A/N: Thank you so much, phriends! And now…
XIX
.
He twisted his lips in a dry smile, regarding his captive songbird with chill aplomb.
She stood a short distance away, tears clouding large brown eyes that glared at him.
Her mouth was an angry pale line, her hair a wild nest of matted, dark curls all around her slight body that trembled with terrified rage. She hardly depicted the image of what he had in mind for her, but he learned long ago that appearances were often deceiving.
"I have brought you here, mademoiselle, for one purpose and one alone. You will sing for me."
Christine blinked at the absurdity of his proclamation. Not a question, not a request – a bold, outright demand.
"Then you will be sadly disappointed, monsieur. For I cannot sing."
"You lie. I have heard you."
Her mouth dropped open in shock. "You were spying on me?"
"It is hardly considered spying when one sings in a public establishment."
"That is rather a case of splitting hairs. You must have realized I thought myself to be alone…" She frowned and regarded him with narrowed eyes of skepticism. "How is it that you know about the Angel of Music? It was a tale from my mother's homeland, originating from her village. Surely, you could not know of it, unless …"
Not wishing to travel down that tiresome path again, he swiftly put an end to her niggling suspicions. "I stood behind the mirror when you told Mademoiselle Giry of your childhood tale. In your induced state of mind, I presumed you would heed my call. Or to put it more aptly – the Angel of Music's call."
She stuck out her lower lip in a pout. "Is that all you do? Spy on others? Is that why they call you a ghost – wait." She bit the word out as the truth hit her. "Induced? Then you … you drugged my wine?"
"A necessary evil to bring you down here."
She glared at him. "At last we agree on something, monsieur. It was evil."
He nodded in acknowledgement.
She questioned the logic of continuing in this vein – of arguing with a madman.
"So then, Meg works for you? She lured me into your trap?" She felt a hint of disappointment. The girl was somewhat over animated, even a trifle frustrating to follow at times, but Christine had liked her, even hoped that the two of them might become friends one day.
"It was by happenstance that Meg Giry poured the wine. She had no part in the plan to bring you to me. I have never met the young mademoiselle."
"Then how –"
He held up one black-gloved hand. "You pose many questions that I do not care to answer. You wished to know the reason I brought you here. Do you wish to know the rest or should I now bid you adieu?"
She pressed her lips together and gave a short nod.
"You, Mademoiselle Daaé, will be my star, my greatest triumph. I will train you to know all you must in order to perform the lead in the next opera."
She stared at him in incredulous disbelief. "And if I refuse?"
"Then the daylight will become to you only a memory and any voices you hear will be your own – and mine, should I choose to speak." His smile was wicked. "You will never again consort with the rabble who lives above."
"You don't mean to keep me locked away forever!"
"Only if you disagree to the terms I set. Should you prove so unwise, these damp caverns will become your home and you will live the rest of your days in these corridors of darkness," he echoed her greatest fear from childhood, of being without light.
Christine shook her head, trying to make sense of all of this. She was the one with the angelic voice that Meg had spoken of with regard to his note?
"You mean to say that in those few minutes I took the stage, singing rather badly I might add, that you then made the decision to abduct me and force me to become your star?"
"The moment I heard you sing."
"And you expect me to believe that?"
He shrugged. "I often make spontaneous decisions. Rarely am I mistaken, and I do not believe I am mistaken about you. You have a rare gift, a natural quality of tone. A diamond in the rough, in need of being cut and polished to produce the highest sparkle."
She regarded him without a change of expression, not won over by his poetic turn of phrase. Years ago, she had been admired for her talent by many, a vicomte, barons, even a duke. But only one man's praise had ever truly mattered.
"And if I do sing?" She had no intention of singing for this monster, but wished to know the entirety of his ominous plan.
"I will keep you with me only as long as it takes to train you. With practice and guidance, you could excel and surpass any diva of the stage, and most importantly and especially the toad La Carlotta. You will work long days, every day, to achieve the excellence of which I believe you capable. You will give me your full cooperation and not disobey me. If you try my patience, I will not be a merciful host. You will rue the day that you did not do all I have commanded."
Her mouth parted with his first words, dropping wider with each chilling sentence aired. Again, she contemplated some method of fleeing from his prison and glanced toward the open door. He seemed to read her mind, his eyes narrowing to golden slits.
"If you think to deceive me will provide a way of escape, you are gravely mistaken. You are never to walk these passageways alone, should I decide to unbar the door in the future. Traps in abundance are hidden within the wide maze of corridors. Any one of them could lead to your certain death."
"Is that all?" she asked with a hint of her own sarcasm. Her heart pounded with apprehension at his warning.
"There is one final matter…"
By his tone of disgust, it gave him no pleasure to speak it.
By the inscrutable look that burned in his eyes, she feared to know it.
x
Christine's nails bit into her palms, her hands closing into fists at her sides as she nervously waited for the Phantom to continue. Her nerves stretched tighter with every passing second that he did not speak, and she was on the verge of screaming when he finally told her.
"At the first available opportunity, you will bind yourself to me in holy wedlock."
Christine gaped at her abductor, certain she had misunderstood his quiet words. She must have misunderstood them…
When he continued to regard her, awaiting her reply, she let out a short, hysterical laugh.
"You truly are mad."
"Many have said it."
The half twist to his lips in a cruel parody of a smile showed his cynical amusement, but the steady burn of his eyes made clear he spoke in absolute sincerity.
She'd had enough of playing the trapped canary to his stalking cat. "Why would you make such a bizarre condition? Outside of my voice, you've made it clear how you feel about me - and I sure as hell cannot stomach the sight of you!"
His eyes glinted with fire, making her heart jump. She must be the one who was mad, to continue to argue with this fiend whose mind was so clearly unbalanced.
She forced a quieter tone. "I will never marry you, monsieur. I would rather die first."
"As you wish."
He moved to go and she faltered.
"Wait – what? You cannot just leave me here!"
He turned slightly and regarded her with a sidelong glance. "Did I not make my conditions clear as to the matter of your release?"
"What sort of release is that? To join with you in holy wedlock!There's nothing holy about it! That would be consigning my life to a living, breathing hell! You told me you have no interest in my attribu - in me," she floundered. "So why in the name of all that IS holy do you demand such an arrangement that is distasteful to us both?"
"I have my reasons. Purely clinical. The marriage will be in name only. Once your voice is trained in the few short months we have to do so and you have learned the opera to my satisfaction, I will release you to go above."
She scowled at his outlandish terms. "And will you then release me from this absurd marriage bond as well?"
"Non," his answer came swift and brittle. "For business purposes, strictly to protect my own interests, you will remain bound only to me."
She felt a strange breathlessness in the way he emphasized his last phrase, forceful and low through clenched teeth, and she had to compel herself to think… Dear God, the drug he used must be affecting her mind. She had nothing to think about! Perhaps he had also used the drug to manipulate her agreement, hoping to dull her mind and confuse her logic. Well, her mind was not dull and her logic was quite sound!
"I will not marry you," she said with the same amount of emphasis he used. "I will never marry you."
"Then we have nothing further to discuss."
"But – honestly – you can't just leave me here! Locked up, for an indefinite period of time? Surely you must realize that I cannot live under these conditions … what if I … have needs?" She felt her face heat.
"Everything you need is beyond that wall. I will bring your supper to you."
"And will it be drugged too?" she asked, her voice like poisoned honey.
He regarded her as if bored. "As I previously stated, the potion was necessary to bring you down here. Though it may startle you, I'm not in the habit of drugging a lady's food or wine. If you prefer, I will first taste all meals in your presence."
"What I prefer you refuse to give me." She pouted in frustration, crossing her arms.
"Then it seems, mademoiselle, we have reached a stalemate. Adieu."
Before she could form a worthy retort, he retreated, his tall figure blocking the torchlight. The door closed with an elongated creak behind him. She stared, open-mouthed as she heard the wooden bar drop into its condemning position.
That was it? She was his prisoner?
She shook her head in disbelief. This must be a bizarre dream, an eerie nightmare brought on by the frightening turn her life had recently taken, aided by drinking wine on an empty stomach and Meg's unending talk of a Phantom haunting the theatre. She moved to the bed and placed her palms on it, pushing herself up to sit on the mattress. Once seated, her feet did not touch the ground.
Pressing her fingertips to her temples, she closed her eyes. "It's only a dream, Christine. This is much too fanciful to be real. It's time to wake up now." She rubbed her scalp harder and opened her eyes. Frowning to see her surroundings had not altered, she pinched her forearm hard and winced.
It was no dream.
She wanted to scream in rage, to cry in misery, to laugh in hysteria – but she only remained silent and stared at the formidable wall of rock. Dark, unyielding, and solid, like her Phantom abductor.
This belonged to the gothic and grim tales of her youth: the fearsome ogre who trapped the frightened maiden in his bleak dungeon, intent on keeping her to himself and making impossible conditions for release that offered only eternal imprisonment with no hope of ever being set free. She inhaled a nervous breath. Who was there to rescue her? Immediately she thought of the princely Raoul – he would save her from that merciless Phantom! But Raoul was in England, not France … and she … she still had no idea where she was, except that she dwelt five levels beneath the earth in a cold, dark cave.
Christine shivered and stared at the bed – a princess's bed – and felt even more enmeshed in this otherworldly tale in which she now lived and breathed. With the sort of monster her abductor had proven to be, she was surprised he had not provided a filthy narrow pallet for her to sleep on. Instead he had given her a taste of luxury, the finest to be had …
Oh, this was too bizarre! She had to find a way out of this gothic dungeon, since there was no one to help her. If that fiend were correct, those in the theatre would not be looking for her whereabouts, assuming she had left to find employment elsewhere. Claudette was a slave driver. No one would question Christine's sudden disappearance. The Phantom was correct in that regard.
It was ironic that she had come to France for a place to hide, and had wound up in these underground chambers that offered no chance of ever being found. The law, she no longer had need to fear. She had evaded capture, only to find herself imprisoned in a torture chamber of traps, whatever those consisted of. Surely iron bars and a hangman's noose would have been the lesser of two evils.
The tears she tried to suppress slipped down her cheeks. Impatiently, she wiped them away with the backs of her fingers.
She would not cry. There was no time for self-pity, however well deserved. Instead, she took up the candleholder, to investigate and see what needs the Phantom thought her worthy of having.
Still feeling as if her mind was smothered in cotton from whatever drug he'd given her, she slowly walked to the wall he had alluded to but saw no door, no entrance, only solid rock. Frustrated, she wondered if he had lied, but why should he bend honesty with such a trivial matter when he had told her the truth in all else? – The distorted truth of his plan.
She walked to one edge of the wall, then the opposite, surprised to find that here the edge did not connect to the adjoining wall. A shallow gap made a crevasse, leading to a sharp turn. From a distance in the shadows the gap looked like part of the same wall.
Nervous to plumb the darkened corridor yet curious to see what lay beyond her prison chamber, she moved forward, the weak flame from her sole candle flickering along the stone and casting giant shadows all around. She forced back her girlhood fear of darkness – childish when compared to the nightmare of all she'd been made to suffer – and turned as the corridor ended and led to another gap. She entered and gasped, almost dropping the candle.
A bath chamber lay before her, replete with all necessary items and sprinkled with odd and sundry luxuries. A claw-footed tub sat in one corner and toweling lay folded on a table beside it. She wondered how she was to retrieve water. She certainly could not picture the fearsome Phantom carrying buckets of it for her! At the image of such bizarre servitude associated with the heartless rogue she gave an insane little giggle.
She felt as if insanity wasn't long in coming, her life one horrible mockery ordered by one of the more devious Fates. Her absence from the world into the prison of her mind after she lost Erik had been a release … perhaps that trail to emptiness could be retraced and she could return to the bliss of numbness again, devoid of pain and fear and life and feeling …
A coarse scraping of rock high above had her swing her attention to the noise. Raising her candle, she moved cautiously to see.
Two startled blue eyes stared at her from beyond a wall of rock.
Alarmed she dropped the candle.
All went dark.
She screamed, then screamed again, loud and long, until her throat burned with fire. Still, she could not stop screaming. Tears of fright and despair coursed down her face.
Dear God! She was going to die in this tomb – horrible, unknown creatures lay in wait beyond the walls – waiting, watching …
…and she was their captive prey.
With no sense of vision or direction and nowhere to run, her hysteria magnified tenfold.
Christine backed up into predatory, yawning emptiness, hollow and black – and a pair of outstretched hands that brushed against her shoulders.
She screamed one last time and her knees buckled. The hands gripped her hard and strong arms wrapped around her before she could sink fully to the ground. She began to whimper.
At once, she felt herself swept up into those arms and held firmly against a warm, solid chest.
"Hush. It's alright. You have no need to fear…"
Madness must be the whisper that assured her of safety, disguised as his quiet, steady voice. It failed to matter. At present, the bottomless, foreign darkness and the eyes that had watched her threatened as greater foes.
Frantically she clutched his waistcoat in a tight fist, in danger of popping buttons while her spinning mind betrayed her into a different darkness. The last thing she remembered was the brush of molded leather as her head fell softly to his shoulder and her temple brushed his mask.
xXx
A/N: Aw, Christine looks as if she'll be well cared for by her Phantom abductor… 0–:–)
Am LOVING all your comments! Please keep them coming! :)