Chapter Seven - The Harm Done
It was a tireless night – she had barely slept a wink. Christine begged Angelique to stay with her in the room for fear of being alone, to which Angelique surrendered. She sat on the lounge, humming lullabies until the girl finally fell asleep. However, that did not make it any easier for Angelique to earn any rest. She was frantic despite her cool exterior, wondering about the Daroga, Madame Giry and the girls, and fearful that the de Chagnys would figure out where they were and search them out. The last thing she wanted was to get this volatile man infuriated – he was ready to kill at a moment's notice, of that she was quite certain.
After several hours of restlessness, constantly drifting off and nodding in and out of sleep, she finally forced herself up and went for the door. Checking the hallway and satisfied that there was no one around, she quickly scribbled a note on Christine's vanity, only to find another already in place. The writer had used red ink and scratched a hasty message, saying that he would gather her belongings for her stay.
"Erik," she murmured, letting her fingers run over the parchment. "He must have came in when I dozed off…" Placing her note with his, she exited the room and shut the door before running into hers, giving a sigh of relief. Walking to the wardrobe, she was surprised to find a simple spare gown hanging inside. Grateful for the tiny convenience, she hurried to the bathing room and started a bath. Peeling her clothes off of her body, she made a face as she realized how stiff her dress was, and the smell it had acquired from being soaked and worn overnight. Tossing the rags aside, she slide into the tub and gave a sigh of relief. Running her fingers over the warm water lazily, she reveled in the feel of the delicious warmth and the fragrance of the soaps at her disposal. She couldn't remember the last time she had been able to enjoy herself, let alone bathe.
Once she had cleansed herself, she got dressed and combed through her matted locks, wincing as she fought through the knots. At long last, she ran her fingers through her hair, a smile appearing on her face as she began to braid it. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she exited the room and checked on Christine once again. Seeing that she was still sleeping, she left her to rest, exploring her new surroundings.
Entering the parlor, she looked at each door, contemplating which one could possibly lead to the kitchen. "Does he even have a kitchen?" she mumbled, reaching for the closest door available. Turning the knob, she poked her head into the room, her brows furrowing as she squinted in the darkness. "What on earth…?"
The room was encased in shadows, with only a lonely candelabra to light it up. To the far corner of the room was a rather grand organ, covered in papers that overflowed to the floor. The wall to her right was covered in a variety of masks, a small wardrobe separating the set of unique faces that Erik undoubtedly wore on numerous occasions. Closest to the door was a desk, also covered with papers that had been written on in red ink. Numerous plumes and quills were in place, along with an ink urn and stacks of melted, burnt to the core. To the left of the door was a stand where a violin had been placed, several stacks of music also gathered upon it. Casting her eyes to the farthest reach of the room, she squinted and took a step inside, unable to believe what she thought she had seen. Her eyes widened at the sight – a coffin. An actual coffin was placed in the room, the lid open to show the satin lining, the exterior glossy in the dim light.
Covering her mouth in shock, she took a step back, her back bumping against someone. A yelp of surprise flew out of her mouth as she spun around and found herself staring up at her masked captor.
"Did you enjoy taking a sneak peak of Erik's home?" he glared down at her accusingly, his pleasant tone of voice only adding to make the situation even more embarrassing than it already was.
"Monsieur, I'm so sorry-!" she began, placing her hand over her heart.
"Oh, no, please. Continue looking about. It is a fascinating room, is it not?" he spoke, a smirk visible through his voice. She stood before him, staring into his eyes, suddenly making him uncomfortable. "Why do you stare at Erik like that-?"
"Pardon, Monsieur le Fantome, but it is extremely difficult to see just what you are thinking with only your eyes showing. To be fair, however, they do say a lot," she commented.
He blinked at her, stunned. "…what are you saying?"
"I'm saying that if you wish to cover your face, that is your choice. However, perhaps you wear a mask that gives you a bit more freedom to actually show what you are feeling-"
He gave a violent, harsh laugh, making her jump. "You wish for Erik to actually show some of his face?" he sneered at her.
"Ah…oui," she nodded slowly, remaining upright in her stance. "…it was just a thought." Her voice lowered a smidge, earning his attention as it happened. "Please forgive me, monsieur. I was trying to find the kitchen."
"Kitchen?" he echoed.
"I'm not sure what hour it is, but I thought I could make breakfast," she explained humbly, self-consciously reaching for her braid and twirling it between her fingers. She could feel his eyes on her as she avoided his gaze, causing her to grip her braid anxiously. She didn't like not being able to see what people were thinking or feeling…it was how she had managed to survive thus far.
"…the kitchen is through that door," he pointed, one long finger elongated from his palm to show her the way. "Also, it's a little past eight thirty in the morning."
She lifted her head, her line of sight reaching the mask. "How did you-?"
"Erik has a pocket watch," he informed her, pulling it out and showing her. It was a lovely trinket, crafted in gold with delicate engravings and embellishments, ticking merrily.
"Oh…thank you," she said, a smile appearing on her lips. "I…I truly am very sorry about entering your room. Please excuse me."
Erik watched her scoot past him, his hand unconsciously moving to reach out and touch her shoulder. He stopped himself in time, opening his mouth from behind his mask and saying, "Erik has just returned from the Opera House…he brought some of Christine's belongings, but…Erik is afraid he didn't find anything of yours…with the exception of your basket. Erik did manage to bring that."
Her eyes lit up at the mention of the little, hole-filled basket, making his stomach flop. "Merci. That's really all I have."
"Yes, Erik remembers. You came in with that basket and a cloak in dire need of repair," he noted, watching her cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Ah…Erik is sorry-"
"It's quite all right," she shook her head with a meek smile. "To be honest, I hadn't a single thought about its state, nor the time to fix it. Perhaps I'll have time to do so now." Curtsying to him, she began to turn away once more, until he called out again, surprising her.
"Did you mean it?" he asked, his voice somewhat strained as he managed to string the sentence together.
"Mean what?" she asked, facing him once more.
"…wearing a different mask?"
The corners of her mouth twitched upward, her eyes showing no signs of deceit or treachery – only kindness and warmth. "I think it would be better for everyone. You would have more freedom for your face, and something much more comfortable to wear, and Christine and I can actually make out whether you are happy or upset."
"It would be better off for everyone if this face did not exist," he scowled beneath his hiding place. "Christine would not wish to see anything about my face after…after last night." He placed one hand on his forehead woefully, shaking his head sadly and heaving a deep sigh. "…but you ask that Erik change his mask, despite seeing him…why?"
"I gave you my reasons," she shrugged, tugging at her braid before releasing it and interlocking her fingers together. "…and…and it pains me."
He stared, not blinking for an instant at her.
"…please don't do that," she pleaded, biting her lip as she fought not to squirm under his watch. "It pains me, monsieur, that your face be the reason why your talents go unappreciated. I cannot lie, and I hope you can forgive me, your face is…frightening." He grunted at the comment but didn't move, his eyes boring holes into a nearby chair. "But that you should suffer alone because of it and not have someone to turn to…it pains me. I'm certain I have not endured the suffering you have gone through, but I know what it is like to be…abandoned…abused…" Her voice stopped suddenly, choking momentarily as her eyes began to sting with water. Hastily, she wiped her tears away and bowed her head so that he might not see her state. "Excuse me," she whispered, running away at once for the kitchen and shutting the door after her.
Erik watched her, a sudden wave of conflicting emotions hitting him with great force. Turning his face, his eyes fell on the wall of masks, his attention drawn to one in particular that he seldom wore. "What plagues that child?" he murmured, an onslaught of questions assaulting him. Entering his darkened solitude, he reached out and let his bony fingers grasp the edge of the mask. "…perhaps…"
~OG~
She was just beginning to pull out the napkins when the door opened. "Good morning, Christine," she smiled politely, moving back to check on the eggs and bacon.
"Good…morning?" she said, the phrase sounding more like a question than and answer. "Oh, my! Did you make all this?"
"Yes," she answered quickly, dicing several fruits before sliding them into a bowl and moving on to remove the meat and eggs from the pan. "I've also made tea. I wasn't sure what everyone would want to eat."
"Wait, 'everyone'?" Christine asked, cocking her head as she let the words wash over her.
"Yes. You, me, and Monsieur Opera Ghost," Angelique nodded, placing the used utensils into the sink.
Christine paled at these words, staring at Angelique as if she had two heads.
"Won't you have a seat in the dining room?" Angelique insisted, motioning towards the chair. Raising her eyes towards the farthest corner of the room where the door to the dining room remained, she added, "Both of you?"
At the mention of the word "both", Christine slowly turned and stared at the corner, her eyes catching sight of an outline. A petrified gasp escaped her mouth as she curled her hands into fists, fighting the urge to screech. Looking away quickly, she gathered her courage and walked quickly, hoping not to converse with her jailor.
Erik said nothing as he watched Christine rush past him, following her at a distance before taking his seat at the head of the table. It had already been set for the most part, with only the food, beverages, and napkins missing. That was soon remedied as Angelique stepped out with the tea tray and placed their napkins in the proper places.
Pouring each member their tea, her attention was suddenly drawn to the Opera Ghost's face. "Oh! You changed it!" she exclaimed, a smile brightening her face. "It's much better, if you don't mind me saying."
His hand immediately went for his mask, his eyes widening at her words. It was a simple white mask, covering everything except his mouth and chin, the start of his hairline now visible as well. He had changed into a clean suit before the meal, as well as the mask, and had not expected such a response from either young woman. "…you think so?"
"Very much," she nodded politely. "It suits you."
"…thank you." He clamped his mouth shut afterwards, seeing how Christine's eyes became large with shock as she looked to and from him and Angelique. He could read her thoughts as though they were an open book: "How could she encourage him to wear something that shows more of his face?! Is she mad?" At this point, he was beginning to wonder whether or not there truly was something wrong with her.
"I'll be back in a moment," she promised, stepping back into the kitchen, leaving Erik and Christine alone.
They avoided their gazes for what felt like years, neither of them touching their tea. Cautiously, Erik raised his eyes and said, "…did you sleep well, Christine?"
She winced at the sound of his voice, making his stomach twist in a knot. Forcefully, she glanced at him and gave a curt nod before staring down at her empty plate.
"Is there anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable?" he asked, his hand rising to cover his mouth as he spoke. It felt strange not having his whole face covered – he almost felt naked without his other mask.
She bit her lip and gave a slight shake of her head, refusing to utter a single word to him.
At long last, Angelique entered the room once again, placing their food before them. Taking her seat, she bowed her head and silently said a prayer before looking up at the two silent companions. "I take it you haven't shared a word since I left?" She noticed how Christine struggled not to fidget in her seat while Erik appeared to cover his mouth in the hopes of not offending or frightening Christine. "…this is going to be harder than I thought."
"Just what exactly did you have in mind, Miss Archambault?" Erik frowned, his hand lowering as he turned his attention to her.
"I simply thought that we all might be able to sit down and talk, like civilized people," she suggested coolly. "Christine, you're acting like a child. We can't leave here, so there's no point in crying about what we can't change-"
"But I don't want to be here!" she burst out, covering her mouth instantly.
"Please, Christine," Erik pleaded, reaching out to her. "You can have anything you like-"
"All I want is to leave!" she cried, recoiling from him at once. "You lie to me, you kidnap me, and then you force me to stay!"
"You saw my face, I had no choice," he growled, his patience wearing thin. "I told you not to touch the mask!"
"You shouldn't have tricked me," she retorted back, tears spilling from her eyes. "You-…you monster!"
"How dare you?!" he roared, rising above them menacingly, his eyes burning as he glared at her.
Leaping from her seat, Angelique ran over and placed herself between them. "That's enough!" she snapped harshly, stunning both parties. "If you're going to act like children, then perhaps I should treat you as such!"
"Impudent girl!" Erik snarled.
"Angelique, how could you?!" Christine cried.
"Enough!" she shouted, silencing them both. Grabbing Christine's plate, she took the girl by the arm and led her away, her brows furrowed in frustration as she did so. Opening the door, she placed the meal on the vanity and turned on her heel.
"Where are you going?" Christine asked, fear filling her once again as the girl started to leave.
"I need to clean up that mess in the kitchen," she answered curtly. "Shut the door after me, won't you?"
"Angelique, how can you be so calm and friendly towards him?! He's keeping us prisoner!" she demanded, her eyes filled with fresh tears. "I thought you were my friend-"
"I am," she insisted, pressing her fingers to her temples. Inhaling deeply, she held her breath and took a moment to cool down before sighing and answering, "Believe me, Christine, I know what it is like to be a prisoner…this is nothing compared to what I've been through. Give him time, and perhaps he will let us go." Having said far too much, she excused herself once again and left for the dining room, leaving Christine to ponder about what she had said.
Shaking her head in discouragement, Angelique opened the door and found Erik slumped in his chair, his head bowed in defeat. "Monsieur…?"
"It's hopeless," he moaned. "She knows how Erik's face looks…she could never love him! He truly is a monster."
Releasing yet another sigh, she walked to his side and, after a moment's hesitation, touched his shoulder comfortingly. His head automatically jerked towards her, his eyes glued on her hand before moving to her face, his lips parted in shock and awe.
"She's only just arrived and it's quite a bit to swallow, monsieur. I am certain that she will forgive you…however, she does have a point." Her brows began to knit together as she realized he was still staring at her, his body stiff. Seeing her hand on his shoulder, she quickly removed it and clasped her hands behind her back. Clearing her throat, she repeated, "She does have a point. Holding her here against her will won't remedy the situation."
"What are you saying?" he asked, his brows furrowing from under his mask, his voice lowering.
Standing firm, she looked him in the eye and stated, "I am saying, monsieur that holding her captive is wrong. Surely, you can trust her to keep your secret-"
"You don't understand anything, child," he snapped, rising once more to his full height and towering over her, his shadow filling up the room. He reminded her of a snake – tall, thin, imposing, with hypnotic eyes that she found she could not look away from, his voice alluring, even when he was furious. "If Erik lets her go, she shall never return! Erik will never see her again-!"
"But doesn't her happiness mean anything to you?!" she argued, startling him as she took a step forward and fought to reason with him. "If you truly love her as you claim you do, let her go, and perhaps your efforts will be rewarded-"
"Ah, but there is that key word, my dear. 'Perhaps'." His lips curled into a dark smile, a chuckle escaping him as he shook his head. "No…it is best to keep her here, and she will come to love Erik little by little."
"Don't you see that you're hurting her and yourself?!" she stomped her foot, absolutely frustrated with his thoughts and actions. "You are perhaps the most stubborn, careless man I've ever met-!"
"Silence!" he boomed, sending her reeling back several steps. He glared down at her as she gawked back at him, his temper already on fire. "Erik does not take orders from anyone…much less a girl who knows nothing about him, nothing about what he has suffered…go and be a good maid now, clean the kitchen, throw away this swill!" His eyes narrowed at her as he took another step towards her, adding with a harsh smile, "Scrub the floors if you are so concerned about keeping the place tidy, girl-"
Her hands were upon him in second, sending him back with a powerful shove. He wobbled, stunned by the action, and opened his mouth to berate her yet again when he saw something he had never seen since she had entered the Palais Garnier – tears. True, she wept when she first came in and fell asleep, but these were tears he was extremely familiar with – hurt, suffering, pain, humiliation, scars, and anger.
"Don't you dare talk to me like that," Angelique said hotly, her voice trembling as large droplets broke free and stained her face. "I will not be a slave again – I won't!" Covering her face, she bolted out of the room like a madwoman, uncontrollable sobs filling the air, fading out once she slammed the door to her room.
Erik remained perfectly still, his mind spinning from confusion and shock at her reaction. "…Erik…has made Angelique cry…and not from his face…" A hot, terrible wave washed over him from within, a feeling he was rather unused to – shame. He was ashamed of his face, of course, but he had never felt shame for anything he did or said to anyone, not even tricking Christine into thinking he was the angel her father promise. Yet, here it was, sliding throughout his veins as he realized that something terrible had happened to her, something that hurt her so much that even she, so firm and unyielding, so supportive to both him and Christine, had broken and actually wept. She wept, not from his face, but from his words. Reaching up, he touched his face, his fingertips landing upon his exposed lips. "Perhaps…Erik is a different form of monster," he whispered, his gaze wandering towards the door, his mind on the auburn-haired seamstress whose stormy eyes now shed her own sad, salty rain.