughter quite well.
"Little one, I need you to do three things for me. I need you to call up Alastair and tell him to have the boat ready in five minutes. Then I need my flight to New York cancelled, and I need you to alert the pilot that there will be a change in destination. Finally, I need you to tell no one, not even Christine. No texting either. No bending the rules, and trying to 'help' the poor girl. This may in fact actually help keep Christine safe, alright?" Meg nodded in earnest, always ready to help her adopted sister.
"So if you're not going to New York, does that mean..."
Antoinette paused in her packing, giving her daughter a grim look. "Oui, little one. It's time to bring home Monsieur Erik Destler from Amsterdam. He's realized that he's had too long of a vacation."
…
Erik waited patiently by the entrance of Schiphol Airport, watching for the appearance of the elderly woman. Assuming that Antoinette was indeed at the Organization, he could easily assume that the next private flight in from Benbecula would be hers. It had been approximately four hours since he had purposefully billed the hotel room onto an easily-traced credit card, and it was only a two and a half hour flight without layovers after the hour boat ride from the Outer Hebrides Islands, where the Organization's headquarters was safely hidden.
And there she was. Grim and tired looking, Erik assumed from the amount of baggage she had in hand, that Antoinette was planning on traveling somewhere else after her short pit-stop here in the Netherlands. Now was as good a time as any to let his presence be known.
"Antoinette." Erik greeted her shortly, appearing by her side exactly how he had been trained. After receiving a short nod in response, Erik smirked. "So I supposed you're here to beg me back, hmm?"
He was greeted with a quick slap on the cheek.
"The cheek of you, sometimes, Erik," Antoinette said shortly, before thrusting her luggage in his direction. "I'm actually here to drag your sorry ass back to New York, whether you like it or not. Because of you, I have to fly out to New York and clean up the mess you've left behind. Now, you are going to go back to your hotel, pack your belongings and get on the next flight with me—I've paid enough in private airfare for one day, and I'll be damned if you're not paying me back every cent."
The Madame's old French accent seemed to gain strength from her brusque way of giving directions, and Erik reminded himself why he had actually followed Antoinette's orders in the past.
"Ironically enough, Madame," he said mockingly, ignoring the older woman's fierce glare, "I am already prepared to leave Amsterdam. Nothing is keeping me here, and I'm ready to return to New York to complete my assignment."
Antoinette looked at him in amazement. Has he not seen the news? "Tell me, Erik, what was it that I made you promise me before I even considered taking you as my pupil?"
Erik sighed, knowing the routine of this lecture. "To never leave a partner behind, ma'am. But I think you underestimate Christine Daae, Antoinette. She's more than capable of handling this job herself. She does have the fop there to hold her hand along the way."
Antoinette wished that she could just step back onto the safety of the private jet and leave him forever trapped in Amsterdam. Damn this neutral territory.
"Erik Destler, stop acting like a five-year-old this instant!" Antoinette hissed angrily as people were starting to look their way—they were attracting far too much attention. "What do you really know about Raoul de Chagny? Do you even know why Christine went through with her decisions?"
Erik snorted. "The recently engaged Christine Daae is able to handle her own emotions, and from what Andre and Firmin have told me, she has been quite successful, and Raoul—"
Antoinette lost any sense of dignity, as she lost her temper. "Raoul de Chagny is gay, Erik! How blind can you be? She is tying herself to her best friend because the man she has been in love with has constantly hurt her! And that would be you! I warned you to have a care with her, and that she was to become your permanent partner in all long term assignments, and still you didn't take the hint!"
Erik tuned out of her lecture after her first statement. Raoul de Chagny was gay? How did he miss that? Sure, the blonde fop had almost tried to purposefully get a rise out of him, but was that because he was trying to be flirtatious? Is that why, when Erik had snapped at Christine about "her lover", she hadn't become defensive because she didn't actually have one?
"—Erik, are you even listening to me?!"
"Gay?" That was all Erik could manage.
"What? Erik, have you not heard me say that—"
"Raoul, Christine Daae's fiancé, is gay?"
"Well, yes, I thought you would have known! He did work with you on that one assignment, and even Christine knows that he seems to have held some… affection for you since that time…"
Erik looked at Antoinette stupidly for a moment, before stark realization sank in. "Oh, bloody hell, I've made a mess, haven't I?..." Erik muttered more to himself than to Antoinette.
"Yes you have, which is what I've been trying to tell you!" The older woman exclaimed, checking her watch. "We need to get on the next flight in forty minutes in order to make it back for tonight's performance." Antoinette paused as she looked at Erik mockingly. "I'm sure now that you're done being a right prat, you would prefer to be there when Christine performs, non?"
Erik nodded vigorously, as he was about to escort Antoinette back inside the terminal, and then paused.
Antoinette sighed in annoyance. "What now?" The Madame demanded to know. With less than an hour to buy any last minute tickets, Antoinette could barely understand why Erik would want to wait a second longer.
Erik hesitated. Would it be worth buying anything now? Erik supposed not, as they hurried into the terminal. He would have to wait until they returned to New York.
They had a performance to catch.
…
Antoinette urged herself to not smack the masked assassin a few times when she realized how long of a flight this was actually going to be, while trying to placate the other passengers in business class that the man seated next to her was certainly not going insane.
"What do you mean someone has stolen her folders?" the composer howled. "Was she not being careful? Who is doing this to her?"
"Keep your voice down, Erik!" Antoinette hissed in embarrassment. If they're cover was blown, Erik would surely pay. She waited until the composer's erratic breathing had slowed considerably. "Have you not been keeping an eye on the news?"
Erik shook his head before speaking; his voice volumes lower than it had been before. "How many bodies?" Internally, Erik berated himself for leaving so quickly before thinking about his partner's safety. How was it that he always ended up hurting her the most? If he had not left, Erik was sure that after the first victim he could have tracked down the sick bastard.
"Elven, beginning on the day you left," Antoinette said pointedly, knowing how ashamed the composer was feeling. Erik winced in response, before writing down notes on a beverage napkin.
"I think if I can get access to one of the bodies, and compare it to the one opening night, then I'll be able to identify the killer. Then I'll work next on determining a pattern and-"
"Erik, there is no need for all of this," Antoinette said slowly, slowly wondering if she was about to say the right thing. "I have a theory on who the killer may be. However, I would prefer if Christine does not yet know…" Antoinette trailed off seeing that she had gained Erik's attention once more. "But perhaps I should assign this to someone outside of the assignment? I don't know if this would be the best of ideas, and I-"
Erik cut her off, his muscles coiled so tightly from the tension in his body, that Antoinette knew she had made the wrong decision. "Tell me who it is." The chilly tone in his voice sending the hairs on Antoinette's arms straight up.
"We believe it may be Bouquet out on the hunt." Erik froze at the sound of his enemy's name.
"You told me he was dead, Antoinette. Dead in a fire," Erik hissed loudly, as the passengers seated before them turned to look back in shock. Antoinette glared at the assassin.
"Well, I apparently misjudged the past situation, didn't I?" Antoinette snapped. "Besides, he wouldn't be out to trouble you—he knows the vendetta you hold against him. I believe this rather personal call is for Christine. Some sick version of sending her roses," Antoinette said quietly, although more to herself.
"If Bouquet thinks he can get to me through Christine, he is a dead man. He is not going to harm the woman I love just to mess with my head," Erik growled, his hands clenched into fists.
Antoinette studied him for a moment, eyes wide, before quietly responding. "Erik, I don't think he's back for you whatsoever. When I said that he was after Christine, I was serious…You didn't know that they were once lovers?"
Erik chose to not respond, instead turning to stare out of the window in silence. However, his mind was in turmoil at the idea of his beloved Christine and that man ever together in the first place.
What have you been hiding from me, Christine?
…
Christine Daae sighed heavily as she found herself backstage once more, seriously wondering whether she should retire from public life after this assignment. This was now the fourth performance since the first body had been discovered in her dressing room, but that certainly hadn't been the only one. Everyday since then, news channels were airing new footage of more victims piling up from this new serial killer, with one new body found each day.
According to reporters, similar gift tags had been found addressed to the opera singer Christine Daae, and more people were attending the opera performances in order to see the victimized soprano, while gossiping about the composer's disappearance. Could he be the serial killer?
Christine's thoughts were broken as she realized that the dreaded moment was here: Act Two Scene Three, otherwise known as the love duet between Don Juan and Aminta. Michael was a brilliant baritone, but he just didn't have that spark that resonated with her—there was no chemistry between them, and so it was nothing but going about business for Christine. If only Erik…
Stop thinking about that man!
Closing her eyes for a moment, Christine brushed her worries concerning Erik away, slid into character, and stepped onstage.
"No thoughts within her head
But thoughts of joy.
No dreams within her heart
But dreams of love!"
Making her way to sit on the stage floor, as she smelled the bouquet of flowers in her basket, and gazed out into the house dreamily.
"Passarino, go away
For the trap is set,
And waits for its prey."
Mentally, Christine waited for Michael to continue, but she froze the moment she heard his voice instead.
"You have come here
In pursuit of your deepest urge.
In pursuit of that wish which till now
Has been silent. Silent…"
He was back.
