Through The Dark
In honor of Zayn Malik departing from One Direction, this chapter is for all the Directioners, heart broken and overwhelmed by his sudden decision. We will miss you and always keep you in our hearts. Best of luck, Zayn.
"Christine, I love you."
There, Erik stood alone in the middle of the brand new ballet studio. He swore he could hear his heart beat echoing off of the freshly painted walls. Everything he had loved and learned to love, was no more than a passing wind as the door slammed shut behind her.
Her.
The Composer had searched a lifetime for her and finally, he believed that in the next time lifetime, he would spending it next to her. He was quickly corrected when all he could grasp onto was the scent of her perfume that lingered in the empty room, suffocating The Composer in an intolerable pain. The only thought he could muster up was, "At least she has the ring." The Composer's mind raced with possible solutions to his growing problem, but unfortunately, he found none. None at all.
The only thing he found was an empty mansion and a broken soul, alive no more.
Two Days Later
4:27am
"Hello? Hello? Christine, is that you? Hello?" The Composer turned away from the black and white keys of his grand piano, standing to his feet in a rush of emotions. "Christine? Christine, can you hear me? Hello?"
Silence.
"Christine, answer me! Christine, can't you hear me?" Erik was shouting into the phone, scaring himself into a frenzy. "Please, Christine, answer me..." Defeated, The Composer sat down on the stool once again, clinging his phone as close to his ear as he could. Soon, he was interrupted by the broke voice on the other side of the phone.
"Erik... E-Erik..." Her voice was meek, staggered. "Erik... Erik, are you... Are you there?" Little did The Composer know that she was completely shaken in her own skin.
"Yes! Yes, Christine, I am here! I'll always be here..." The Composer was stood on his feet again. "Christine, what's wrong? Tell me what's wrong!"
"I need your help, Erik. I need your help, I need it... I need your help..." Christine Daaé had gone missing from Erik's sight and care two days ago. This was hardly a good sign for The Composer. "I need your help, Erik. I need your help..." As the ballet dancer kept repeating herself, Erik had already rushed up towards the garage, grabbing any type of car keys he could find. Evidently, he grabbed the keys to his Range Rover - hardly, a bad choice.
"Yes, Yes, Christine! I'm coming to help you. Where are you? Where are you, Christine?" As Erik got into the driver's seat of his car, he placed the phone on speaker, hoping he could multitask. "Christine, tell me where you are." His harsh voice pierced the inside of his car, shaking the windows.
"I... I can't tell you where I am, Erik." Christine's voice had grown more anxious, more frightened. "Please, Erik... I need your help."
"What? Why can't you tell me where you are?" Erik seethed through his teeth as he started his car. "Christine, are you injured? Are you alone? Christine, where are you?" As Erik furiously drove out of his garage and down the long driveway, he could only imagine the worst happening to his Christine.
"They're coming back, Erik. I can't tell you where I am... They're coming back for me..." Christine trailed off into incoherent nonsense, babbling on about four men returning to her mysterious location. "I have to go... I have to go before they see me..."
"Christine Elissa, don't you dare hang up on me!" The Composer was yelling at his phone, as if it would changed anything about this situation. "Christine, don't hang up on me! I'm coming to get you, but you have to tell me where you are."
"They're here... They're here!" Christine's voice had turned into pure terror. "I have to go, Erik! I have to-"
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING TO?" Soon, an unfamiliar, muffled voice entered the conversation from afar. Erik's eyes widened as aggression took over his senses. "PUT THAT PHONE DOWN, SLUT OR I'LL-"
Immediately, Erik rushed towards the nearest police station, but in the back of his mind, he knew very well that they probably wouldn't help him. Once inside, The Composer ran to the front desk and pounded on the tiny bell incessantly.
"Hey, hey, what'd the bell ever do to you?" The blond haired officer approached the counter, rubbing his head in annoyance. "How can I be of service, sir?"
"YOU! You have to find my... My fiancée! She's been abducted and now she's being held hostage!" Erik grabbed his phone from his pocket, shoving it into the officer's space. "This number - She called from this number!"
"Whoa, Whoa... Okay, sir. I'm going to need you to file a missing person's report and then we'll need you to-"
"THERE IS NO TIME FOR FILLING OUT PAPERS!" Erik's loud voice boomed through the police station, once again. "She's been missing for two days and I've just received this call! Now, where is your supervisor! Surely, they will be more helpful than you are, sir."
"She's not in right now, but sir, I'm going to need you to calm down, please-" Interrupted, the officer turned towards the door that led to the back of the station, only to see an older woman appear.
"Go take a nap or something, Matthews." The woman rolled her eyes as she approached the counter. "I'm sorry, he's new to the night shift." The female officer adjusted her uniform, pulling out a notepad and pen from the desk. "What can I help you with, sir?"
"My fiancée, she's missing and I Just got a call from her abductors. Please, please, you have to help me. I love her!" The Composer once again shoved his cell phone in her face and courteously, the female officer grabbed it and pointed to the unknown phone number. "Yes, that one! That's number, can't you track it or something?" Erik was begging at this point. "Please, you have to help me..."
"Okay, sir. We'll need to keep your phone here and if you'll follow me to the back, we'll have a sketch artist muster up a sketch of your fiancée." The female officer opening the counter, flipping it over and allowing Erik to step behind it. Holding the pen in her left hand, the female officer flipped to a blank page of her note pad. "Alright, sir. I'll need both of your names."
"My name is Erik Lantier. That's L-a-n-t-i-e-r." Erik followed beside the officer, making certain she was writing down everything correctly. "Her name, my fiancée's name, is Christine Daaé. That's D-a-a-e." The female officer nodded, marking down the names as he spoke to her. "She's about five foot three, chocolate brown curls down to her lower back... Green eyes..." He was mumbling now.
"Does she have any family?" Erik shook his head.
"No, I am her only family. She was orphaned as a child and given to a girl's home." The female officer nodded.
"You say she's your fiancée, correct?" Erik didn't have time for stupid questions. "And how old are the both of you?"
"I am thirty-five. She is... 19. She will be twenty this December." Erik knew he shouldn't have been ashamed of their age difference, but he couldn't help thinking of the young, curly headed student sitting in the back of his class.
"Oh... Alright..." The female officer nodded, marking down the ages. "At least it's legal."
"Excuse me?" The female officer shook her head. "She was my student, but now she is my fiancée."
"I understand, sir."
"I live on 1905 Sorelli Avenue. It's a gated community, just twenty minutes from the city." The female officer suddenly stopped in her trail, pausing to glance at The Composer.
"Okay, Mr. Lantier, the sketch artist is right this way. Please, take your time and please, be as detailed as you can. I'll take your phone to the man who deals with that kind of stuff and we'll keep you updated, alright?"
Erik softly nodded as he walked down the quiet hallway. Only thoughts of his Christine filled his mind. He imagined the worst of things happening to her fragile soul, her fragile body. It only added fuel the fire burning brightly inside of him and as the heat filled his veins, he knew at that moment there would be no other option.
He and his Angel will be together once again and until the end, The Composer will gladly become her support through everything and everything. Christine, his Christine, will be beside him once more and no matter the heat of the fire, the depth of the water, Erik Lantier will get her back from those who took her away from him.
The Composer paced the lobby of the police station, with his hands behind his back and his head hung lowly upon his shoulders. It had been almost five hours since he first arrived to the police station and the only news he received was that the sketch artist will have posters up by nightfall. Erik was furious.
"Mr. Lantier?" The female officer's voice, which Erik had learned her name was Polly, had interrupted his consistent pacing.
"Yes? Yes, have you found her yet? Please, please tell me you have something good to tell me." Polly shrugged and motioned for Erik to join her at the counter.
"Well, we have something to tell you, I can't guarantee it's good, though." Erik nodded. He took anything he could get at this point. "Chester tracked the phone number she had called from, but unfortunately it was a prepaid, purchased at a kiosk in the mall."
"How is that bad? That's great news, isn't it?!" Polly just shrugged again. "What? What's wrong?"
"Well..." The officer sighed. "Your fiancée is not at the location that the phone was last used... But, we got a call - an anonymous tip." Erik nodded again, anxiously waiting for the rest of the news. "The caller told me that they saw a tiny girl, child like with curls, getting dragged into a van..."
"Yes, what else? What else did they see?"
"She was immediately covered with a bag, so we can't really get a clear picture of her on the surveillance, but we'll need you to try your best to identify her with the photo we got." Holding up a photo, Erik snatched it rather viciously from Polly's hands, lifting it up to his face. Moments later, the Composer ran a hand over his head in shock.
"Yes, that's her. That is Christine." Polly's eyes widened. "I know it's her, I would know her anywhere."
"How do you know? How are you sure? The photograph is very blurry-"
"She was a tattoo on her wrist. You can see it in the photograph." Erik pointed to the victim's wrist and lo, a black smudge of ink was across her right wrist. "She just got it, maybe two weeks ago. It... It says, '211.' I know it, Polly. That's Christine." Polly nodded, taking the photo into her possession once more. "Please, you have to find her. You have to find my Christine."
"I know sir, I know. We'll do our best, our very best."
Erik agreed, but he knew that their best was indeed, not the best. Stepping away from the desk, The Composer sighed heavily to himself, reaching inside his pocket. Pulling out a wallet-sized photograph, Erik clutched the old photograph of Christine to his chest. Erik closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He then knew, it would have to be him to get Christine back and safely returned to his care. The Composer stiffened his posture, walking towards the doors of the police station, with only determination in his eyes and achingly painful love in his heart for his Christine.
"Mr. Lantier, Mr. Lantier! Where are you going?" Polly shouted after Erik. Turning his gaze towards the floor, Erik smiled and pushed the doors open, without another word to Polly, only to himself.
"Erik will get you back, Angel... He promises... Oh, he promises to get her back..."