Chapter Thirty-one

"One should die rather than be betrayed. There is no deceit in death. It delivers precisely what it has promised. Betrayal though…betrayal is the willful slaughter of hope. -Steven Dietz

Looking at the woman before him was like taking a look into the past, a past where everything had been turned upside down. Erik blinked a few times to make sure that what he was seeing was real. There she was, in that same white lace dressing gown, her dark hair in loose curls, her brown eyes gazing up at him with a look of wonder. She seemed so innocent, trusting, and a little afraid. He didn't know what he felt.

"What are you doing here?" was all he could say. Even he, an outcast of traditional society, knew it was the height of impropriety for her to have come here at this hour of the night.

She just stared at him, and though looking at her pained him and made him afraid, he could not tear himself away from her gaze. His thoughts raced wildly along with his pulse, and he realized that what happened in the next few moments could change the course of everything. In the midst of this his mind went to Alana. Everything had descended into a fog. He didn't know what he wanted, and he didn't know what to do.

"I saw you tonight from across the ballroom," Christine said. "I've been wanting to speak to you."

Erik swallowed. "What do you mean? After the last time..."

"I know what happened the last time I saw you," she interrupted, breathless. "but you don't know how I felt after you left."

What is happening here? He thought. He still could not find the words.

"I saw you escape, but you were hurt so badly, and I was afraid you would die in the street somewhere, or that someone would find you...turn you in, or finish you off themselves. Not knowing what would happen to you was more than I could bear, and then when I saw you tonight, I couldn't believe it. You were alive and well, and not only that, you seemed more alive than ever before."

Though it was mostly confusion that floated around in his mind, Erik felt a twinge of anger. "Do you mean to say, then, that you care about me?"

She blinked, and then she smiled at him. "Of course I do." Then she looked down, guilt spreading across her face. "I know some of the things I've done don't exactly make that clear..."

"They don't," Erik said coldly, remembering the shame he'd felt when she'd pulled his mask off in front of everyone, the agony he'd felt as she placed the ring in his hands and left him. Could he really forgive such things? She'd caused him so much pain, and just an hour before he'd finally felt freedom from that pain. Yet now he could feel something creeping up inside of him, something cold and dark and fierce. That old friend and enemy, who had everything under his control.

"But I'm so, so sorry for everything. I was wrong about all of it." Her eyes darted nervously from the right to the left. "It's not safe to stay and talk here. Come with me. I know a place where no one will find us." She extended a hand to him.

Erik backed up a step. "Why should I trust you?" His voice was just a whisper.

"Have you forgotten your Angel?" She echoed the sad, desperate question he had once asked her. "I will never do anything to hurt you, ever again," she said softly. "You're my master, my teacher, my angel of music."

"You know I am no angel," said Erik bitterly.

"You are to me." Christine took his hand, and for some reason, he didn't let go. "Now come...please."

Go, a voice whispered and shouted to him. Go.

And he went.

He followed her down the stairs and through the opulent house, her hand in his. It was so much like their first descent underground months ago, only this time, the roles had reversed. He was not completely trusting, but something was pulling him along. Whatever happened next, it was meant to be, and he was not afraid. Whatever happened, he could handle it. He was strong, he was intelligent, he was unstoppable. He could be wounded, but he could never be defeated.

Wordlessly, Christine led Erik out a door and outside the chateau, glancing behind her at him, as if making sure that he was actually there following her. They passed through a grove of trees and came into a clearing. A river ran through it, the water rushing in currents across sharp rocks. The moon, half covered by darkness, was reflected in the water.

"Well, here we are," she said as they came to a halt. "The river is beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes." Erik glanced around the clearing. The trees grew around them like a wall, a chill blowing through the leaves, sending some of them floating down from their branches. Summer was coming to an end. "Why have you brought me here?"

Christine gazed wide-eyed at him. "Don't you know? Why else would I have brought you here?" She held his hand tighter. "When I saw you last, you asked me to come away with you. I denied you then. But I'm ready now. I've decided. I want to be with you."

Erik dropped her hand as if it were on fire. Suddenly he'd become numb all over. He stepped back, staring at her, his heart pounding in his ears. Who is this woman? Part of him didn't recognize her. The words coming out of her mouth sounded so foreign, but there was a look in her eyes that was not completely unfamiliar. "What? What are you talking about...what? I don't understand..."

"You don't have to." Christine moved closer, reached up and touched his cheek.

At her touch he flinched and backed away again. "You left me. You chose the Vicomte." He felt anger surging up inside of him. "You're lying." Part of him screamed at him for saying it, but the other part felt it to be true. "You're lying!" he shouted.

Christine cringed before him, her lips quivering. "No...no, I'm telling the truth. Come, look! Behind the tall grass." She hurried down to the banks of the river and parted the high blades of grass. There by the bank was a small boat. "We can leave, now. Sail off down the river. No one will be able to find us."

Erik sank to his knees, covering his face with his hands, overcome by the conflicting emotions inside him. Fool! Go with her! This is everything you've ever wanted. Now's your chance. Seize hold of it!

"Angel?"

He let his hands fall away and gazed at her. She seemed to be full of emotion as well. This truly was everything he'd wanted...Christine standing before him, asking him to go away with her. Choosing him, not Raoul.

Everything I ever wanted!

"Angel?"

But I don't want it anymore...

"Christine, is this truly what you want?"

"Yes, of course. I want to make you happy."

He swallowed. "But that's just it, Christine. I am happy."

Her lips parted and a stunned expression came across her face.

"Not so long ago, if you had come to me like this, I would have gone with you, without a second thought. But now...something's different."

"What's different?" Christine's eyes darted back and forth around the clearing, almost like she was searching for something.

"I've met someone. I've known her for a while, but it took me a long time to realize something about her . She knows me. She trusts me. And she cares about me. She's been the best friend I've ever had and...and I think that I love her."

There. He'd said it. All at once the chill and the numbness faded away, and he was filled with joyous contentment and warmth. If only she had been here in Christine's place, to hear him say it...

Christine stared at him in disbelief. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, Erik heard a man's voice speak out in the clearing.

"How touching."

He spun around, and there was the Vicomte de Chagny, who had appeared out of nowhere from between the trees.

"I'm proud of you. You've learned to move on from Christine. I don't think any of us saw that coming. You certainly didn't, did you my dear?" Christine ran to her husband's side and wrapped her arms around him, her eyes suddenly filling with tears.

"What is this?" Erik snarled. "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," said Raoul cheerfully. He looked almost giddy. "But I have a friend who's just...desperate to meet you."

"What?" Erik was confused, but he knew that whatever was happening, it was going in a strange, dangerous direction. All of his senses were on edge, and he was ready to do whatever he had to do. He reached for his sword, but his hands touched nothing. He realized with horror that he had left his weapon in his room at the chateau.

"May I introduce my closest friend, Comte Damien de Bellamy."

Then the young dark-haired man appeared from within the grove of trees. "Ah, Monsieur Erik. Raoul, I'm afraid you're mistaken. Erik and I have already been acquainted. He was one of my honored guests at the ball."

"What is this?" Erik demanded again, looking between Christine and the two men.

"I didn't get a chance to speak to you as I would have wished during the ball," Damien said. "You and I go back a bit longer than you might know, and I would like to reminisce. Wouldn't you?"

"What are you talking about?" Erik's whole body was tense, ready to fight or disappear into the night if he had to.

"Oh come now, surely you must remember." The Comte's voice had a cryptic edge. "Last winter? The first performance of your own spectacular opera, Don Juan Triumphant. We were both there."

Erik felt sick to his stomach as he remembered that night.

"I was sitting very near the front, with my younger brother," Damien continued. "It was a good show. You gave a brilliant performance, I must say. But I have a few critiques to give. Why did you let your leading lady remove that mask?" He gestured to the distraught-looking Christine. "The sight of your face gave my brother a terrible fright. He was just a child, after all. The entire audience was horrified. And your choice to send that chandelier come crashing down? What were you thinking?"

Erik didn't answer.

Damien stepped closer. His expression had darkened terribly, and his eyes had gone almost black. "Were you thinking about my brother? Were you thinking about anyone? Or were you only thinking of yourself, and how you wanted to punish everyone for seeing the hideousness of the face you tried and failed to hide?"

Rage and fear rose up inside of Erik. He lunged at Damien, seizing him by the shoulders. The Comte stood still, looking up fearlessly into Erik's face, his eyes full of hatred. "You killed my brother, you heartless, worthless bastard."

In shock, Erik suddenly let go of him, pushing him away. "What?"

"You brought the chandelier down. It nearly killed me. There was glass in my skin, burns on my body. I came out alive. But Avery didn't. He was crushed to death, and burned. You killed him."

Then the guilt came. Another dead...I didn't know...I killed another...a child, just a child...what have I done?

He met Damien's gaze. "I didn't know..."

"That doesn't change a thing. You still killed him." The Comte's voice was cold. "And you're going to pay."

There was silence, nothing but the sound of the rushing river, and Christine, who had begun sobbing as Raoul tried hopelessly to console her. Fear filled Erik, and he knew he could not stay. He turned, and dashed for the trees.

Then, all of a sudden, a wall of men appeared from the woods. Before Erik could react, he'd been seized by the arms. He kicked and thrashed wildly, in desperate confusion and will to escape, like an animal in a trap. He heard some of the men shout in pain and fall back, and then he was free for a blissful moment. He was going to escape, go back to Alana, and leave this place and the wicked memories and haunting guilt forever.

But he felt several pairs of strong arms grabbing hold of him again. He crashed to the ground under the weight of five men, all the breath knocked out of him. Then he was pulled back to his feet, his arms tightly pinioned behind him. Breathing heavily, he looked up into the face of one of the men, and his heart nearly stopped.

"And so, we meet again, Devil's Child."

"Emilian." Erik's voice was hardly a whisper. As he looked into the other man's face, he was filled with a primal terror and hatred that brought him back to the wretched days of his childhood. He was just a boy again, staring into the face of one of his tormentors.

What is this? Reality or nightmare?

"Don't look at me like that, Devil's Child, not when there's so much fun still to be had." Emilian flashed a smile that made Erik want to strangle and kill him right then. He struggled to break free of his captors, but there were too many of them. Emilian turned to Damien. "What would you have me and the men do, my Lord?"

The Comte folded his arms. "Bring him forward."

The men dragged Erik closer to the Comte de Bellamy until they were standing face to face. "And now, my Lord?" Emilian asked.

Damien smiled, his expression strangely warm and peaceful. "Let him go."

"What?" The gypsy man stared at him unbelieving.

"Let him go."

And then Erik was free. He stood there, frozen, not knowing whether to fight or to turn and run.

"I think I've had a change of heart," Damien said calmly. "I confess, I had planned to wreak a terrible vengeance upon you, Erik, but now, I'm not so sure that's what I'm going to do." He stared directly into Erik's eyes, his own unreadable. "You've suffered enough, haven't you? You've had a hard life. Yes, Alana has told me some of your troubles. It would be cruel of me to inflict even more pain upon you. So I've made a decision. I'm going to let you go free."

Erik looked at him in utter shock and confusion.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" The Comte motioned for him to leave. "Get out of here. Leave this estate now, before I change my mind, or my men decide to take their own course of action. They all have their own reasons for wanting to see you punished, and I wouldn't test them. Or me. Leave."

Erik didn't know what was happening. He took a step back, slowly, but he didn't understand what the Comte had said. He had spoken convincingly, but there was something strange about his words.

"I said leave! Get out of here!" Damien shouted. "You have my word, we will not do anything to hurt you! Now go! Go!"

Erik walked backwards toward the trees, eying everyone in the clearing with suspicion. They stood unmoving, regarding him calmly.

Then, finally, he turned to disappear into the grove.

And then, his back exploded.

There was a deafening crack like a roar of thunder, and a woman's scream. He felt himself falling to the ground, crashing face first into the grass. He looked up and behind him, feeling something warm and wet seeping into his clothes. There, across the clearing, stood the Comte de Bellamy. He was holding a smoking revolver, and he was laughing.