Hello there,
Thank you to everyone, once again, who has reviewed! I loved hearing what you had to say, especially with that last chapter. For those of you who wish for Joseph Bouquet to receive unimaginable pain for what he did to Christine, keep in mind that he wasn't always like this—he went mad from the assignments that he took. More of Bouquet's history will be mentioned soon. As for Christine and Erik, I'm quite glad that everyone enjoyed what happened, however there were some questions of Erik's temper. This... "blood lust" as I like to call it is simply a syndrome that occurs after seeing too much, and killing too many. It doesn't happen to every member of the Organization, but it's difficult for some to remember who they are after killing so many, or even so few.
Christine was completely right when she said that even after the first kill, it makes complete sense for one to go mad. It really just depends on if you have the sanity for the job. As for Erik—with all that he's gone through, he's been developing this bloodlust, however at a much slower rate. It seems that it began right after his major accident that was caused by Bouquet's absence. His thirst for revenge is the seed that has begun to slowly change him. Let's see what happens next, shall we?
Sorry for the delay, senioritis came and bit me in the behind these past few weeks, but I'm trying to fight through it!
Ever yours,
Soprano in Shadow
Christine awoke the next morning to the scent of peonies. However, her fiancé had disappeared at some point in the early morning hours, leaving behind several large blossoms, and a note on his pillow.
Gone to rehearsal room. Meet me there… if you can find me.
–Erik
Christine smiled lightly at the note and its challenge—he had known that she would worry. Christine wondered at what time he had left, when she herself was waking up at eight. Did he sleep much at all?
Deciding to find out for herself, Christine quickly changed into a mint colored maxi dress and ran a brush through her hair after a moment's thought; Meg had always taught her that even the smallest amount of effort on one's appearance could make a difference. And then she was out of the apartment and hailing a cab for the opera house. She had a fiancé to find. It had been a few weeks since Erik had proposed, and after the last outburst from his blood lust, everything had been perfect.
Well, almost perfect.
Christine watched the cab meter rise as the cab driver weaved between the lines of traffic, showing his worth at her mention of "please get there as fast as you can!" Her fingers rolled into fists as she began to breathe heavily at the thought of finding Erik once again by the piano, and what he could do to her, as her inner thighs began to quiver at the thought. No… No! She tried to turn that picture out of her mind—they had agreed to wait until after they were married, because of their careers—but failed. Christine trembled at the thought of feeling Erik's lips kissing and licking places she had never dared allow any client to touch; his teeth nipping her neck and collarbone, and several other places she wouldn't mind him trying his teeth out on. All he would have to do was lift her onto the piano, give her that wonderful smirk that she had always hated before and, well, dig in, so to speak. And right when she would be throwing her head back in ecstasy, he would…and they would…and—
"…Miss? Miss?" The cab driver's rough voice broke through her thoughts, causing her to jump at the sudden noise. "We're here, Miss," the cab driver said, as he smirked at her from his rearview mirror.
Christine gasped silently to herself as she realized that she had left herself completely open to any danger surrounding her. And she called herself an assassin! Paying the cab driver, and leaving a rather hefty tip behind, Christine gathered herself as she trudged up the steps of the opera house. Erik should be around here somewhere…
A soft trail of music seemed to answer her thoughts, upon entering the grand foyer of the opera house, leading her to the doors of the main house. Opening the doors, Christine found what she had been looking for: her fiancé. Composing.
Sheets of composition paper littered the central area of the main stage, as Erik hunched over the keyboard of the grand piano, furiously playing, and stopping only for a few moments in order to scribble something down. Christine leaned against the door opening, smiling, as she closed her eyes, letting the music envelope her. This was nothing like the music she had heard him play before—this was filled with something different. Light? Hope? No. Love. All she knew was that Erik was inspired, and that was always a good sign.
The music stopped abruptly, and Christine opened her eyes to see Erik trying to peer into the darkness.
"Who's there?" The composer snapped grumpily, and Christine had to fight back a giggle before responding.
"It's only me, Erik." The composer visibly relaxed, as he sat watching his approaching fiancée. How he had attained her, Erik would never know. With all of his moods and his paranoia, Christine still loved him, and for that he was grateful. But would she still love him if he told her about Amsterdam? Erik pushed away that foreboding thought, not wanting to spoil the moment.
"I see you received my note. Waking up a bit late this morning, aren't we?" Erik asked, after checking his watch and seeing the smaller hand just hitting ten.
Christine laughed. Erik would never change, and that was something the brunette was thankful for. What Christine had first seen as arrogance, she now saw as his recipe for dry humor. How had so much changed in just a few short months?
"What are you working on now, maestro?" Christine asked teasingly, as she leaned over from behind Erik, her arms wrapping him into a hug. He responded with a low hum, as his hands danced across the piano keys once more, replaying the music that he had been composing all morning.
Christine leaned her face against his as he carried on playing, her eyes closing once more in pleasure at the intricate harmonies of this piece. "It's beautiful, love," she murmured softly, and Erik turned away from the music for a just a moment, in order to kiss her cheek in response.
Erik stopped abruptly. "I want you to stay in New York, Christine," the composer said quietly. "After you've completed your contract with the opera house, I want you to stay. There's a concert that I would like you to perform in—I'll make sure that it's right after the opera has finished. Would you agree to that?"
Christine's eyes widened in surprise—did Erik think that she would just leave him like that? "Well of course, Erik. You don't even have to ask me that. Anywhere you go, I will follow, and if you want to stay here, then we will." Christine paused for a moment, and straightened, before bringing up the topic that neither of them had mentioned.
"Erik?"
"Hmm?" His noncommittal response made Christine feel a little nervous, as he began making corrections to his latest composition.
"We've never talked about what would be happening after…" Christine trailed off for a moment, licking her lips. Maybe this would be too soon to bring up? They had only gotten engaged yesterday. There was plenty of time, wasn't there?
"After?"
"Well, after our mission is complete." Erik's hands stilled once Christine had finished her train of thought.
"Well, what would you like to have happen, mon ange?" Erik asked quietly, not looking up at the brunette.
"I-I… Well, I thought that we could be engaged for a while, then get married, and then settle down somewhere—England perhaps, or even here in New York? I know that I would like to become a more active singer, maybe even teach, and you will probably never stop composing…" Christine began to ramble on about her ideal life post-assignment, when Erik's voice interrupted her.
"And what about our jobs? Our lives? What about those." The chilly edge in Erik's voice froze Christine in her place. The composer looked up at her, and Christine could see a glint in his eyes that she had only seen a handful of times before. The blood lust was back.
"Erik…" Christine trailed off, unsure of what to say. He had in fact, never promised her that he would retire, but Christine had continually told herself that she wouldn't put herself through any more assignments… unless Antoinette needed her personally. And Christine had automatically assumed that Erik would just retire with her, and settle down. And perhaps they could start a family….
"No!" Erik's hands banged down several random keys, and Christine winced at the clash of notes. From within his blazer, Erik drew out a gun with a silencer muzzle, and after a moment of thought, aimed it right at Christine.
"Erik!" Christine felt cornered, betrayed, nauseous, and above all, Christine felt scared. Was he going to shoot her? Christine did the only thing she could think of doing. She screamed. It had worked last time…
…but would it work this time?
Cursing, Erik quickly closed the gap between them, as he drew the muzzle straight against her head. "Erik's not here to help you right now, pretty," the composer's voice snarled in her ear, but Christine knew that it was anyone but her gentle Erik. "Now either you stop ruining that voice of yours, or I stop you from using it permanently," Erik added, emphasizing his latter statement with a motion of his gun.
Silently, Christine nodded, hoping that no one would walk in on this scene. The last thing she needed was to try and explain why her fiancé was holding a gun up to her head. "May I at least sing?" Christine asked quietly—perhaps she could use her voice another way in order to gain the real Erik's attention. Instantly the voice within Erik shook its head.
"No need for that sort of garbage," Christine winced at those words, "no idea why he likes it," the voice muttered. Automatically, Christine knew that the "he" the voice had mentioned was Erik. But where was he?
"Erik! I need help! You have to wake up! I know I shouldn't have mentioned after this assignment now, and I'm sorry. But please, Erik!" Christine's sudden outburst caused the masked man to flinch back, and in a blinded moment of retaliation, Erik slammed the barrel of the gun against Christine's temple, causing the brunette to instantly fall to the ground, unconscious.
A moment of silence passed.
"Christine? Are you alright? Christine!" Erik's worried voice couldn't reach through to the unconscious girl. Looking down, he realized that there was a gun in his hand. His gun. When had that been taken out? Horror washed onto his face in realization of what had happened.
"Oh Christine, what have I done?"
…
Christine woke to find a masked man peering closely into her face. With a shriek, Christine scrambled away frantically from Erik, determined to not get hit again. Christine felt so weak—what had happened to all of her training?
"Christine, don't run away…please…I'm sorry! I would never try to harm you purposefully," Erik said desperately, as Christine studied him for a moment. "I would only want for your happiness, and-" Erik was cut short as Christine's lips were firmly upon his own. Relieved, Erik feasted hungrily, as if trying to explain what had happened through kisses.
Christine pulled away. "Erik, I need you to tell me what you remember last," Christine said. As if sensing Erik's desire to argue, she added, "I know you don't understand, but this is important. We need to figure this out."
Nodding, Erik drew in a breath. "You were talking about what you wanted to do after this assignment, and a moment later, you were unconscious. But…why?" However, Christine ignored him. Muttering to herself, Christine gathered up the composition sheets, hurriedly, before turning to look once more at her fiancé. He was sick, and he needed help.
"Let's go, Erik. We need to go back home. Now." Christine's tone was serious, and left no room for argument. Erik's eyes flashed dangerously for a moment, then returned to normal at the sight of seeing Christine flinch.
"Come on, Erik. Please." After hesitating for a moment Erik nodded, and the two of them left the opera house and hailed a cab
…
Antoinette frowned at the sight of the couple standing outside of her apartment, her coffee mug in hand.
"You two were out early. Clients?" Christine shook her head, and prodded the confused composer forward.
"Erik, why don't you go back to your room, and I'll be there in a bit. I… just need to have a chat with Antoinette first."
Numbly, Erik nodded and left for the solace of his room, still in shock of what he had almost done. Antoinette raised her eyebrows in interest—what had happened that could cause the pair of them to act like this?
Unless… Antoinette paled. "You're not… pregnant, are you?" Flustered, Christine shook her head adamantly.
"W-we haven't even…" Christine trailed off, and Antoinette nodded in understanding. So if it wasn't that, then what could it be?
Christine inhaled and prepared herself for what she would have to say, and the worst possible outcome: execution. "Erik is… sick," she explained weakly, finishing lamely, and Antoinette blinked slowly at the young woman's words.
"Well if that's it, then just take him to the hospital. Although I'm surprised—Erik has never been sick in all his time as a member of the Organization," Antoinette said shortly, before leaving for her own private chambers. She had a telephone conference with the council members, and there was no way she could present anything but positive results.
"Madame," Antoinette froze in her tracks, the hairs on her skin raised; Christine never addressed her as such, and when she did, Antoinette had a feeling that it would be serious. "He's really sick. As in 'Joseph Bouquet' sick." Antoinette strode back to Christine in an instant, her skin paled by the mention of Bouquet.
"Are you sure?" Antoinette asked, her mind trying to quickly assess the situation for a plausible solution.
Christine nodded. "This is the second time he has almost harmed me, so I'm assuming that music must be his pillar of strength, and I'm positive that he carries the same symptoms. I have studied Bouquet's file extensively, and I know every intimate detail in there."
Antoinette was silent for a moment, before taking her phone out and dialing a number. "Megan, I need you to pull out the black folder in the bottom drawer of my desk… Yes, that folder, little one. I need you to call the number that you find in that folder… Yes, Megan, I'm serious." Christine could hear her adopted sister's voice becoming more frantic. "Yes, Christine is fine… No, you may not take a plane to get here… Alright, you can talk to Christine, but make it quick. You know what to do afterward." Sighing heavily, Antoinette handed her personal mobile to Christine, before heading back to her room—she knew that Meg would ultimately do the right thing.
"Meggy?"
"Chrissy, who is maman calling for?" Meg demanded to know. "It's not Erik, is it?"
Christine grew quiet at her blonde sister's words. "It is, Meggy," Christine said quietly after a moment's thought. "Can I ask… What does she want you to do, Meg?"
"She wants me to call The Doctor, Chrissy. I can't do that! Not to you!" Meg's protests fell on deaf ears, as Christine numbly looked up and stared at the door that hid her fiancé from her eyes. Christine bit her lip in thought. A faceless person who no one had ever met before, The Doctor was only known for one reason: to diagnose and then, if necessary, execute members of the Organization who were past saving.
"Meg, I need you to do me a favor. Can you text me the number, but don't call The Doc? Let me be the one to decide when to make the call. I just got him back, and I don't deserve to lose him again. Please, Meggy. Do this for me. Please."
Meg was silent for a moment, before speaking once more. "Alright, Chrissy. Just don't tell Maman, please. I don't want her mad at me again."
"I promise, Meg. And Meggy?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for having my back."
