A/N: Slightly longer note coming up, bear with me.
First of all, apologies for the late update. I hardly managed any writing last week and then yesterday the servers on here were really slow so I wasn't able to update either. Glad it's working now!
Secondly, I've decided to split this story into two parts. It's turning out really long and I'd rather take my time and make it sound realistic than rushing it. So to take some pressure off me this part will end somewhere around chapter 18-20 and then the second part will be published as a separate document, giving me a small break in between to regroup and finalise some ideas.
Thirdly, LeticiaMaree you absolute star! Thanks for reading it all again (I've been doing the same, actually, to make sure I'm staying on top of both their motivations), your feedback is much appreciated. The mention of the de Chagny notes was cryptic on purpose. You'll get to read what Christine wrote in this chapter and later on there'll be more explanation as to how Julianne got it - much like the information about her husband and his death I'm trying not to show everything at once. :) Erik's motivation for kidnapping Julianne was definitely because she meddled too much and it angered him. Completely take your feedback about the explanation of "Erik" onboard, you're right, thank you!
I'm gonna try my best to focus more on the mask reveal and the kiss which is another reason for splitting this into two parts. They'll need time.
Anyway, thank you all for reading and reviewing and a quick shoutout to AvengingMisfit, DarknessLight1944,Valkirya the Hakuouki and perpetualnotion for hitting the follow button. On with the story!
Chapter 11:
Sleep had claimed her several times that night despite her desperate attempts to stay awake. But it was an uneasy sleep she had fallen into, one inspired by physical exhaustion rather than feelings of actual safety. Her thoughts didn't slow down and instead created a stream of strange dreams from which she startled awake time and time again, when a particular sound was loud enough to pierce through the mist that otherwise surrounded her brain.
She could hardly remember how many dazed seconds she had spent peering into the dark around her, trying to discern the source of the noise. But most of the time her attempts were met by silence until now, when it was very clearly a man's voice she heard. He was angrily cursing something, yet he sounded far less threatening than a few whispered words from her captor had done.
She listened intently, lifted her head only marginally so that her eyes could peek out from behind the curtain of dark hair that had tumbled out of its restraints. Behind the wall that separated them she could hear the man raging and calling out for the ghost, but as desperate as she was to see him, to ascertain whether he was an accomplice or possibly the key to her freedom, the wall that she now realised was truly a mirror, kept stoically showing her her own frightened reflection.
Slowly, she lowered her head again and tried to breathe calm into her body, a monumental task since all of her muscles seemed tense and poised, ready to make her leap off the floor should the occasion arise. But rather than being offered a window of opportunity, she was treated to a strange conversation between the two men that mentioned people and places meaningless to her. But at least the other man, Daroga, appeared not to condone the murder. Perhaps, if only she dared to make her presence known, he would help her. Or perhaps the ghost would simply kill them both. He did not seem to possess enough of a conscience to act otherwise.
So she remained on the floor, every part of her frightened and cramped up in pain, holding her breath as the conversation dwindled, footsteps faded away and a suffocating silence fell all around her. She hardly dared to breathe now, squeezed her eyes shut and waited. For the longest time nothing happened. She was trapped in a vacuum of her own racing heartbeat and the infinite spectrum of terrible scenarios. It was remarkable that she somehow managed to keep breathing.
"How curious you are."
His voice was close, too close, like an intimate touch administered without consent.
"Did you not wish to run?"
Her chest expanded painfully and her next intake of air sounded more like a gulp, or a groan or a gag.
"Perhaps you know it is futile. Or perhaps you hope to outsmart me?"
Menacing; she had never known a voice to cut like his.
"Please, Monsieur, you have me locked up. Do not taunt me as well."
The last time she had heard herself reduced to such pleading and weakness had been at Édouard's bedside; now life was also slipping through her fingers.
When he didn't respond, she somehow found the strength to tilt her head up and look at him, mere inches away from her that he was. The mask he wore today was black and cold, revealing even less of his face than the white one had done. Looking at it was chilling and yet she didn't need to see his mouth to know that her remark had somehow hit him. His strange, amber eyes were brimming over with a mixture of fear, sadness and recollection. And even though he was looking directly at her, she knew that he did not see.
"Forgive my manners." His answer came stiffly and sounded like a recitation of something that had been drummed into him a long time ago. "It's been a while since I last entertained guests. You must be hungry."
Although the thought of food repulsed her, she was too disconcerted by his strange turn in behaviour to refuse, and when she dragged herself to her feet, he nodded in approval and walked back into the room from which he had emerged.
She staggered after him, her stomach pinching angrily in protest, her vision swimming from time to time while the man before her appeared to treat the rubble as if it was a clear corridor, as if nothing extraordinary was blocking his path.
Madame Doucet,
I hope you will forgive my husband's previous correspondence. He continues to fear for my safety and, therefore, his dismissive words truly just mask his concern and love for me. But he could never hold on to a secret, at least he could not keep one from me, not even as a boy and so the minute his letter had left the estate, he confessed to intercepting my letters and answering on my behalf.
The man you speak of, Erik, has caused us great grievances in the past, as I am certain you're aware of by now, and we had hoped to leave him behind in France. But truthfully, I feel his presence wherever I go and perhaps the same could be said for my husband. Be that however it may, neither one of us had expected to be confronted with him as openly as you have done in your letter. Perhaps we had both believed him dead by now.
I fully appreciate your concern and the difficulty of the situation you are faced with, but I fear I am unable to divulge any more details than those, I understand, Madame Giry has already chosen to convey. Our relationship was complicated and I fear I'd be doing my loving husband, as well as my sweet son, a great injustice should I speak of it again. It would be a terrible betrayal of their trust and kindness and I do care for them greatly.
Know it will be very difficult to oppose him, for if he is truly determined he will let nothing stand in his way. I would urge you to follow his wishes but I can see why they would harm the Opera and why your personal entanglements make you equally determined to stand your ground. It worries me that he would do anything so destructive, for if there is one thing he loved deeply it was his creation, his opera house.
Erik is a peculiar man, holding all this world's contradictions within him. He is a spectre as much as he is of flesh and blood, able to make you see a world you might otherwise not have believed possible. He is a scholar, a musician and possesses an astounding intellect. He loves passionately and fully, crosses boundaries he is not even aware of since he so often seems incapable to distinguish between right and wrong. Yet do not mistake me, he has a strange moral code which he follows to the letter. You must conduct yourself with grace and dignity around him and never dare to be discourteous for he shall fly into a terrible rage! But do not let his strength and anger frighten and deceive you, he is a sick and lonely man, desperate to be at peace. And for all the gifts he has given me, for everything he has allowed me to see, I just as desperately wish for him to realise his dreams.
Now, I have said entirely too much and I must apologise once more for being unable to help you further. I pray you'll be careful and safe, Madame. I am certain your husband is watching over you as mine is watching over me.
With much love,
Christine de Chagny
"Do take a seat while I prepare another cup of tea. I must admit I don't have much else available at present though I shall remedy that, of course."
He gestured for her to sit on the sofa and she followed dutifully, as per the Vicomtesse's instructions, very cautious not to offend him. As she watched him prepare the drink, she thought him absolutely mad. Nothing about him screamed of the remarkable genius that had been described in the letter and for a moment, she doubted the woman's own sanity. Lord knows how the horrors she'd had to face had affected her.
"Don't mistake my hospitality for weakness, Madame," he suddenly spoke again and turned around to present her with a cup of tea, "you are still very much a prisoner. But, as you rightly pointed out, there is no need for me to mock you or treat you with the disrespect you have shown me in the past month."
She hurriedly lowered her eyes to her lap, unable to withstand his burning gaze. She had been a fool to underestimate him when truly he was so palpably angry.
"You are quite silent now, Madame, but thankfully that is a welcome change. If you remember, all I ever asked for was silence!"
His furious bellows bounded off the walls around them and made her shrink back against the sofa, the tea cup chattering noisily on its saucer. Once again she recalled the contents of the letter and realised with fear and dismay that she had inadvertently broken the one thing Erik had most been hoping for: peace.
"Bread and preserves will be satisfactory no doubt."
He placed both items as well as a blunt knife on the ground in front of her and then righted himself with one swift, elegant move.
"Now I must take my leave and have a quick, quiet word with Monsieur Moreau. But do not fret, I shall return with a present for you as well. Wouldn't want the daroga to suspect I wasn't treating you well now would we?"
She swallowed down a gulp of tea with great difficulty and shook her head. He seemed to snatch the felt hat out of thin air and directed his steps towards the hole in the wall that led to the boat.
"Upon my return I expect you to be out of my sight, Madame."
His whispered words in her ear startled her so much that she spilled scalding hot tea all over herself yet she did not dare curse or yelp since any sound might result in punishment. Biting her lips, she let the tears cool her cheeks and once she'd set down the cup, she lifted up her dark skirts that clung stubbornly to her legs.
Balancing hope and despair was becoming increasingly exhausting and at that moment she was longing for it all to stop. She wanted nothing more than go back to being Monsieur Doucet's widow, restricted to her life in the Rue de Vaugirard, ignorant and cloaked in grief and not responsible for anything at all.
She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she barely registered the feline that first sniffed her bread curiously and then pressed her soft body against her legs. Only when the cat kept up her stubborn search for attention did she notice her, gasping softly in surprise.
"Bonjour," she whispered, her voice sounding less raw thanks to the small amount of tea she had consumed.
But the feline barely lifted her head to acknowledge her presence and instead kept pressing herself against her legs. Once more Julianne realised that it was much easier to think of him as a ghost or a murderer, somebody cold and unfeeling and certainly not a man who would care for a kitten. But here the cat was, wearing a large jewel on her collar, a clear sign that the masked stranger held great affection for her.
"You will keep me company, won't you?" Julianne asked, rising unsteadily to her feet.
A long time ago, when she'd still been a girl, she would've taken great curiosity exploring the scattered, half-broken belongings that lay everywhere but now she was relieved to desert this room with her life intact.
She scooped up her tea cup, the bread and preserves and knife and carefully made her way back to the room she had slept in, glancing over her shoulder occasionally to see if the cat was following her. She was in desperate need of comfort and she was willing to accept it in any shape or size.