Hey all I am happy to bring you the next chapter. I know I left you with a big cliffhanger last week so hopefully some questions are answered in this one. A huge, huge thank you to my wonderful beta Tersichore314. She got this edited in record time! Yay!
Once again thanks for all the wonderful reviews last week. I love some of your comments…you guys never fail to give me a chuckle! So keep them coming!
Oh and surprise of all surprises another reader decided to do a fanart piece from chapter 50 of my story. So a big shout out to silvan! She did a really cool job! The coloring is so awesome. And if you would like to check it out too just give me an email…or say so in your reviews. I don't mind sending it along. (But if I forget…just keep bugging me…I am absent minded sometimes…) She also has a site at deviant art if you want to check out some of the other stuff she has done too.
http/ silverwing24 .deviantart. com/ (Once again take out the spaces. doesn't like websites for some reason.)
But anyway that is all…enjoy!
Chapter 52: An Ever Fixed Mark
Feeling her hands drop loosely to her sides, Brielle's shoulders sagged as she stared dumbfounded at the pretty girl standing before her. The vicomtesse stepped forward to offer her hand in greeting, but Brielle couldn't find the strength to rouse herself enough to accept the friendly gesture. She felt numbed with shock. Christine shifted slightly when it appeared that the Irishwoman wasn't going to respond, her smile dimming as she lowered her gaze to the floor.
"You are angry, I see," she said, her tone soft and contrite like a small child's, as her expressive dark eyes scanned the floor. "Please forgive me for my intrusion. It was not my intention to offend."
Brielle nodded slightly at that, continuing to stare rudely. She couldn't pull her eyes away from the apparition standing before her. Christine seemed a figment of her imagination, pulled from the very depths of her fears. But even through the shock, Brielle knew deep down that this wasn't a dream, it was far too real. She could see every perfectly placed curl falling about the vicomtesse's face, her hair the rich color of melted chocolate. Unconsciously Brielle raised a shaking hand to her own head, running her fingers over the handkerchief which covered her odd white hair. Christine had a fresh, innocent beauty which was rather unnerving.
One thought broke through the blankness of her mind then, repeating over and over until she was sure she would never think of anything else. It is her…her…it is her…she is the one who left him down there. It is her. Without realizing it, Brielle straightened, her back going ramrod straight. "Yes, well, results and intentions are often two very separate things," she snapped cruelly.
Christine jumped slightly at Brielle's harsh tone, raising her shocked gaze up to her rival's face, obviously unaccustomed to such treatment. "What?" she asked a little uncertainly, her lovely wide mouth falling open in question.
The anger descended upon Brielle quickly, stealing her breath away, and leaving her trembling from head to toe. She left him down there in the dark and the smoke…she left him to die. Opening her mouth, she took a threatening step forward, not caring at the moment that Christine didn't know who she was or the reason for her blatant hostility. A firm hand clamped around her elbow just then; preventing her from moving forward. Swinging her eyes around, spoiling for a fight, Brielle was slightly surprised to see the warning look in her brother's gaze as he looked down at her. Relaxing slowly in his grip, Brielle felt reason return to her through the fury. Sweet Mary what was I about to do? I think I might have been about to hit her…
Sensing that the danger had passed, Conner loosened his grip, turning a charming smile at the anxious woman standing across the room. "No offense taken Madame," he said smoothly, his words bringing the hesitant smile back to Christine's face.
"Oh good," the younger girl said, letting out a pent-up breath.
"Excuse us. I suppose your presence startled us. I am Conner Sinclair, the lead violinist," Conner said, stepping forward to bring Christine's hand briefly to his lips.
Watching the girl color at the old fashioned gesture, Brielle forced herself to be civil. Obviously she isn't some monster. Cool your head Brielle. You can't just go around attacking people. She doesn't know who you are and you don't know why she is here. When Christine's soft eyes turned once again to hers, Brielle let out a steadying breath. "I am Brielle Do…Donner. I am an assistant to…"
"CHRISTINE!" a shrilly excited voice squealed from the hallway, cutting Brielle off in mid-sentence. Meg ran into the room then, pushing past Conner in her rush to get to her old friend. Throwing her arms around Christine, Meg laughed out loud. "I can't believe it is you!"
At the sight of the blonde dancer, Christine's face lit up with a brilliant smile, her expression coming truly alive for the first time. "Meg! I am so glad to see you! It has been so long!"
Pulling back from her friend, the smile on Meg's face dimmed as a questioning frown wrinkled her brow. "What are you doing here? It has been a whole year…Why didn't you write to say you were coming?"
Christine's eyes darted to Conner and Brielle briefly before settling back on Meg. "Can we talk about this in private?" she asked quietly from behind a raised hand, obviously not wanting the other occupants of the room to hear.
Turning to look over her shoulder, Meg looked at Conner and Brielle as if just noticing that they were there. Letting out a funny half laugh, the blonde turned back to the vicomtesse, taking the other girl's hands between her own. "Oh, that is just Brielle and Conner. Um…Monsieur Sinclair is…er…trustworthy and Brielle is my best fr…um…she is my very good friend," Meg said, modifying what she was going to say in front of the girl who had formerly been her closest companion. "You don't have to worry about them."
"Your very…good friend?" Christine asked slowly, as she narrowed her eyes slightly at Brielle, a quick flicker of jealousy marring her expression for the briefest of moments. The darker emotion did not sit well upon the former singer's face, but it quickly passed away, leaving in its wake a wounded sort of sadness. "Yes, well, I have been gone a very long time…" she said to herself. "If it is all the same to you, Meg, I really don't want too many people to know that I am here."
Trying to remain levelheaded, Brielle crossed her arms over her chest as she listened to Meg and Christine talk. The young vicomtesse glanced over at her then with an expectant look upon her face. It took Brielle several moments to figure out that the girl actually expected her to leave and allow them to talk. Disbelief had her eyebrows soaring up toward her hairline, until she noticed that behind the waiting smile there was no apparent malice lurking. Raising her chin slightly, the Irishwoman peered at the younger girl a little more closely. Even upon closer inspection, Brielle couldn't find a hint of ill will coming from the dark haired girl. She really is expecting that I would leave my own room for her and Meg to have privacy. And she doesn't even realize how rude that is…What a strange girl.
Stirring herself, Brielle sighed and relaxed the frown upon her face, managing to paste a neutral half-formed smile across her mouth. She has a sort of wounded bird air about her…like she suffered some terrible blow and has never recovered…like…like she needs someone to take care of her. No wonder Erik was drawn to her. A niggling ounce of pity worked its way into her heart as she broke eye contact and walked over to the door. Christine nodded and turned back toward Meg, opening her mouth to continue the conversation.
Stopping in the doorway, Brielle pushed the door open a little further and leaned her back against the doorframe. "It was nice to have met you, Madame De Chagny. You and Meg obviously have a great deal of catching up to do. So I will let you two go," she said with a smile and a polite gesture out the door.
Christine blinked for a moment before turning to Meg in question, obviously not expecting to be asked to leave. Without noticing this exchange, Meg took Christine's hand and led her out the door. "I will see you later, Brielle," Meg said as she passed the Irishwoman. Looking toward Conner for the first time since she had come in the room, the blonde smiled shyly. "Bye, Monsieur Sinclair."
"Lord, lass, you are killing me with that Monsieur Sinclair bit. It's Conner…you know that," Conner replied, a slow smile spreading across his face as he watched the blush work its way into Meg's cheeks.
Meg merely smiled and ducked her head, pulling upon Christine's hand as she made a hasty retreat. Watching the pair hurry down the hallway, Meg dragging Christine along behind her, Brielle and Conner were quiet for several moments. Turning to look at each other at the same moment, Brielle raised her eyebrow toward her brother.
"So it is Conner, is it?" she asked with a wink.
Rolling his eyes, Conner walked out the doorway. "Yeah, what of it?" he asked a little defensively. "But, more importantly, what is it about Madame De Chagny that made you look like you had seen a ghost? And was it my imagination or did you have your claws out and ready to scratch that girl's eyes out?"
Her smile disappearing, Brielle followed him out into the hallway, closing the door behind her. His words brought back the enormity of her current situation, reminding Brielle that though Christine was not the monster that she had thought she was, the girl's presence could still create a great deal of trouble. Gah! Why did she have to come around now! Just when I finally realized what I need to do. This might upset everything! I have to find out why she came back…Groaning heavily, she leaned against the door and knocked her head once against the cool wood panel.
"Hell and damnation!" she cursed, as she pulled away from the doorway. Pursing her lips into a thin line, she looked off over her shoulder down the hall. I have to find out why she is here. Picking up her skirts, Brielle took off down the hallway, her eyes wide and on the lookout for her new quarry. Conner let out a surprised shout after her, but she didn't stop. A few moments later Brielle heard her brother's heavy footsteps coming up behind her.
"What are you doing?" he asked, as he trotted along beside her.
"I am going to go and spy on the Vicomtesse De Chagny," Brielle stated determinedly.
"Why? I mean, I know she is a new arrival, but she didn't seem to be all that interesting." Slowing his pace slightly, Conner wrinkled his brow in thought. "Actually now that I think about it…she was sort of odd, don't you think? Had a far-off look to her eyes, like she is walking in a cloud or something."
Casting a glance towards her brother, Brielle only quickened her steps. "I suppose I should tell you. You know that Erik used to live here, but I haven't told you the whole story. He wasn't a consultant to the managers. He was…er…rather…"
Matching Brielle step for step, Conner turned his head to look over at her, a devilish smile spreading across his face. "What, that he was the Phantom?"
Stumbling to a stop, Brielle gaped at Conner. "What? How did you know? I never told you anything about it!"
"Oh, come on. I may not be as smart as you, but I am not stupid. People like to tell stories here. As soon as I heard that there used to be a masked man who ran amuck around the theater, I knew that it was Erik."
"You knew and you didn't say anything! The stories they tell are horrible…if you believed them, weren't you worried!"
Letting out a laugh, Conner reached forward and mussed up the navy handkerchief covering Brielle's hair. "Come on, Bri! I know Erik. I watched him…the way he was with you and Aria. A man who acts like he does isn't some sort of monster. I just figured the stories got some parts wrong. I mean you didn't believe all that foolishness, did you? Why would I?"
Opening her mouth to reply, Brielle quickly shut it again, a wave of shame stopping the words in her throat. Geeze…Conner had more faith than I did! Trying to shake off the annoyance that came right on the heels of the guilt, Brielle started walking again. "Well, some of the stories are true. Christine De Chagny used to be called Christine Daae."
"Wait a second! Do you mean that girl that supposedly was kidnapped last year!"
"Yes. That is her. But what they don't tell in their stories is that Madame De Chagny was Erik's first blessed love! And now she is back for some unknown reason! I plan on finding out why she is here!"
Raising both hands to adjust her askew hair covering, Brielle peeked around a corner, and just down the hallway, tucked away in a cozy little enclave, sat Meg and Christine. Backing away from the corner, Brielle turned and raced up a nearby set of stairs. Tiptoeing along the upper floor, she came to the spot directly above the two younger girls. Sitting down upon the wooden floor, Brielle tilted her head out over the balcony so that she could hear the conversation below. A moment later Conner joined her. Two hushed feminine voices rose up to the siblings from the lower floor. Reaching across the short distance between them, Brielle grabbed hold of her brother's hand as she frowned with concentration, trying to make out what was being said.
"Oh, it was a beautiful ceremony," Christine said dreamily. "There were flowers everywhere, which I found a grand surprise, considering it was in the middle of winter. I was a little disappointed that Raoul's brother and sisters could not make it to the wedding. But since it was so last minute it is easy to see why they couldn't come."
A small silence fell between the old friends before Meg piped up. "It sounds wonderful…" she said slowly, obviously wanting to skip the small talk and ask something else. "Are you happy, then? The letters you sent never really said much."
"Oh yes, I am very happy!" Christine said enthusiastically.
"So do you sing in London as well? Tell me, what is the opera house like?"
From up above Conner and Brielle watched Christine bow her head slightly. "Oh no. I don't sing anymore," she murmured. "It isn't entirely proper for a vicomte's wife to work for a living or to perform on stage."
Leaning forward, Meg took Christine's hands. "Well, that is silly…you have the most wonderful voice. How could they not wish for you to sing?"
"Oh no…it isn't that I am not allowed to sing," Christine put in, quick to defend her husband and his family. "I just don't want to purposely do something to make them uncomfortable. That and…well…since last year I would feel strange singing alone. I have never done it before."
"What are you talking about? You did plenty of solos last year."
There was a weighted silence following Meg's statement before Christine shook her head slowly. "That is not what I meant, Meg."
"Oh…I see," Meg replied softly. "Christine…why have you come back? And why don't you want too many people to know you are here?"
The young vicomtesse let out a deep sigh and stood, pacing in a full circle around the chairs they were sitting in, she came to a stop directly in front of Meg, a feverish sort of energy permeating her every movement. "You swear you will not tell anyone?" she asked desperately, needing the reassurance.
"Christine, we were once the best of friends…of course I won't tell anyone!"
"Not even those two people I met before?" Christine continued uneasily. "The man was nice enough…but that woman, she made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I have never seen eyes like hers before, the color of a coming storm and just as dangerous. They remind me of someone else…the dangerous eyes." She trailed off then, turning back to Meg only after several moments of being lost in her own thoughts.
"Brielle is a good person…she wouldn't hurt anyone," Meg said carefully, as if she were trying to quiet a child's unreasonable fears. "But I won't tell either of them, if that is what you want."
Pacing away from her friend once again, Christine smoothed her hands down the front of her dress. "I came back for my teacher, Meg," she finally said, her tone lowering dramatically as she turned and waited for Meg's reaction.
Up above Brielle let out a gasp before she could stop herself, and clamping both hands over her mouth she cast a quick glance toward her brother. He raised a finger to his lips and turned his attention back to the conversation below in time to see Meg jump to her feet.
"Christine, surely you know that he is most likely dead! I mean people still like to blame his memory for all the little accidents that happen around here…but he IS dead. No one has seen anything of him since that night. He died the night the chandelier fell."
As Meg spoke, Christine slowly sank back down into a nearby chair, raising both hands up to cover her face. "Yes, I know he is dead. I came back to bury the poor man. For months I have dreamed of him lying down there in the dark…it has haunted my every sleeping moment. I thought that perhaps if I gave him a funeral…that it would finally put an end to the story of the Phantom. Will you help me, Meg? Help me to find him? I was trying to remember how the mechanism of the mirror worked when Monsieur Sinclair and Madame Donner came into the room."
"Christine…you don't even know where to look. The Opera's cellars are vast. In this past year no one has found a body…maybe we never will."
Dropping her hands from her face to slap against her knees, Christine looked up at Meg with a wide-eyed expression of utter betrayal. "We have to find him, Meg! I have to or I will go mad! I left him down there…I have to lay him to rest! And if you don't help me I just don't know what I will do!" Christine shouted, a touch of hysteria entering into her tone.
Raising both hands in a calming gesture, Meg only nodded. "All right…all right." Her agreement seemed to calm Christine somewhat, but it did not serve to completely destroy the tension now floating through the air. "Um, Christine…why have you come alone? Why isn't Raoul here?"
Seemingly tired out by her emotional display earlier, Christine merely let out a sigh. "Oh, I didn't tell him I was coming," she said with the wave of her hand, dismissing the subject as not very important.
"You didn't tell your husband where you were going!" Meg sputtered in disbelief.
"Oh, he would never have let me come had he known!" Christine gushed hurriedly, trying to allay her friend's obvious distress. "But I did leave him a note saying that I was going to Paris…so he wouldn't worry."
"Christine, I fear you have acted in a hasty manner…" Meg said with a shake of her head. Kneeling down in front of the young vicomtesse, she took hold of Christine's hands. "Didn't you think how this would hurt Raoul? He must be worried sick for your safety. You just never think!"
Christine blinked at Meg for a moment before squeezing her friend's hands in her own. "Oh, surely he will come to understand," she said with a vague certainty. Then sitting forward, her attitude changing to that of girlish good humor, Christine raised Meg's hands to her lips with a smile, setting aside the seriousness of current conversation as easily as she would set an unwanted book upon a table. "But you must tell me more about yourself. Here I have been rattling on and I know nothing of your fortunes. Have you made it to lead ballerina yet? Oh, surely you must have!"
One floor above the talking pair, Brielle and Conner glanced each other's way. Grabbing hold of her brother's arm, Brielle turned to whisper in his ear. "She cannot be allowed to wander about the cellars. What would she do when she found out he isn't dead? I have a feeling she is a little…excitable."
"I haven't the foggiest idea, but I am beginning to think that it wouldn't be good…for any of the parties involved," Pushing back from the edge, Conner sat up straight, rubbing one hand along the back of his neck. "I am sure Meg won't let her wander down there by herself…she is too smart for that." Leaning forward to tug upon Brielle's skirt, the redhead managed to flash his usual optimistic smile. "You aren't too worried about this, are you? It will all work out. Erik will just have to keep out of her way."
Still staring down over the edge at the top of Christine's head, Brielle felt all the blood draining away from her face, leaving her feeling lightheaded and empty. "I am not sure he will want to stay away…" she whispered through numb lips, the horrifying realization that her hopes for her future might have been in vain. That perhaps Erik was never hers to win in the first place. "I cannot tell him…he cannot know…"
Frowning Conner moved to stand, and leaning down he offered his hand to Brielle, and after a moment she took it. Taking hold of both his sister's shoulders, Conner looked her right in the eye. "You cannot keep this from him. You know that…"
Turning her head to gaze off toward the railings, and the soft feminine voices drifting up from below, Brielle let out a breath and nodded her head. "Yes…I know that. I know…but how am I to tell him?"
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Later that same day Brielle moved quietly through the corridors of the Opera, fancying that she felt very much as a ghost might: seeing the people around her but knowing that at the moment she was not a part of their world. She felt as if she walked within a bubble, separate from the whisperings of Madame De Chagny's mysterious arrival, and was glad for the numbing gulf. Christine's bid for secrecy had failed, and by lunch time the entire cleaning staff, if not the performers, knew of her presence.
Twice more since their first disastrous meeting, Brielle had caught the young vicomtesse lurking about her room, no doubt wishing entrance once again to try her hand at the mirror. Brielle now made it a point to lock her door every time she left her room, wanting to buy enough time to tell Erik of Christine's presence. Hours had passed as the Irishwoman went about her daily activities, entertaining Aria and speaking briefly with Carlotta, her mind all that time constantly in motion as she tried to figure out the best way to reveal her news to Erik. It was now late in the evening, around nine o'clock, and still no illumination had come upon her.
Left alone to her own devices, since Madame Giry had stolen Aria away once again, Brielle had stewed within her room, staring at her own reflection in the giant mirror. She must have looked into this mirror as I am…Somehow the thought had sent shivers running down her spine. Unable to stand the confines of her room any longer, Brielle had wandered out into the halls. She had halfheartedly strolled to the library, picking up a book of Shakespearean poems and a written version of Faust. Finding the one other occupant of the library to be one too many, she had quickly vacated the room.
Walking now down one of the many nameless hallways, she patted her pockets to make sure the books were still there. How should I tell him? she asked herself for the thousandth time that day. Raising a hand to her pinch the bridge of her nose, she stopped walking for a moment. God, all this thinking is going nowhere. Come on, Bri! You have two books…go read somewhere and stop thinking about it for one moment.
Starting to walk again she took an impulsive right turn, finding herself moving to the far back of the theater. After several minutes she came to a door blocking her path, and reaching out, she pulled the door open without thinking about where she was going. The smell of horses and hay instantly hit her senses as she stepped through the doorway. Blinking, Brielle raised her eyes from the floor and found herself in the Opera's stables.
Stopping in her tracks, the Irishwoman looked about her surroundings with interest. The long room appeared deserted except for the horses dozing in their stalls. The night shift stable boys must be having their breakfast right about now. Several of the big animals raised their heads to peer over their stall doors at her as her skirts rustled against the straw upon the floor. Smiling slightly, Brielle closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. "Ah, that smell. Reminds me of my barn back home."
Feeling herself relax for the first time that day, Brielle opened her eyes and walked over to the first stall, where a large sleepy-eyed bay stood watching her. Reaching out a hand Brielle scratched the animal on the top of his head. "There now, good boy." Chuckling when the big bay leaned his head against her hand, she gave him a pat and stepped away.
Wiping her hands against her skirts, she turned about in a circle. "Well, I suppose this place is just about as good as any other to read in."
Walking down the row of stalls, she paused at each one to give its occupant a quick pat before moving on. Picking up a lantern that was hanging on the wall, she found a large pile of fresh hay in one corner of the stables. Snagging a nearby bucket she flipped it over and set the lantern on top of it before plopping down in the hay. Ah, this reminds me of when I was younger…playing in the barn on a sunny afternoon...or the day Erik walked in on me milking the cow…I think that was Aria's birthday. Leaning back she reached into her pocket and pulled out one of the books she had been carrying.
Her mind clearing of its problems, she opened the thin volume in her hands and settled in to read, loving the prickly feel of the hay at her back. "'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day…'" she began out loud, her eyes scanning over the famous words with a smile gracing her lips. Rather than reminding her of her own love problems, the words served to ease the remaining knot in her stomach.
After some time had passed, she heard through her concentration a pair of approaching footsteps. Lowering her book, she cocked her head to the side, listening to the slap of heels against the stone floor as the person made a quick circuit of the stables. When the footsteps stopped halfway to her hiding place, she boosted herself out of the pile of hay and crept to the corner of the nearest stall, curiosity driving her to discover who else had ventured to the same lonely spot. Peeking about the edge of the stall, Brielle caught sight of a familiar figure of a man highlighted in the flickering lanterns. Erik…blast! Ducking back around the corner of the stall, she flattened herself against the wooden rails behind her, hoping that he hadn't heard her. As her eyes darted unseeingly across the floor, she felt her heart begin to pound within her chest. Perhaps if I just wait he will go away and…Sweet Mary, Brielle! When did you become such a coward? You have to tell him eventually.
Biting her lip, the Irishwoman pushed away from the stall behind her and stood, hastily brushing at the bits of hay and straw which still clung to her skirts. Why is it every other time I see him I am covered head to toe in dirt? Just once I would actually like to look nice…Braving another quick glance around the corner, Brielle frowned when she saw that Erik was no longer where he had been. Stepping out into the main corridor between the stalls she cast a glance all about her, searching for where he might have gone.
The sound of gentle humming suddenly issued from inside the very stall the masked man had been standing in front of. Smiling in triumph, Brielle quietly walked down the hall to stand directly outside of the stall where the pleasant sounds were coming from. Leaning against the chest-high door she saw that Erik was squatting down with his back to her near the stall's occupant's back legs. The shaggy quarter horse was standing perfectly relaxed as Erik carefully pulled a tin out of his pocket. Opening the canister Erik removed a small amount of a slightly yellowish salve and began spreading it over the horse's left ankle.
"I didn't know you were an animal doctor in your free time, sir. What are you doing to that poor animal?" she asked, for the moment forgetting to be nervous.
Starting, Erik dropped the small tin in his hands and nearly toppled to the side, his sudden movement causing the horse to swing its head around to glare at him. Turning hastily, the masked man stared up at her for a moment before relaxing his stance. Bending down, he retrieved his lost canister and then stood. For a moment he remained where he was, watching her cautiously as he twirled the tin about in his hands. Then after letting out a breath, the tension visibly eased out of his posture, and he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his bare hands.
"Was it your aim to nearly have me trampled to death or were you simply unaware of the danger?" he asked, trying to sound severe, though a smile glittered just behind his frown as he came to stand on the other side of the stall's door. "He has arthritis I was merely applying a soothing salve to help his joints."
Brielle felt a smile tug the corners of her mouth upward as she looked up at him. Something about the sight of him humming to the big animal as he nursed it to health was very endearing. "Did I scare you then?"
"Absolutely not, I knew you were there the whole time," he replied quickly, a touch of his usual arrogance making its way into his tone.
Reaching out, she gave him a poke in the ribs, the familiar ebb and flow of their banter causing her to put aside her misgivings, if only for a moment. "Just admit it. I scared the breath right out of you. Serves you right too for always sneaking up on me."
His sober façade dropped away then as his face broke out into a slow, adorable grin. "I suppose I am losing my touch. There was a time when no one would have been able to get the better of me. I even searched the place first…where were you hiding that I didn't see you?"
Pointing over her shoulder, Brielle indicated the pile of hay. "I was reading on the other side of that pile."
"Ah, that explains all of these little bits that are all over you," he said as he reached out and deftly plucked a piece of hay from her shoulder.
Though the contact lasted only a moment, Brielle felt the warmth of his fingers through her dress like a brand to her skin. Sucking in a breath at his touch, Brielle dug her fingers into the wood of the stall door in order to stay upright. Erik froze midway through tossing the bit of hay away, obviously picking up on the sudden crackling tension in the atmosphere. A subtle change drifted across his face as he dropped his hand to the door next to hers. The blue of his eyes retreated, turning almost black as his pupils dilated, his gaze locking with hers.
A slight dent appeared between his brows as his stare wavered and then fell away. He stood perfectly still, staring off to the side, as he seemed to be battling some inner conflict. After a moment he relaxed and brought his eyes back up to hers, a bland but friendly smile upon his face.
"What were you reading?" he asked, steering the conversation back to a safe subject.
Her heart sank as she watched the exciting, dangerous gleam in his eyes fade. Clenching her fists, Brielle pushed away from the stall, allowing him enough room to open the door and step out. "I brought two books with me," she said, trying to match his light tone as she turned and walked back to the pile of hay where she had left the two books behind. "I was reading a little bit of Shakespeare before I heard you come in but I also brought a written version of Faust. I figured I should read up on the story since that is the opera everyone has been practicing."
"You mean you don't already know the story?" Erik asked in disbelief as he came around to stand alongside her.
"No," Brielle replied as she dropped back down into the hay and picked up both her books. "I was never all that interested in literature when I was younger."
"Yes, I know. Always the keen scientist…reading dry volumes of anatomy, no doubt. I cannot believe you don't know Faust…it is one of my favorite stories…my favorite opera by far," he said as he remained standing, his voice animated but his eyes wary as he watched her from a distance.
"Is it?" she murmured as she turned the book over in her hands, feeling a tingle of satisfaction in knowing one more intimate detail of his life. His favorite… Turning her eyes back up to where he stood, Brielle flashed a smile and patted the spot next to her. "Then come and sit next to me and tell me why," she said cheerfully, not wanting him to shy away from her again.
"I am fine standing…"
Tapping her finger against the binding of the book in irritation, Brielle changed tactics. "Well, if you don't want to tell me, you should just say so."
"No, that isn't what I meant."
"No, that is fine…I am not the gossiping type. Keep it to yourself then."
"Brielle, I didn't say that I wouldn't…"
"I will just read it for myself. Though I have to admit it does seem rather dull…" she said airily as she opened the book and peered at the words inside, wrinkling her nose slightly after reading the first few lines.
Cursing under his breath, Erik stalked over and dropped down into the hay beside her grouchily. Snatching the book from her hands he closed it with a snap. "Of all the words I would use to describe this particular work it most certainly would not be dull," he snapped.
"Really?" Brielle asked innocently, all smiles now that she had succeeded in getting him mad enough to forget to be cautious.
Opening his mouth to reply, Erik shut it again with a click when he caught sight of her sunny attitude. Looking down at himself, sitting as she had asked him to, the masked man threw his head back against the pile of hay and let out another curse. "Damn it, Brielle! You are the most cunning woman I have ever come across. How is it you can con me into doing whatever you ask?"
"It is just because I know you so well," she said with a laugh. "Now are you going to tell me why Faust is your favorite or not? It would really save me some time to have you tell it."
Glaring at her from where he sat with his arms crossed, Erik tried to hold onto his irritation, but her prodding proved to be too much for his resolve. Sighing, he raised a hand to scratch along his jaw. "It is a story of redemption…I suppose that has always appealed to me. In the story there is a woman who falls from grace and does unspeakable things…but in the end she is still forgiven and taken to heaven."
"I see why you like it then…" she said, as she reached over to gently squeeze his upper arm. As if on reflex, Erik moved to take her hand in his, their fingers fitting together as if they were made to do so, palm to palm. When he realized what he had done, the masked man stared at his hand as if it were a being separate from himself, shocked that he had forgotten to keep a respectable distance.
Wanting to postpone the inevitable withdrawal, Brielle only tightened her grip. She liked the feel of his bare skin against hers; this was the first time he had been without his gloves in a long time. "Perhaps when they finally perform Faust we can watch it together."
Looking up from their clasped hands, he blinked at her statement then smiled, seemingly distracted by their physical contact. "Yes, that would be nice. I know the perfect spot to watch from too."
Nodding, Brielle turned and plucked her book of Shakespeare out of the straw next to her. "Have you read much Shakespeare in our time here, Erik?" she asked conversationally, trying to keep him talking and not over-thinking things.
"I find some of his work tolerable, but most of it is romantic drivel," he replied slowly, his eyes once again dropping to stare at her small hand within his.
"What a shocking thing to say!" she teased. "Out of all people, I would have thought you would like his work."
"Why me of all people?"
"Because you are the biggest hopeless romantic I have ever met," she said as she turned a page, a smile tugging at her lips as she felt the man next to her puff up in dibelief.
Outrage had his mouth dropping open instantly. "I am not!" he exclaimed with a dramatic gesture with his free hand.
"You are," she replied without looking up.
"What nonsense!" he huffed, plucking at the hay at his side until he had stirred up a small cloud of dust.
"No it isn't…I have heard some of the music you have written, back when you would play to help put Aria to bed. In all my life I have never heard a more heart-stopping romantic piece. I swear listening to you play sometimes made my knees to straight to water," she breathed, the mere memory of his music causing the butterflies to flying about her insides.
He gaped at her for a moment, his gaze drifting down to stare at her mouth before jerking back up to her eyes; an unnamable, almost calculating emotion slowly becoming clearly evident in his eyes. Her words had him seriously considering something and Brielle couldn't help but wishing she knew what it was.
"Really?...I had no idea…" he said hesitantly, disbelief quickly overpowering everything else.
Shaking his head he cleared his throat and grumbling to himself, he waved off her statement. "Think as you like then. But you cannot tell me that Shakespeare writes about anything other than foolish people mooning over each other. Don't you think it gets kind of redundant? 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?' How infantile."
Frowning openly, Brielle flipped through a few more pages of her book. "You are too harsh," Stopping at a particular spot she laid the book against her knees. "I defy you to laugh at this one… 'Love is not love which alters when alteration finds, or bends with the removed to remove. Oh no, it is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.'" Closing the small volume with a triumphant snap, she looked up at Erik to see his reaction.
"This one is my favorite. I love the last line the best. 'It is an ever fixed mark…' How beautiful to think of love that way. That is the way it should be." Tilting her head back slightly so that it rested against the hay she turned her face so that her cheek just barely brushed his shoulder. "Ever fixed…no matter what."
A slight tremor began to circulate through his body then, she felt his shoulders trembling against her cheek. When she raised her eyes up to his face she found him watching her very intently, the full force of his attention fixed directly upon her face, her every word. It was a little disconcerting to have such fiercely beautiful eyes studying her so. It made her mind go completely blank as she held his burning gaze, and for a second she thought he might reach out with his free hand to touch her. But she could see the conflict ensue within his expression and after another moment Erik blinked and smiled weakly, his blasted and never ending control taking over once again. "No, I don't suppose I can laugh at that one."
They lapsed into an edgy silence then, each one turning to their own thoughts. It did not take Brielle long to remember one of the main reasons she needed to talk to Erik that day. I shouldn't put it off any longer. Though I really wish I could... The Irishwoman shifted a little uncomfortably as the thought turned her insides to lead. Sensing her unrest, Erik squeezed her hand and looked over at her in question. Knowing that the time had come, but dreading it nonetheless, Brielle bit her bottom lip.
"Erik…I have something very important to tell you…" she began feebly.
"Hmm? What is it?" he asked, sitting up a little straighter at the tone in her voice, an annoyingly distant smile pasted across his face.
"Erik, I don't know how to say this because I am afraid it will upset you," she muttered, narrowing her eyes slightly at his purposefully aloof expression. Why is he doing that?...Pulling back all the time…he didn't used to…I am already nervous enough having to tell him about Christine…blast him for making it worse.
"Well then, just say it and get it over with. I doubt whatever it is will actually upset me," he said soothingly.
Yeah right…Sighing heavily, Brielle reached over and patted their clasped hands. "I saw someone today that…" Stopping there, Brielle cleared her throat, trying to gather her courage. Every time she looked at Erik her bravery seemed to desert her. Looking away from him she squeezed her eyes shut.
"I saw Christine today…" she said hurriedly, her words rushing together in her haste to get them out. Opening her eyes, she cast a glance Erik's way, only to find that he was still looking at her quizzically with no sign of the shock she had expected.
"Who?" he asked slowly as confused smile flickered across his face.
"Christine…Christine…" she continued meaningfully. "As in former lead singer of the Opera Populaire."
His smile quickly dimming, the masked man tensed in the hay next to her. "What?" he breathed shakily, a brittleness she had never seen before expanding within his gaze. "No…that isn't right…you are mistaken."
"I am not mistaken." Lowering her tone, Brielle felt panic begin to bubble up within her. "I saw her in my room today. She was trying to figure out how to open the mirror. She said she has come back to bury you, Erik…she thinks you are dead…"
As she spoke, Erik pulled his hand away from hers, cradling it against his chest as if her touch had done him some injury. An edgy, unsteadiness had his mouth tightening into a thin line. "Yes, she would think I was dead…she left me there to die after all," he bit out bitterly, a silent fury quickly building up behind his eyes. An anger so great that it shone like madness in his over wide gaze.
"I have tried to keep her away from the mirror…so that I could tell you she was here. I think that might be the only way she knows how to get into the cellars."
As if he hadn't completely heard her, Erik climbed to his feet, both hands trembling at his sides. "She is here…she is here…" he whispered over and over, the depth of agony contorting his face like nothing Brielle had ever seen.
Scrambling to her feet, Brielle followed him as he began to wander between the stalls. "Erik…Conner and I figured out that you only have to stay away from her. She need not ever know that…"
Spinning on his heel, Erik rounded on Brielle, his eyes sharp as broken river ice. Raising a hand, he stabbed a finger toward her, his movements demonstrating a barely controlled violence. "Conner knew about this before I did? Conner!" he shouted, the volume of his voice rising to dangerous levels.
Falling back a step, Brielle could only nod in the face of his fury. "He was standing there…when…"
Raising both hands up to tear at his hair, the masked man spun away from her, fully in the grip of a black, uncontrollable temper. The horses in the stalls closest to them began to whinny anxiously at the ungodly noises now issuing from Erik's throat. A howl built up in the back of his throat, sounding closer to something a wild animal might make rather than a man. "Let her come then…" he growled.
"Do you really think that is…"
Snapping his head around to glare at her, a sneer curled Erik's lips back from his teeth, giving him a wild, vicious look. "Stop telling me what to do…" he barked. "For the love of God, just leave me the hell alone!"
Wincing at the fury in his words, Brielle raised a hand to press against the pain she felt around her heart. The lead in her stomach solidified, making her feel physically ill. "Erik…don't say that…Conner and I can help, we…"
"Shut up! Shut up! Or by God I will…"
"You will what?" Brielle challenged slowly, the pain digging a hole in her chest shifting slightly then, turning to anger. Embracing the cleansing heat of her temper, Brielle allowed the anger to take hold. It felt better than the hurt, it felt righteous. Stalking past where the masked man stood fuming, she waved a hand over her shoulder, making a beeline for the door.
The curses behind her stopped as Erik turned to watch her go. "Wait…where are you going!" he shouted, the sharpness in his tone fading slightly.
"When you can conduct yourself like a gentleman then I will listen to you. Until then you had better steer clear of me, or you will get a tanning like nothing you have had in your life!" she called without looking back.
"What? No wait…I didn't mean to…"
Picking up her pace, she hardened herself against the new pleading note which had entered his voice. "I will not be shrieked at! I will not be treated like your personal whipping boy!" Before Erik had the chance to say anything else, before he could apologize, Brielle broke out into a run, leaving him to his own devices. Don't look back…don't look back…God knows I love him but I cannot condone such behavior…I cannot show him how much he scares me when he is like that. Pounding down the endless hallways that made up the backstage area of the Opera, Brielle raced her own galloping heart.
Passing several groups of people, she didn't even see Meg and Christine or Madame Giry and Aria until after she had passed them. Meg called out after her, but she couldn't bring herself to stop and explain her odd behavior as she continued to run at a breakneck speed. Finally throwing herself against the door to her room, she fumbled to stick the key into the lock. Pulling the door open, she stumbled inside and sat down upon her bed. It is over…what if it is over? Maybe the death card I drew wasn't for Carlotta…what if the ending was for me?
The horrifying reality of that thought had her covering her face in despair. Please…please….don't let it be over. Unbidden the words she had read to Erik only half an hour earlier floated up within her mind, taunting her with their upbeat certainty. Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds…or bends with the removed to remove…no it is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken…Turning to bury her face in her pillow she silently shook her head.
"If only things were so certain in real life," she breathed. "An ever fixed mark…please…please…"