Thanks for the reviews! I know it's been a while, but I really really want to finish this fic soon. The plot bunnies keep jumping around.
Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or Frankenstein
Kristine lovingly caressed her bloated belly, the masked man's music still ringing in her ears. It was unnatural, his skill with the fiddle, terrifying even, and yet, all she wanted was to hear him play again. She hoped Gustave wouldn't make it a habit to bring strange men into their homes. Her husband was sitting by her side, lost in thought and eyes on his hands.
He was upset, she could tell. Gustave was a fickle man when it came to music; there was none more willing to praise others than Daae, but at the end of it all, he would stay up for nights on end, wondering why he could not meet higher standards. Erik's fiddle had that effect, and for an instant, Kristine wondered if he was even human.
There was a sudden knock on their door. Gustave turned toward it, startled, before exchanging glances with his wife. The knock turned into a desperate, furious pounding. Kristine moved, alarmed, but a gesture from Gustave told her to stay put.
Carefully, the man approached the door, and placed his hand on the knob. "Who's there!?" he demanded, intentionally deepening his voice.
"M. Daae!"
Pitched to perfection and as smooth as warm tea. Kristine's brows jumped. She knew that voice- it still hadn't left her mind- Erik's inhumanly beautiful tone.
Without another word, Gustave pulled the door open and Erik stumbled in, heaving and shivering. Kristine paled at the bundle swung across his arms; a girl, stripped bare, and covered in fresh blood lay deathly still in them. Gustave quickly shut the door and motioned for Erik to follow him. By the frantic look in his eyes, Kristine knew he was just as shocked.
Of her own accord, Kristine left her seat on the rocking chair and followed the men, moving past the tight space in their cottage and into the extra room. The bed hadn't been used in years and the window was etched with frost. She hadn't expected to receive a guest in this state. It was surreal.
"Put her here," Gustave commanded, Erik laying the injured girl on the covers with trembling hands.
Kristine's hands flew to her mouth. It was just a child. The girl was bleeding profusely from her torso and between her legs, littered with bruises along her limbs. Ice stuck to her bleached hair and thick lashes, her ashen skin layered with frost. The covers beneath the body were soaked within a matter of seconds.
"Kristine, get some rags and bandages," Gustave directed towards her, "I'm going to get help."
Dumbly, she nodded and rushed off to the washroom. Blindly grabbing at the contents in the cabinet, Kristine uttered words of prayer for the poor child. It was only when she returned to the guest room that she realized Gustave had left her alone with Erik.
Her unease towards the Frenchman may have melded slightly since breakfast, but it had returned stronger than before the moment she lay eyes on the girl. Ignoring the black clad figure, she knelt beside the girl, careful of her own growing child, and began pushing the rag against the tear on the torso. She applied minimum pressure, hoping the bleeding would stem. It was a deep wound.
"It's no use," Erik said calmly, not moving to help.
Perplexed, Kristine glanced at him. Those yellow eyes sent a shiver down her spine.
"She should be dead within minutes."
He was calm, no longer desperate, and staring at his expressionless black mask, she felt a horrible, horrible thought flicker. What if- perhaps- the blood staining his cloak- he had caused the child's condition. Kristine felt faint.
They were alone. She was with child. And he- her breath wasn't coming out.
"I did not do this, if that's what you're thinking," Erik added, almost too quietly.
"I should hope so," she replied with equal lowness. They spoke no more.
He bent his huge back and sniffed the red snow. Blood, blood and urine. Brushing long dark locks from his face, the creature stared ahead, at the footprints in his shadow, not yet covered with snow.
He had followed the masked man up to this point and quickly fled into the shadows when the latter became suspecting. It was much in the same way he used to torment his father. His horrid father. The prints belonged to his companion, the one with the same yellow eyes.
There had been a wounded girl there, one much like Aana. He remembered the men from the morning, the ones carrying the sack which so resembled his face. There may have been a connection.
Stiffly, he followed the prints, noting with faint annoyance that they led to Daae's cottage. If the masked man would gladly commute with a man like Daae, why would he want to speak to a creature like himself?
His steps became stomps. His intentions toward the masked man had not changed. Perhaps a conversation. He arrived at the violinist's dwelling.
Perhaps a bit of a test. Yes. He sneered, sneaking around the back of the wooden home, peeking into the blurry glass. A test was needed, one that would let him know once and for all, whether or not he was truly alone.
Daae's lovely wife was sitting by the dead girl's bedside, holding the still hand and praying. She had such a likeable countenance. The masked man was standing in the corner of the room, almost melting into the shadows, holding his hat in his hands, which he noted, were gloveless.
Skeletal and long, almost yellowish in how pale they were. The woman was agitated- she was afraid of the masked man. That reassured him.
Approaching noises told him to crouch lower. Daae had returned with more guests.
"She was bleeding when I found her in the snow, only a few steps into the forest," Erik recounted, ignoring the suspicious gazes of the men Gustave brought into the room.
One of them was Daae's friend from the inn, Jorgen, the man with the cheery voice. The other one, a portly male named Frederik, he hadn't seen before.
"And why the mask, sir?" Frederik asked, more than a bit accusingly.
"Because I am so beautiful that you will all lose your wives," Erik retorted. He was sick of their damned questions and the feeling of unease refused to leave his already troubled mind.
Jorgen's frown deepened but before he could give Erik a piece of his mind, Gustave stepped between the men and Erik.
"What my guest hides isn't important. What shall we do about the girl?"
Grunting, Frederik looked at the corpse. "Young child. Fourteen, fifteen- you know her, Jorgen?"
"I don't know. But... I think I've seen her in town a few times. The carpenter's daughter- meek fellow. Poor wretch won't take well to this."
"Gustave, the lot of you did your best. She's gone now. We should get a doctor- I'll get some people to take her to town, then the rest is up to the law." Frederik stroked his square jaw. "Say, you fellows don't think-"
"The monster struck again," Jorgen said quietly.
Of all the stupidity! Erik marched past Gustave and pointed at the girl. "She was assaulted by multiple men. Look at her. These bruises took more than one man to inflict- and her wounds, I'd say some horny bastards had more than their fair share of fun."
His language was coarse and blunt. Good. Erik hoped he had insulted the idiots, idiots who wouldn't dare try anything against him save the sharp question. The men regarded him with agitation, as if wondering how he would know so much from observation.
The rosy hours of Mazenderan had not been complete without countless mutilated corpses for him to inspect. He looked away from them and out the window, at the falling bits of snow and gloomy sky. He had hoped never to see a corpse again.
He watched Daae and his friends leave the cottage in a hurry, arguing among themselves and casting odd glances back. The masked man and the wife were alone in the cottage. His body tingled with excitement.
He could go in then; he knew his "companion" would not scream at the sight. But the woman- she may prove problematic, and as of yet, he still didn't know how close the masked man felt himself to be with Daae. Judging from what he witnessed behind the glass, they were little more than strangers, and yet the violinist felt the need to defend the masked man.
He was almost envious. Almost. For he knew the answer to all his questions was behind that mask. And there was still the matter of the test. That and he seemed to know who had attacked the unfortunate girl. He knew for sure it was not himself.
Though for a sick moment, he wondered how it would feel if it was... if it had been him standing over Daae's wife, ripping her layers away, crushing her with raw force, taking what was denied him. He roared, disgusted with himself.
"What was that?" Kristine asked, becoming increasingly jumpy.
"Mlle. Daae, I will check. I doubt it would be good for the child if you caught a chill."
Erik had not planned on speaking to the woman again since her accusation. Of course, he should have expected no more from her or Gustave for that matter. It must have been the cold; it was numbing his senses, making him believe that he had instilled something other than fear.
He needed an excuse to leave Kristine and that animal's cry was more than enough of one. Stepping into the snow, he closed the door silently behind him, and winced at the white glare.
Pulling the hat's brim further over his eyes, Erik began surveying the area. Only gnarled, dead trees and grey shapes were nearby. A woodland critter scurried in the shadows. He walked around the cottage, inspecting every corner.
Crunch.
He had that vague feeling again, ever since he had first settled into that inn. That feeling of being followed. Erik hates to be followed. He stood still, holding his breath, and slowly, one hand reached into his cloak, digging into the pockets of his jacket.
Crunch.
His fingers felt the punjab's material just as he was lifted off the ground. Whipping around, his cloak billowing in the flurry, Erik stared at the large dirty hands grabbing his shoulders, inhumanly large. They dug into him, and he could feel each finger leaving a bruise.
The lasso reached out and struck his assailant across the face, leaving a harsh gash. It was the face that made his eyes widen, bulge, burst.
He was staring into a distorted mirror. The figure holding him was twice his size, towering over him, and yet with the same corpse-like visage, the same yellow eyes, the repulsive skin. Strength radiated from the monstrous figure. But it was the sheer familiarity of that face which disarmed him, which left the punjab useless in his numb hands.
Those hands lifted him further, until he felt the sky come towards him, and those other eyes- his eyes- stare into his core. Erik felt the snow rise and crunch beneath his body as the other slammed him down. The dizzying pain barely registered.
Looking at his grotesque attacker, all he could wonder was how.
He was in the nightmare's shadow, the shadow of a thing he had not so feared since childhood, staring into his mother's mirror, begging, begging, begging-
"Who are you?" the other asked, voice deep and guttural.
It was a man.
It was a man with the same curse as himself.
Let me know how this fared- lame, worthy, maybe even good? And thanks for reading/reviewing!
Decided to end it on a cliffhanger here. So they finally meet, but whether leads to friendship or something worse is up in the air. And is Gustave's town really as innocent as Erik thought? *hint* probably not *hint*