Chapter Four: A Disaster Beyond Imagination
Brielle shared a nervous look with her brother as the gas lights dimmed in the theater. This is it. Please…please let me have been wrong this time.
Slowly the curtains drew back revealing the wonderfully elaborate sets in place behind them. Two winding staircases framed the edges of the stage, towering over the cleverly placed flames so real that they almost seemed to flicker. After a brief pause the chorus members streamed out and took up their positions around a large circular hearth directly under the balcony supported by the two staircases. Soon the sound of a multitude of voices rose in perfect harmony, filling the silence of the theater. The audience settled back to watch the opera through gilded glasses.
The opening scenes quickly set up the overall story line without wasting a single note or line in the process. Brielle felt herself become easily engrossed in the story, pulled into the fast paced, emotional scenes despite the anxiety clouding her mind. She sat forwards in her seat, her eyes wide as she watched Don Juan disappear behind a red curtain; wondering what would happen to the poor girl he was scheming against.
The memory of her horrible dreams, and the disaster they promised, faded from her mind as she became increasingly more drawn into the drama playing out before her. Several times Brielle forcibly pulled herself out of the world playing out on stage, chiding herself that she was not here to watch the opera. Her reason for being here was far more serious and deserved her full attention. Turning her eyes from the stage Brielle looked about the theater, at the rapt gas lit faces of the audience, trying all the while to ignore the play. But each time the music slipped through her resolve like an assassin at night, cutting through her focus easily. She turned her eyes back to the stage as if led there by an invisible hand.
A young girl had stepped out onto the stage, her voice rising effortlessly to the farthest balconies. With a start Brielle recognized her as the girl she had seen backstage three days ago. Christine…was her name I think. She thought as an insidious finger of dread cut through the Irish woman's interest in the play. I couldn't help but feel when she and that young man passed that they were somehow very important in what is going to happen tonight. But how…what is going to happen?
Gripping the arms of her chair Brielle shot a quick anxious look around her, studying the rest of the audience, looking for some clue to explain her cryptic dreams to her. But nothing unusual presented itself. The audience was still sitting as if frozen in time, all eyes on the stage, the theater perfectly still except for the quick fluttering of a few ladies' fans. Conner turned his head slightly then and cut her an odd look. She must have made some small distressed sound for he continued to regard her as if she had suddenly sprouted hair upon her chin.
A new, darker melody began to weave itself into the fabric of the opera as Christine's angelic voice drew out into silence; French horns and drums slowly replacing the purity of the cello. Drawn by the threatening undertone emanating from the orchestra pit Brielle turned her worried eyes back to the action playing out upon the stage. Conner murmured something to her but all she could do was shake her head. Digging her fingers into the red velvet of the armrest Brielle's heart began thundering within her chest, leaving her breathless.
The red curtain that Don Juan had previously disappeared through was drawn back with a jerk just as the music suddenly changed gears. A pounding beat and a deeper, more violent string duet overcame the idealistic melody Christine had just sung.
Behind the now open curtain a tall man stood regally, his masked face tilted ever so slightly to the side as he stared intensely at Christine. His dark hair was smoothed back from his face, a face that was hidden by a black mask. His costume, a beautifully tailored black suite, emphasized the slimness of his waist and the long lean muscle of his arms and legs. One corner of his mouth drew up into a triumphant smirk as he stepped out onto the stage with the grace of a jungle cat. He flowed across the stage, his movements barely seeming to displace the air, his eyes glittering behind the mask and never leaving Christine.
There was something dreadfully wrong with the way he moved toward the young singer, the tilt of his head and his unwavering gaze, it as if her were stalking her, as if he would eat her alive if he ever were to reach her. Brielle had never seen anything like it in her life and she couldn't be quite certain that it was all acting. Sweat broke out across her forehead as she watched them. An awful choking dread rose up and grew like a tumor in the back her throat until she was sure she would suffocate from the terrible pressure. Her half remembered dreams began whispering of terror through her mind but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the stage.
When Christine turned her head to look back at the man her mouth dropped open in shock as she took several panicked steps backward. It was obvious that this man had somehow taken over for the overweight Piangi but Brielle thought it odd that Christine should allow such a thing to cause her to break character. In contrast the audience didn't seem to mind the change whatsoever, the ladies especially watching now with far more interest than before, but something in Brielle's stomach clenched.
She didn't know why, but the sight of the dark haired man pushed all her senses into hysterics, giving her a heightened sense of the things around her. The sound of the gas lamps hissing in the chandelier overhead, the brush of warm air against her cheek, but most of all every little detail about the man upon the stage, his odd way of moving, his wild eyed gaze, his tall slender build. Burning every little detail into her memory.
Even at a distance it was obvious that his presence was overwhelming; by merely standing there, he seemed to overpower all the other characters on the stage. When his eyes swept over the audience a fissure of energy sizzled up and down Brielle's spine, as if she had touched a live current. She pressed a hand to her stomach in an attempt to settle her odd reaction before anyone else noticed the flush rising up her throat. And still the dread built. What is wrong with me?
At that precise moment the enigmatic masked man opened his mouth and emitted the most glorious sound Brielle had ever heard. All thoughts crashed to a stop within her mind. The heaviness of anxiety weighing upon her shoulders melted away leaving her with a feeling of weightlessness. Never in her life had she felt so powerless, and never in her life could she have cared less. She could breathe again, her heart rate continued to speed but with bliss rather than fear. There was nothing to worry about. All she had to do from that moment on was listen, listen to his voice.
The flush Brielle had been trying to squelch began to burn her cheeks bright pink. She felt warm, hot even. His voice was a shadow of heaven itself. It reached into the soul, drawing emotion to the surface of even her carefully guarded heart. Brielle's eyes drifted shut against her will, her snow white eyelashes fluttering lightly against her burning cheeks. For the second time that week, she was physically overcome by the splendor and intensity of this bizarre opera.
The sudden scandalized gasps around her shook Brielle from her momentary intoxication. Opening her eyes dreamily she turned her head and caught the open-mouthed shock upon her brother's face. Looking back towards the stage she actually began to catch some of the words which were sending the audience into a dither.
Each and every phrase fairly dripped with overt sexuality. Shocked, Brielle raised a hand to press against her racing heart; never before had she heard such open innuendos played out in a public theater. The blush already upon her face quickly lit her cheeks an even brighter pink. Despite her natural embarrassment, she couldn't take her eyes away from the pair upon the stage. The way they moved together, the way Christine melted under his touch; it was magical. It was erotic.
And as Christine began to sing Brielle came crashing back to her senses. The dread rushed back over her, like a storm off the sea, black, terrifying, and cold. Brielle felt physical ill as the pressure about her throat began to grow, refusing to be quelled any longer, distracting her from the performance. She placed a trembling hand over her right temple, trying to clear away the fuzziness the music had created. A pounding between her temples began to beat in time with the opera as the minutes ticked by. Christine and the mysterious man were slowly climbing a set of stairs upon the stage. The sexual tension of the music was growing to unbearable levels, even as the pressure behind Brielle's eyes became intolerable.
Suddenly the world tilted upon its axis and Brielle slumped backwards in her seat, the pressure behind her eyes driving her into a near faint. Her head rolled backwards over the top of the chair. Brielle's large gray eyes stared straight up at the impressive chandelier overhead, her bodice heaving as she gasped for every breath.
Distantly she felt her brother's worried touch upon her arm. He was calling her name, she knew, but she could hardly hear him over the roaring within her mind. The images of her dreams violently flashed into stark clairity through the pain in her head, playing out behind her eyes over and over again. The heat from a terrible fire falling from above…Oh God!
A pleading gentle melody was now dominant upon the stage, but the music did nothing to quell the panic racing through Brielle's veins. The masked man was softly caressing Christine's face.
Throwing her brother's hands from her Brielle stumbled to her feet eyes still riveted upon the huge lantern above, the figures on the stage forgotten. Her mouth opened involuntarily and a terrible scream tore from her vocal chords at the precise moment Christine Daae ripped the mask from the enigmatic man's face. A ripple spread through the audience in reaction to both Brielle's shriek and the man's horrifying face.
Christine stood before him, her eyes wide with grief as she let his mask fall from her numb hands and clatter to the floor. Erik knew a foolish expression of disbelief must be plastered across his face; but unfortunately, at the moment, he couldn't seem to form a coherent thought let alone control his facial expression. A part of him had been secretly hoping Christine wouldn't actually commit to her part of the Vicomte's plan. That she wouldn't act the bait in his capture. This small part of him shriveled and died inside of him as he listened to his mask spin upon the floor at his feet.
The terrified scream from the audience shook the cobwebs from his mind. A mere second had ticked by since Christine had revealed his face to the entire theater, but for Erik an eternity had passed within that one moment.
"Erik…I…" She tried to speak further, but he didn't give her the chance to continue.
His face immediately transformed, gone was the hurt and surprise, both instantly vaporized by the white hot inferno of his fury. Blue eyes glimmering with violence Erik moved forwards with the speed of a viper striking. Grabbing hold of Christine's wrist, he jerked her roughly against his body, his lips peeling back from his teeth in a vicious sneer. She beat against his chest vainly as he wrapped a vise-like arm about her waist.
Erik turned his uncovered face towards the crowd, inwardly cringing from the shrieks of terror issuing from the front rows. His blazing eyes took in the armed guards rushing toward the stage as he listened to the multitude of voices crying out in horror at his devilish appearance. He could feel the hundreds of eyes fixed upon him, upon his face; shame like nothing he had ever felt before welled up within him, leaving him breathless from its intensity. All the anger and bitterness he had ever felt in his lifetime multiplied tenfold, protecting his breaking heart from the humiliation and hurt stealing his breath away. How dare they! How dare they!
One woman's voice rose higher than all the others, driven by stark terror rather than disgust. As he sought the source of the noise out in the crowd his eyes stumbled upon a semi-familiar woman with unusual white hair. His madly churning mind placed her as the young lady who had been snooping about the Opera a few days ago, the one who had amused him so much at the time.
So she is here…She came like she said she would…Oddly enough, Erik noticed that the strange girl wasn't even looking in his direction, her eyes instead were staring horrified upwards; reminding him of what was to come next.
Over the last three days Erik had debated whether or not to act out the final step in his plan. Even in his darkest moments it had seemed overly cruel to use such terror only for the purpose of distraction. Yet now, with so many staring at him in horror, all thoughts of kindness evaporated behind a curtain of shame and fury. If they want to scream then I will give them a reason to.
Drawing a dagger, Erik quickly hacked a large rope just to his right. The coils of the cable shredded and unwound until finally it snapped in two. Up in the rafters of the theater dozens of pulleys whined threateningly as the rope shot upwards, snapping other supports with the force of its journey. Overhead, the chandelier gave an ominous groan as it jerked downwards several feet. The crowd below quickly forgot the deformed man onstage as all eyes turned upwards with a collective gasp.
Erik shot a triumphant smile towards where Raoul was jumping to his feet in one of the theater's boxes. The young Vicomte looked panic stricken but Erik, in his rage, couldn't see it. All he felt was the elation of the win. He had Christine and Raoul would soon have nothing.
Pulling a hidden lever Erik drew Christine closer, protecting her as a trap door opened beneath their feet. Gravity took over and they both plummeted downwards into the darkness below the stage. Christine's shocked shriek fading as the hidden panels slid back into place covering the entrance into the labyrinth below.
Christine pulled against her Angel's terrible grip as he dragged her farther into the bowels of the Opera. But all her struggles were in vain; they didn't even slow him down. She had been witness to his unearthly strength before, but never had she imagined she would have to fight against him, alone.
He was raging at her now - each curse and vile name punctuated with the violent waving of the torch in his left hand. She had seen his brooding tempers, but the emotions controlling him now were far beyond anything she had ever witnessed within another human being. The intensity of it frightened her into silence as he dragged her on.
Passing down endless corridors and curving staircases the coldness of the underground passages began to seep into her bones. Christine couldn't stop the shivers which now raked her body. As the cold numbed her, as Erik's grip bit just a little harder into her wrist Christine felt her fear melt against the heat of the building anger in her heart. She had never been strong willed, a fact which she knew and accepted, yet at that moment her soul rebelled against the fate which her angel had decreed for her. Christine knew at that moment that she would do whatever it took to win her freedom, to win the happiness that she finally deserved.
The journey to Erik's secret underground home was surprisingly long. Seven stories of underground passages lay between the surface and his chilly dwelling. By the time he had shoved Christine into the awaiting boat, she no longer had the strength to fight him off. She lay exhausted on the boat's floor as he poled through the network of flooded chambers that made up the vast underground lake, her dark eyes silently shouting her disgust and rebellion as she glared up at him. He had long since fallen quiet but, Christine knew that in no way did his silence indicate a lessening of his anger.
All too soon, the boat bumped against the shallow stone bottom of the small harbor in front of his home. Christine sat up quickly, her gaze rising up to Erik's face as he viciously tossed the pole aside and stepped from the boat. He turned to her and she flinched away, expecting to be hauled to her feet. She was surprised when he merely offered her his hand.
When she hesitated he cursed in irritation. "Damn you woman, take my hand. The stairs are slippery." His voice was rough from his ranting and the barely disguised anger, but still a note of concern was clearly discernable.
Christine stood unsteadily and took his offered hand. He helped her from the boat; his hand lingering in her touch, before reluctantly releasing her. His unexpected gentleness dampened Christine's rising anger. His kindness had always had that effect on her. It was hard to stay angry in the face of such affection.
Yet, as he silently moved away from her, Christine felt herself grab hold of her fury once again. It was the only thing which would be able to stand strong against the magnetism of his personality. She would not be seduced again.