A/N: A short chapter, yes, but in trying to post sooner than later, that is sometimes the price required. (And I was pretty certain you guys didn't want to wait another week for me to add another section. ;-)) ... Thank you for the reviews! They help me press forward, and I absolutely love how you guys are catching the little clues...And now...
XXIV
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Christine remembered the true meaning of fear as she watched her beloved Maestro slump insensible to the ground.
"Erik!"
Stunned horror overtook her so that she made no attempt to refrain from crying out his name, though clearly he had not heard. She rushed toward his inert body and fell to her knees by his side. His beautiful eyes were closed, what little she could see of his skin pale.
"Dear God, what has happened now?" she hoarsely whispered, pulling aside his tunic to reveal what the tear there shielded.
Something had slashed his side, thankfully thin and not too deep, the blood having congealed, so the wound wasn't fresh. She breathed a sigh of deep gratitude that he hadn't been seriously injured, though he may bear yet another scar. Shaking his shoulders did not rouse him, nor did lightly slapping his jaw beneath the mask. Repeated attempts of speaking his name failed to wake him.
Why would he not awaken? What had caused him to fall? Another spell? It must be…
With no spare cloth or means to sever her undergown for a wet compress, she hastened to the stream and submerged her hands past her wrists into the icy water, then darted back to his side. Sinking to the ground, she managed to lift him beneath the shoulders and brought his head gently to rest in her lap. Stroking his sallow cheeks and bristly jaw beneath the mask with her damp fingers, she felt desperate to revive him.
This felt…different. Not like the times she had previously found him immersed in his mire of personal darkness. She could not recall during either of those times being unable to rouse him from the depths of unnatural slumber. Even if he had been groggy, he had responded in some manner.
Her lips quietly formed an earnest petition. With all they endured, two centuries of pain and joy, want and need, she could not lose him now.
"Maestro, please, you must wake up."
She ran her fingers down one side of his neck and to his throat, spreading the trickle of droplets against the sluggish beat of his pulse. A hot tear fell to join with the cold stream water. With the pads of three fingers, she lightly touched his dry parted lips.
His hand suddenly flew up to encircle her wrist. She gasped with shock at the abruptness of the act and lost all breath when his eyes fluttered open, finding and holding her own.
Relief filled her, but even had she known what to say, her vocal chords felt paralyzed.
His eyes bespoke the emotions of earlier – easier to discern now that she was near – and she sensed that in their blue-gray penetration, besides the lost confusion and burgeoning wonder there lurked the feeling of utter disbelief.
His words when they came were as quiet and deep as before, the mere sound of his voice shaking her to the depths of her soul.
"Have you forgotten all I once taught you?"
"I didn't…I…" She struggled to find sense. "I only left to find water. I was here once, weeks ago in my time. I didn't tell you last night, so much had happened. And then you disappeared and I didn't know where you'd gone?" She phrased her remark as a question, but did not wait for his reply before continuing, "I remembered the stream. I wasn't lost or in danger and would have returned to the cottage soon. But you – what happened to you–?"
The press of his fingertips against her lips cut off any further stilted explanation and concerned question that could tumble from her mouth.
"Have you forgotten," he said again, his words more carefully enunciated but still just above a breath, "how to sing?"
How…to…
Sing?
A rush of warmth composed of faltering hope and budding joy chased away the chill of concern that made her tremble as he did.
"I…don't know what you mean," she whispered the last words in a rush, disbelieving of what his questions seemed to tell her.
"Have you forgotten, as well, what the concept of the word implies…?"
She swallowed hard, unable to form speech, nervous to make the attempt. Barely, she shook her head.
He drew his fingertips tenderly along her jaw to her ear, tucking a wild tendril behind the rim.
"Have you forgotten your Angel…?"
The faint, dulcet words struck her heart with such shock, such elation, such pain – that momentarily she could not breathe, could only press her hand against his where it touched her face.
The tears rained down her cheeks, the salty moisture running into her mouth and dripping onto his tunic.
Angel? Angel…?
"Erik? Is it…is it you?"
In reply, he brought her hand to his mouth and pressed the softest of kisses to her palm.
"Christine…"
Still afraid to acknowledge what circumstances boldly seemed to declare, she resisted the pull to believe, having disappointment shatter hope all too often.
"I-I don't understand."
"Nor do I." Releasing her hand, he struggled to rise, pushing his long, lean body up to sit. He rested one forearm on bended knee and shook his head dazedly, as if to clear it.
She could not look away, watching him intensely, brimming with questions but not knowing where to begin.
"What do you remember?" she asked tentatively. "Did a dark spell overtake you?"
"Dark spell," he repeated more audibly, that strange awe still in his voice that rasped and sounded as if he had screamed it raw. She winced, wondering how long he'd been absent – the entire night? Had he cried out for her and she'd not heard him?
The dream – she suddenly remembered – was no dream. She had heard him call for her in her sleep! But - did he recall that he'd done so?
She clutched his arm in sudden dread.
"Please tell me you remember these past two weeks."
He stared, his eyes glittering through the sockets of the mask, as though he'd never seen her.
"The mob…"
"The mob?" she urged in a tight whisper.
"They found where I was hiding. Dragged me from the shadows. Stomped on my hands, kicked and beat me with clubs." His words increased in power, soft though they remained. "I barely had the presence of mind or strength of will to crawl from the shore where they left me for dead. Madame Giry found my bleeding corpse and tended me. My sleep was deep, senseless, as one on the precipice of death. I thought I had died – then woke a short time ago to find myself in this forest."
The horror of hearing the torments he suffered rent her heart that beat wildly with the joy of those same words.
"Erik! My God - it IS you – you remember who you are!"
No longer able to curtail the need, Christine violently threw herself against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing her damp cheek against his warm neck. The bliss she felt to know that her dream had at last been realized faded a little when he remained as motionless as a column of stone, failing to return her embrace. His arms remained rigid at his sides. She pulled slowly away from him in anxious confusion.
"You left me to go with the boy," he said simply, no censure in his tone, only pain.
She felt as if a dagger had been thrust into her heart.
"You ordered me to go," she contradicted, then briskly shook her head. "You left me no choice. I came back, to give you my ring…"
"And left once more."
The accursed tears again clouded her eyes. There was no accusation in his words, only a resigned sort of acceptance. He spoke as if he only just remembered the ordeal and was trying to piece those events together to make sense of the present.
"What would you have had me do, after all that happened that night?" she asked sadly. "I couldn't think, couldn't decide for myself, and by the time I realized what I wanted, he wouldn't let me go."
He nodded as if just coming to an understanding.
"I remember. You told me this..."
He remembered? She experienced a returning flicker of hope.
"Then you must remember also how very sorry I said I was for going with Raoul, for saying such cruel things to you…" and for leaving you there to die, but she did not add the damning words.
Why speak of what they both knew? She wished to mend the rift between them, not tear it into an irreparable chasm that could never again be breached.
He sighed. "I am not without fault, Christine. I took you against your will and tormented you with my reprehensible acts. In my madness, I killed an innocent man, all for the sake of vengeance…" He laughed without amusement. "I am that miserable cur."
She shuddered with his stark admission, his last words seeming to attain a depth only he understood.
"I nearly died at the hands of the mob," he went on, "you were right to leave me. They might have killed you too!"
She gave a little shake of her head, briefly averting her eyes to the ground. The words, true though they were, did not relieve the shame of her deplorable cowardice.
But that was then, when she ran from the pervasive shadows, from the uncertainty of the unknown, and from all the novel sensations this man made her feel. Events had changed dramatically over the course of two weeks. She was no longer that frightened girl.
"That was then," she spoke her thoughts aloud. "This past fortnight I have been with you, stayed with you, given over every part of myself to be with you."
"Your innocence…" His tone softened in remorse. "Again, given a choice that was no choice."
"No, Erik - I chose to stay. And this time I carried through with that choice. You may have kept me a captive, but had I wanted to leave, I could have found a way to escape. I evaded your men once, if you recall, to search for you by the lake. I could have done so again, but I chose to stay. With you…"
"Abducted by the stones, against your will, from the time to which you belong."
"And you!" The words burst forth in a fount of frustration. "It is your time as well."
"No, Christine…" He shook his head gravely. "There is nothing left for me there. The safety of my home has been compromised. My Opera House is in shambles."
She blinked in disbelief. "You do not wish to go back to the nineteenth century?"
"I am a wanted man in both centuries. Here, at least, I have the respect of a handful and the freedom to go where I will, above ground, even with a mask." His smile was grim. "But you do not belong here. It is perilous for you to remain. In our time you would be safe."
"So as both Le Masque and the Phantom you will toss me aside and throw me away!" Incredulous anger sharpened her words. "Is that truly what you want? For me to leave you behind once more?"
"Do not forget, you were with the boy by choice," he said quietly in curt response to her outburst. "You told me on the first night you were brought to the campsite that you were with him at the Chateau Martinique, visiting his family. At least, with him, in your time, you will be safe."
His wretched words compelled Christine to struggle swiftly to her feet, and he looked up at her in surprise.
"You seem to recall our conversations these past two weeks, but have omitted any mention of the most important ones. Those where I told you I was so very sorry for what I did that night and attempted to come back. Those where I swore my love to you – and you said you loved me. Those where you said you would never leave me and would always protect me…"
Amazement brought a sheen to his eyes, making them shimmer like silver.
"You do not wish to go back to our time?" he asked at last.
She huffed a laugh devoid of amusement through her tears. Had he heard nothing she said?
"Not if you won't come with me."
Slowly she sank to her knees, settling her weight back on her calves, resolved to make him understand.
"This world is frightening, I don't deny that – the culture, the beliefs – and I'm still anxious with every sunrise and what that day will bring. But without you in it, the world is an empty, cold place, lackluster and incomplete. Before the stones took me, I told you I heard a voice – it demanded to know what I wanted. I never told you what I said. I cried out that I wanted to go back and relive the past, to change it – to have you alive and with me again. Don't send me away, Erik, please! I couldn't bear to live in any century, any world, without you in it."
"Christine…" Her name was silk slipping from his tongue.
She shivered a little at the coveted sound of those melodious syllables, at the wealth of emotion buried inside them, spoken with all knowledge of who she was and what they had been to each other.
He lifted his hand to her face, stroking her cheek with the tips of his fingers, brushing her tears away with a faint sweep of his thumb, almost as if he were afraid to touch her. Her tears continued to fall, splashing against his skin.
"How can you forgive all that I have done?" he asked quietly, dropping his hand away from her face to rest on his thigh.
Instantly she missed the cool press of his long, slender fingers against her skin.
"You are not the only one to blame. Raoul made it his personal vendetta to hunt you to ground like a wild animal. I tore away your mask to warn you, but could have chosen a better method to force you off that stage had I only taken the time to think twice –"
"Christine, enough." His words gained volume. "I will not have you take the blame for my sins. They are mine alone to bear."
She sighed. "Fine. Though from what you told me, you suffered horribly for your crimes, even to the point of death." She winced at the thought of him bloody and beaten, barely able even to imagine such a wretched outcome, wishing only to forget. "So, let that be the end of it. No one exists here to punish you for the crimes of Paris. And I will not go back through those stones without you by my side. That is my choice, Mon Ange, and I will not be swayed."
His lips twisted into the facsimile of a smile, his eyes lighting up at the cherished and familiar endearment she had called him for nearly one decade.
"You have obtained quite the daring since last we parted, my little nightingale."
Christine almost giggled to hear one of his many pet names for her, first used when she was only a slip of a girl, eager to learn, but her smile fell away as she formed a reply.
"When I thought you were dead, nothing mattered with regard to those things that seemed so important before – the disapproval of others, my reputation…" She shook her head a little at the remembered pain. "My heart was grieving, and I found the strength within myself to seek after what I wanted. The night I woke up at the stones, before your men captured me, I planned to return to Paris alone, to find Meg and Madame Giry and seek work. I would never have married Raoul…not when I finally came to realize that my heart has always been yours."
His eyes behind the mask flicked back and forth to hers for truth, and unflinching, she gave it in all sincerity.
"I believe you," he whispered as if still amazed by the revelation.
"I should hope so." She sought for levity and smiled in mild admonishment. "After all, I came countless miles and hundreds of years to find you. And I surrendered my morning coffee to remain."
He chuckled low, the rich sound setting wings to her heart. The most beautiful music undoubtedly was his voice and his laughter, neither of which she experienced often enough.
Before she could draw breath to form her next words, he reached for her, hauling her close, his arms bands of lean steel around her back, and Christine relished the discomfort. They fell together in the grass still glistening with morning dew. She ignored its damp chill, drawing into his warmth and gently pressing her hands against his hard torso.
"I fear that if I let you go I will find this all a dream of delusion," he whispered hoarsely, and she shuddered at the feel of his lips brushing the skin above her collarbone at her neck as he formed the words. "That I will awaken in my subterranean dwelling and find this only a hallucination of my wretched state. How can this even be…?"
She felt uncertain to what he referred. Their situation? Their setting? Their relationship? So much in the span of two short weeks had become incredible, no matter how real.
"You captured my heart when I was an orphaned child and became the most important person in my existence. Now you have all of me, and I want to share whatever world you inhabit forever. Never again think to send me away, Erik."
Her tender avowal released whatever barrier had restrained the expression of his deepest feelings, and he held to Christine more tightly, wetting her neck with his silent tears.
xXx
A/N: Aw, look no cliffie. :) See I can be nice. ;-)