A/N: Yeah, I know it's pretty grim and dark right now. It's going to get even darker- but there are better moments ahead. This story isn't all gloom and doom and angst, but there's a lot of it…also this chapter has a tiny bit that could warrant an M rating... As usual, this chapter is beta-less. Forgive any mistakes...
XX
.
The second time Christine woke, it took her only moments to connect her strange surroundings with reality …
…this macabre fantasy that was her chilling reality.
The room seemed brighter than before and she turned her head on the pillow to look. A multi-branched candelabrum replaced the single candleholder of earlier and a silver covered dish sat beside it. Her stomach clenched in revulsion at the smell and thought of food and she turned away from the sight.
An aroma that did not belong permeated her sleeve, where her arm lay curled near her head, and she brought her wrist closer. The richness of musk mingled with candle smoke … ink … and a lingering heady spice brought a soothing wash of warmth through her blood. A scent both familiar and foreign … his scent, and her clothing was covered with it from when he carried her in his arms.
Startled, she drew her hand quickly away from her face and sat up remembering. She had clung to him, her paradoxical savior and indifferent jailer. In that moment of darkest night all else failed to matter and his arms had been there to hold her.
She knew why, of course. She knew why she'd felt drawn to him, though he was nothing but a monster. And it was a betrayal to Erik's memory to even connect the two men in her mind. Erik had been cynical, fueled by his bitterness, but beneath the layers of pain, his heart had beat warm. The man who caged her was cruel, the silent, unspeakable rage that she had glimpsed the foundation of what must drive him. And surely though his eyes had burned, only ice could compose the shell of his soul. If he had a soul.
He had proven to be a ghoulish tyrant that identified with the title enough to call himself Phantom, and she would not become another one of his victims of the many he surely had claimed. Somehow, she would find a way out of his hellish tomb!
And then she remembered what she had seen before she panicked and all went black.
Determination led her to pick up the candelabrum and move cautiously into the bath chamber. To her surprise, a torch blazed brightly from a holder mounted to the wall.
She brushed aside any weakness to his scrap of thoughtfulness to prevent a second frightening episode and set the candelabrum on the ground, taking the torch from its holder. Returning to the area where she had dropped the candle, she held the torch up high to shed light on the stones and gasped. A gap the size of a breadbox sat horizontal in the wall.
She firmly thrust aside all ideas of imps or goblins or trolls found in her childhood tales. There had to be an explanation. Now that she could think clearly, whatever drug he had used no longer affecting her mind, she realized the eyes she had seen were human, not those of a beast, not preternatural. She was sure of it. Large, innocent eyes. Blue in color…
Quickly she piled the towels and small vials of what she assumed contained bathing oils into the bathtub and dragged the table along the cave floor. Made of thick wood, it was too heavy to lift but would hold her slight weight. Stepping onto it, she could just peer into the gap by standing on the tips of her toes and holding to the bottom ledge.
She stared into a chamber the size of the theatre!
What appeared to be part of a lake stood inside another room of the cavern, easily seen from the daylight that shimmered from an unknown source in the earth high above – the center of the water was spotlighted in a circle of dim white light. Numerous torches lined the high walls of this giant room of the cave, shedding a glow on its outskirts. But what gave her the greatest shock was the sight of two dark-headed children standing on the bank, closest to Christine. Her eyes widened.
Did the beast who caged her imprison the poor little mites as well? Perhaps if she could get free she could also help them.
"Hello!" she called out. "Can you help me?"
The girl jumped up and spun around, looking all over then up at Christine peering through the gap. The boy with her also looked but did not appear at all shocked to see her. They looked no older than ten, if that, the boy younger than the girl if she went by height. In the flame's glow, she could see both of them had blue eyes.
Mystery solved.
By appearance, they did not look like prisoners. Neither of them looked as if they lived in forced servitude either. Both wore shoes, not often found in poverty and their clothes, though dirty, fit them well. The girl wore a cape that covered her completely and looked new. Could they be the Phantom's children?
Now wary, Christine deliberated with what to say.
"I wonder if you could help me?" She forced a light laugh, as if she weren't a terrorized captive in a dark pit but a carefree visitor on holiday and didn't think it odd to see two children five levels below the earth. "I seem to be locked in my chamber. I, um, promised the monsieur I would meet with him to - to sing, but I believe he forgot to unbar my door, and you know how impatient he gets when someone is late."
She hated to lie to innocent children, if indeed they were innocent and not his helpers or spies, though she assumed she told the truth about her jailer based on what little she'd seen of the madman. Desperate measures must be taken if she was to find her way back above to the saner world of daylight, however sane the theatre could be considered.
The girl and boy looked at one another. She again turned to study Christine.
"Why would the Maestro bar your door if he expects you to join him?"
The Maestro? Oh, really!
Christine masked her scowl at the absurd title of genius and gave a nervous laugh. "I suppose he's so accustomed to his traps and solitude he must have barred the door without thinking."
She hoped she described his character well enough.
The boy looked at the girl and insistently tugged at her cloak. She gave a disgusted snort. "Oh, alright, Jacques." She looked back at Christine. "Your door is not barred."
Of course it was barred. She had heard him bar it …
After he left the first time.
What if the girl was correct and he didn't bar it once she fainted, though she doubted he would make such an error on his part.
"Oh … I see. Thank you." She hesitated, her conscience not willing to let her go so easily. "Are you both alright?"
"Oui." The girl looked confused by the question.
Christine hoped she wasn't making a mistake to persist. "Do either of you need help?"
The girl slipped her arm protectively around the boy, her manner suddenly distant and distrustful. "You had best go and meet with the Maestro before too much time passes, mademoiselle. As you have said, he does not like to be kept waiting."
Christine jumped to the ground, her heart pounding with a strange mix of hope and dread. Had she said too much and given herself away? Would the children run to tell him what had transpired?
Not all of her strength had returned to her limbs since she drank his foul potion, and not eating for what must amount to a day certainly wasn't helping. She clutched the wall a moment to steady herself, thankful she at least had regained all presence of mind.
She would need every ounce of it for her escape.
She picked up the candleabrum and hastened to the chamber, setting the candleabrum back on the table, then hurried to the door. Suddenly hesitant, fearful he might be lying in wait on the other side and this was but a cruel trap to torment her, she eased her hand to the latch and moved it. The door gave way with a prolonged creak of hinges that made her wince…
But the corridor yielded no cloaked, dark jailer lying in wait.
She did not stop to consider why after all his meticulous planning for her capture he would do something so reckless as leave the door unbarred, only that he had, and she sped down the corridor, the few torches there lighting the path before her.
x
Shallow puddles of water covered large areas of the ground. Her feet grew wet and stung from the chill, but Christine continued her mad pace.
She bolted around the corner and came to a rapid halt and sudden end of the path - the corridor branched off in two directions. Looking back and forth at each one in panicked frustration, she decided on the path not as well lit, hoping it would be the one less used.
The squeaks of rodents made her cringe. She realized with a sudden jolt that she had no idea where she was or where these caverns led - to the silent catacombs of the dead for all she knew. If she had to investigate every chamber, crevice and door for a way out of this cold hell she would find it. Death, dark and silent, would be preferable to the eternal pretense of living she would endure within these tombs.
Erik, she silently cried. Why did you leave me to this black fate? How could you leave me at all? You swore we would be together forever! How could you do this to me!
The sudden explosive sound of music stopped her mad flight as though it were a brutal, physical force. The dark, resonant chords of an organ filtered through the still, damp air.
Breathless, she stood and blinked in petrified shock.
Music? So far beneath the earth?
She could not tell where the source of the music came from; the haunting notes flowed and echoed all around, seeming to hold her back with invisible restraints.
"No," she whispered to the fortress of dank stone. She forced herself to move forward, her legs trembling, and crept along a bend of the corridor.
All around the air vibrated with the dark, rich sound. Heavy and oppressive, it commanded her soul but held a strange lingering beauty that wrenched her heart. Never in her life had she heard anything so enthralling, so … alive. It was as if the master musician released the essence of his being through his fingertips onto the keys, the music reaching out and compelling her to come to him ...
A cavern with light filled the distance. She swallowed hard, the forceful pull of the music leading her though instinct bade her quickly to run the other way.
Christine had no choice but to obey the music.
x
She followed the mesmerizing notes and approached a massive chamber. Cautiously she peeked around the entrance.
Another part of what must be the same lake she had seen from her prison lay spread out like a luminescent green carpet of shimmering silk from the center of the room to a wall with a closed iron gate, and flowed into a darker cavern beyond that. Torchlight and candles were ablaze everywhere, casting light on furnishings exotic and opulent, like those a sultan would possess. The seductive reds, rich browns, and golden ambiance lent a warmth to the cathedral-like chamber. Here, the rock walls were lighter, of earthy red and dusky gold - not as oppressive - but a sudden chill made her shiver when she spotted the owner of the room.
In the chamber's center, on a bank of wide rock, a shallow staircase of the same stone led to a large dais upon which sat a massive black pipe organ. And at its keys, with his back to her, sat the Phantom of the Opera. It could be no one else.
She gasped, thankful he could not see or hear her. Assured that he was engrossed in his music, she took a moment to watch him. His body gracefully swayed with the rhythm as if he were one with the captivating chords.
He had dispensed with his cloak and waistcoat, and his linen shirt billowed in elegant folds around his sides and at his arms, stretching taut across wide shoulders. Even seated and at this distance, she could tell that his body was lean and powerful, and she remembered the feel of hard muscle beneath her grasping hand.
He was darkness … he was danger … he was …
A strange fire singed her face and flowed through her veins like melting wax, burning away what little breath she had regained. Uncertain and horrified by such an unexpected reaction to the sight of him, she backed up then whirled and sped away, taking the bend to another corridor as if the devil himself were chasing her. But she knew he wasn't.
He was still seated at his organ.
His music followed, enticing her return then commanding it. Her heart thundered in her breast. Her limbs trembled as she fought the possessive music, determined to free herself from its silken tentacles that endlessly reached for her, winding around her soul, determined to pull her back to obey the black heart of its master.
"No, no, no," she cried under her breath, tears stinging her eyes and blinding her escape.
God, she was going mad!
She believed the music a lure to ensnare her to do his bidding. She had never felt such tangible emotion ravage her senses from hearing anyone play – was he a sorcerer? Had he put her under his spell?
Frantic, she ran through endless corridors. Corridors that began to look familiar, and she realized she was running in circles. He had told her of traps, but she had yet to cross one, unless his music was the trap to ensnare her to do his will …
She clapped her hands over her ears. "STOP IT!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "STOP IT – YOU CAN'T MAKE ME! I CAN'T TAKE ANY MORE OF THIS! I WON'T!"
The music played on, her attempt to deny its haunting call useless. It followed her in its relentless chase down every corridor. It wove into her pores, filtering through her blood, insistent and demanding her ultimate and complete surrender. Her body shuddered so hard from the battle that her teeth began to chatter…
…when suddenly the music changed.
The feverish chords no longer bludgeoned her mind; now the evocative notes lingered, persuasive, provoking another kind of fever as they beckoned her to release all inhibition. Powerless, she stopped running and leaned her palm against the wall, feeling a different sort of faintness not induced by pharmaceutical potions.
She closed her eyes as his voice, dark and beautiful, began to flow with the music, reaching to her in the distant corridor. A drug unto itself, his voice wrapped around her and caressed her chafed senses. A secret heat she had not experienced in four years inflamed her blood. Her breasts throbbed, sensitive against her linen shift, aching to be touched. She slapped her palms to the wall, trying to repossess mind and body, trying to think. But it was of no use. The music was too persuasive for her dwindling defenses.
A steady fire began to build in loins long dead, her every sense re-awakening to the consuming blaze. Damp heat trickled between her thighs as his silken voice enticed her, possessed her, growing gentle and persuasive, while the desire he evoked grew stronger.
God – what was he doing to her?
She HAD TO LEAVE this dark dungeon of sensual madness!
HAD TO LEAVE…
had to …
Only…
…she could not move.
Panting from exhaustion and exhilaration both, she dropped her head back against the wall and gave up the struggle.
His provocative aria, his rich voice overpowered her waning strength of mind – heightening her physical awareness until she moaned in pleasurable agony, giving herself over to his music, both debauched and desirable. His unearthly voice was a velvet caress inside her soul, titillating every inch of fevered flesh until she swore she could feel his tangible touch on her skin; and as his music crescendoed in climactic wonder, so did she.
Shaken, she slid partway down the wall, falling to the ground as her legs no longer gave her support.
"Please, no more," she whispered.
Quiet awarded her mercy as the underground world returned to its ghostly sense of order. Empty… steady… The only sound she now heard the faint drip of water hitting stone …
… followed by the firm tread of advancing footsteps.
Oh, God … dear God, no …
Her senses reeled after her shattering experience, first chained to then raped by his music, and she barely managed to stand. Placing her hands along the wall for balance, she walked as fast as she was able. Footsteps rang against stone at the far end of the corridor and Christine darted a nervous glance over her shoulder.
Her mind screamed for her to run!
Only when his tall form appeared around the bend did sanity return and she exert the strength of will to obey.
xXx
A/N: Cliffie? What cliffie? I don't see a cliffie. Only a maze of corridors…
(*Backs into a convenient dark one and runs.)