An alternative ending to Anathema, with darker elements, more mature subject matter, and (hopefully) better writing. It might not be to everyone's taste, but I hope most are able to enjoy it. Any feedback is welcome!
For Baruga, who asked me to write this six years ago. I promised I would, wrote three chapters, and then promptly fell off the face of the earth. Thanks for being patient with me, and I hope it's worth the wait :)
They continued along for what felt like almost half an hour at least. Christine was beginning to become very anxious and incredibly nervous. Where exactly were they going? What place would keep information on someone such as Erik? Who would have information? And why couldn't they simply send it in a letter or an email? The whole thing was taking so much longer than she had anticipated. Erik was going to be very upset…
The buildings were becoming progressively run-down. She was getting nervous, and she kept close to Mr. Khan, trying not to stray too close to the shadows and alleyways.
"Mr. Khan?" she tried to say once, as they waited at another street for a car to zoom past them.
He only shook his head and again motioned with his fingers for her to follow.
She couldn't help but think of Erik. He was going to wonder where she was. He was going to go looking for her. It was late—she was usually in his home by now. And if he found out that she had gone somewhere with Mr. Khan…Christine swallowed, a lump of fear forming in her throat. Erik was not an easy-going person. He was going to be angry.
As they jogged, she tried to think up a story Erik would believe—something like she had gone back to her apartment to get some things…and then she had…fallen asleep. Or something like that. Maybe he would be suspicious, but hopefully he would just be so relieved at having her back that his anger would disappear.
At last, Mr. Khan stopped and held up his hand. The building they were by was derelict and had the unpleasant sensation of being a spot where bad things had happened. In the dim streetlamp light, she could see a peeling, faded sign near the door: FOR SALE. The brick was old and crumbly, and there were many different types, all mish-mashed together in sloppy, varying patterns.
Mr. Khan approached a door, old and metal and rusting. He pulled a key out of his pocket and inserted it into the handle. There was a dull, reluctant-sounding clunk, and then the door opened with a loud squeal.
"Where are we?" Christine asked, looking around them, her voice much higher than normal. The buildings next to them were similar in appearance and feeling, and she was getting spooked.
"Come on inside," Mr. Khan said anxiously. "You shouldn't stand out there like that. Come on. Hurry in."
She didn't really want to, but being with him was better than standing on this scary street alone, so she did as he said and walked into the building.
The room was small, and she looked around, shivering slightly in spite of the warm temperature. A single bulb was hanging down, flickering feebly and creating deep shadows whenever it was strong enough to persist for more than a few seconds. The concrete walls were covered in cracks, holes, and a thick layer of grime. An old, moldy-looking desk was sitting in the corner, and a moth-eaten office chair was sitting behind it. Both were covered in dust. It appeared to be some kind of old office. There was a window in one of the walls, but it didn't look outside. She peered through it and could faintly see huge, hulking black shapes. After a moment, she realized that it must be some type of broken-down, unused warehouse, and they were in the office of it.
She wasn't sure what was going on, and she looked at Mr. Khan, who kept checking his watch and pacing.
"He's late," Mr. Khan muttered, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "Of all the days…"
"What's going on?" she finally asked, unsure if she could stand being left in the dark anymore. "Are you sure this is the right place?"
"What? Yes," he said hurriedly, distractedly. He went to peer out of the doorway again, and Christine carefully walked around the desk. Maybe the files were in there somewhere. However, it looked completely bare, save a couple of withered old papers with no writing on them at all.
"Um—Mr. Khan," she called. "I don't want to bug you, but I dunno if this is the right place. I don't see anything here. It's kind of creepy, actually…"
"No, this is where we need to be," Mr. Khan said.
"I don't see any papers or files or anything," she said, gingerly opening one of the drawers. Inside were a few dead cockroaches. She shuddered and closed it quickly before walking back around to the front of it. Mr. Khan looked extremely agitated. He pulled out his phone, tapped it a few times, and then held it to his ear. Christine listened carefully, though she tried to pretend she wasn't.
"Where are you?" Mr. Khan said immediately, angrily. "Well, you should have planned for that! Don't you realize—yes. Yes. Yes, right here! No, of course not, but that's why you need to get here right now."
He listened for a few moments, snapped, "Fine. Hurry," and then hung up, sliding the phone back into his pocket.
"What's going on?" she said. "Maybe I should go back. Erik is waiting for me…"
"No, just hold on another ten minutes," Mr. Khan pleaded. "Don't worry. I have—the papers, I mean. They're coming right now."
Christine took a step backward. "I don't think they are," she said. Her stomach was beginning to churn. "Why are we in this creepy room at night? I want to go. I'm going."
"Wait!" Mr. Khan said. He sighed heavily and then pulled something else out of his pocket. An envelope. Christine's heart leapt—he had been telling the truth! He held it out to her, and she took it hurriedly, ripping open the seal and pulling out the contents.
They were…pictures. But not what she had been expecting.
They were pictures of wedding dresses.
She frowned, deeply confused, and rifled through them. Almost all were wedding dresses. A few were pictures of bouquets of flowers, and she saw one picture of a set of diamond earrings, but there were nearly a dozen pictures of different gowns.
"Is this some joke?" she demanded.
"I wish it was," Mr. Khan said. "I found them in Erik's house."
Her stomach seized up, as well as her heart. There was hardly any room for imagination in this…The dresses and the flowers and the jewelry…
"What?" she said blankly. "You're lying."
But she turned the pictures over and saw Erik's unmistakable handwriting, scrawled over with details such as fabrics, cut, pricing, and other things. On one she saw a set of three figures which she realized were her measurements.
"Where did you—why," she mumbled, looking back at the dresses. They were all exquisite in every way, and she knew that each dress was absurdly-expensive.
"I'm sorry," Mr. Khan said quietly. "I didn't want to have to show you. I found them a couple days ago, when you two were practicing."
"He didn't notice they were gone?" she said.
"Of course he did," Mr. Khan said grimly. He gestured to the welt on his forehead. "I'm guessing by your reaction you had no idea…"
"No—no, of course not," she said, clutching the pictures tightly in her shaking hands.
"He's already ordered one," Mr. Khan said. "It's clear that he was going to force you to marry him as soon as it arrived—which was to be tonight."
Sickness was rising in her throat. "No, he wouldn't…do that," she whispered. "He wouldn't—I…" But words were failing her. Erik's voice was whispering in her ear. I have a surprise for you…
"That's why I have to get you out of here, as soon as I can," Mr. Khan said. "You'll be well taken care of. I made sure that Erik was distracted tonight. You'll have plenty of time to get away, I promise."
"But…" She trailed off, looking at the dresses again. Vaguely, she wondered which one he had ordered. She found herself favoring the one with the lace sleeves and embroidered waistline—and the flowers in the second picture were perfect…
When she looked up, she literally gasped—loudly.
Erik was standing there, watching her, his eyes eerily calm.
In a movement that seemed to be born out of her subconscious, a command she couldn't ignore, she darted behind the desk, the pictures sliding from her fingers as she put her hands behind her back—a little girl caught doing something she knew she shouldn't. Her heart started to thud, loudly, and in the moment of silence that followed, she was sure that everyone in the room could hear it.
Mr. Khan saw him as well. The blood drained from his face, and he took a step backward.
The stillness was excruciating. She wanted to disappear, to sink into the floor, to get away from the masked man's burning gaze.
"What a pleasant surprise," he said at last, his voice soft. He seemed disheveled somehow, not as put together as he normally was, and she wondered, with a sick feeling in her stomach, just what Mr. Khan meant when he said that he had made sure Erik was "distracted."
It was clear that he had not had enough distraction.
"Erik," Mr. Khan said, raising his hands slightly, as if dealing with a wild animal. "Just calm down."
"But I am calm," he replied smoothly. "I am very, very calm. Why should I be anything but calm? Of course it was not polite of you to ruin the surprise I had for her, but I suppose I can find it in myself to forgive you. You see how calm and generous I am? There. Now you can leave. I have something to discuss with Christine alone."
His gaze flickered toward her again, and she backed up into the wall, cold and rough against her back. The desk was between them, but it would not be enough to protect her. Nothing ever would.
"Christine is leaving tonight," Mr. Khan said, his hands sliding into his pockets. She could hear the slightest tremor in his voice, a betrayal of his outward confidence. "And then you and I can discuss some things."
"But that isn't fair," Erik said. "Not at all. She promised to return to me tonight. I have a lovely surprise waiting for her. And I'm afraid I never wish to speak to you again. So you see I have some objections to your plan, Nadir."
"It's too late," Mr. Khan replied. "It's decided. The arrangements have been made. She wants to go. She doesn't want to be with you, Erik. I know it hurts to hear, but—"
"If you take that Glock out of your pocket, you will regret it," Erik interrupted, his voice now a hiss. "You will leave now. Now. I do not want you here. Christine does not want you here. I've been extremely patient with you, Nadir. But I am done."
The pictures glinted at her dully from the ground, mocking and awful. It felt as if her voice was stuck in her throat. Fear was choking her. She could not speak, could not defend herself or Mr. Khan, could not object to anything Erik was saying. Somehow, she felt if they all left this horrible room unharmed, it would be a miracle. It was the only thing she wanted at this point. Regardless of who she actually went with, she just wanted everyone to leave alive.
"So am I," Mr. Khan said. "I won't let you ruin her life anymore. I won't be complicit again while you terrorize and violate another innocent woman."
An inhuman snarl welled up in Erik's throat, and he took a long step forward, his hand raised, poised to strike. Mr. Khan fumbled with his pocket for only a moment before pulling out a smooth, shining black handgun, pointing it at Erik's chest, forcing him to pause. Christine pressed her hands over her mouth, stifling a choked scream.
Another silence engulfed around the room. Erik eyed Mr. Khan and the gun, as if calculating something. Mr. Khan's hands looked steady, his own eyes narrowed, determined. She could feel sickness in her gut, dread and horror, and she realized that she could not let Mr. Khan pull the trigger—not even if it meant it would free her.
"We are going to wait here until Raoul de Chagny arrives," Mr. Khan said quietly. "Christine will go with him, and you will stay here."
Erik cackled in response. "We'll be waiting for quite a while, then, I'm afraid."
Even she could see the blank-faced dread in Mr. Khan's reaction. "What did you do to him?" he demanded, his hands shaking slightly.
She let out a tearless sob, unsure if she wanted to hear the answer. Erik looked over to her once again, his head tilted slightly. But he said nothing.
"What did you do to him?" Mr. Khan said again, his voice becoming louder. "What the hell did you do, Erik?!" He was gesturing with his gun, and Christine wondered if it could go off accidentally. He continued, enraged: "I just talked to him ten minutes ago! He's fine! You're just stalling. Bluffing. Is this a goddamn game to you? Do you think this is fun? Why am I even—of course you do! Of course this is a game. You love toying with people's lives! This won't ever end, will it? It won't end until someone puts a bullet in you!"
"NO!" Her scream surprised even herself. It was almost involuntary, echoing around the small room, and she lurched forward a little, clutching the edge of the old, crumbling desk to keep herself from falling over.
"Mr. Khan, no…" she gasped. "Please—please don't."
"This is exactly what he wants," Mr. Khan said, thrusting the gun towards Erik. "He wants you to make this choice. But I promise I won't let you leave this room with him. You can come with me, and I'll take you somewhere safe."
"It's fine," she said, her teeth chattering, even though the evening was balmy. "We were just—he was just going to give me a voice lesson tonight. The opera opens soon…"
"Go over to the door, Christine," Mr. Khan told her. "We're leaving."
"No." Erik spoke again, and his voice caused her to shiver. "You will come with me, Christine. That's what you want, yes? I have something wonderful planned for you. We will leave Nadir and his guns. I'm afraid he is terribly violent. Do you remember when he pointed this gun at you? Just truly awful behavior, isn't it?"
"Stop this!" Mr. Khan spat. "I won't let you play with her life anymore, Erik! This whole thing ends now. I have to. I have to." He raised the handgun slightly, and Christine stumbled forward again, slamming her thigh on the sharp edge of the desk, uncaring of the pain.
"No!" she cried. "No! Please!" In the back of her mind, she understood what had to happen. She had lived in stagnant horror for weeks and knew this was the only way to end it. But the thought of Mr. Khan pulling the trigger made her want to fall to her knees and beg.
She reached out, afraid of actually touching the gun but wanting to get it away from him. Mr. Khan looked over at her in surprise, and in a move so fast she didn't know what had happened until it was over, Erik used the momentary distraction to gain control of the gun, his movements precise, methodical. A quick, sharp shove sent Mr. Khan stumbling back toward the wall, and Erik raised the gun and pointed, his hand steady.
Christine barely had enough time to react and cry out in new, fresh terror when she felt his other long hand grab her arm and yank her to him. As she was pinned to his side, a deafening, sickening BANG shook the entire room. She shrieked, squeezing her eyes shut as her head pounded from the noise.
A guttural moan came then, followed by the sound of something heavy being dropped, and Christine opened her eyes to see Mr. Khan on the ground, cradling his stomach, blood seeping from between his fingers.
After a moment of stunned silence, she began to scream, and she couldn't stop, her mouth wide open, a horrible sound coming from her. Maybe if someone heard her—if the police came, if a doctor suddenly appeared magically, they could make the bleeding stop, heal the man on the ground, take her away, stop this nightmare, free her from her self-made prison—
"Christine. Christine!"
She was being shaken roughly, and she looked to see Erik peering down at her. Horror washed over her. She was not going to go with him—not go anywhere with the murderer, the man who had shot someone right in front of her. Wildly, she twisted away from him, trying to escape the hand clutching her arm. He held fast, telling her repeatedly to calm down.
"We must hurry," he was saying. "You have to be calm. Christine—calm down!"
Blinded by panic, guided by animal instinct, she reached up for his mask, pulling down hard, knowing it was his weakest point. He let out a surprised yelp and released her arm, grabbing at his mask quickly to prevent it from slipping off.
"Goddamnit!" he growled, straightening it.
She instantly darted away, running for the door and out into the warm night, her face smeared with tears, her head spinning.
He caught up to her within seconds, seizing her around the waist and picking her up to stop her. She screamed so loudly it felt as if her voice would tear. A bony hand up quickly pressed over her mouth, and she writhed and kicked.
"Quiet!" he snapped. "Shut up! You need to shut up!"
She tried to bite his fingers. She felt insane, the only thought in her mind to get away from him no matter the cost. But she knew, deep down in places she couldn't face, that it was pointless. The strength of his grip and the clamp of his hand pinned her effectively, and he hauled her just a few meters down the crumbling sidewalk towards a dark car, parked next to a cracked, weed-infested sidewalk. She squirmed, sobbing against his palm, looking around for anyone to help her, but it was just her, alone in this nightmare.
He opened the back door and manhandled her inside. It was not elegant or smooth. She fought, kicking him, grabbing hold of the sides of the car, scratching at his chest, shoulders, and face. He had never touched her so much, so shamelessly, grabbing her shoulders to push her down and into the car, seizing her waist to shove her onto the seat. He kept one large hand on her chest to keep her laying down while the other rummaged through something in the front seat that she couldn't see. She was still screaming.
"You are giving me no other option," he said. "You will hurt your voice! But you won't listen to me, as you once did…"
His other hand was suddenly in her face, and she saw that he held a small white pill between his fingers. Instantly, she clamped her mouth shut.
"No time for games," he said, holding her cheeks with his other hand and squeezing hard, creating a small, round opening in her lips. She could feel the inside of her mouth rubbing against her teeth, and the faint taste of blood filled her mouth. He pressed the pill through, past her teeth, his thumb brushing against her tongue as he ensured that the pill made it all the way in. Then he forced her lips shut again, a hand back over her mouth to prevent her from spitting it out. "Swallow," he commanded.
The pill was sitting against her inner cheek, bitter and disgusting, already beginning to dissolve, and she tried to use her tongue to push it away from her throat, but he kept her teeth shut tight with a firm grip on her jaw. She was sobbing against his hand, messy, inelegant, tears and sweat and snot mingling.
"Swallow," he growled, shaking her head slightly. His eyes were glowing, his teeth bared, his dark hair falling over his mask, and he loomed over her like some horrid demon, nearly lying on top of her to keep her down. Anywhere in the world had to be better than this nightmare, and so Christine closed her eyes and swallowed the pill, hoping wildly that it would kill her but knowing it wouldn't.
It took hardly any time at all for the effects. She lay there dully, her eyes drifting closed, welcoming the escape from the madness.
"I really did have such a lovely evening planned," Erik whispered softly in her ear, his words seeming to slur in and out of her consciousness. "And now it's ruined. But that doesn't matter. You are here now. With me. And I would die without you, you know? I would die."
Perhaps he kept speaking. Maybe he continued to ramble insanely long after she lost consciousness. But his voice soon faded, and she lay there, wondering dully and unconcernedly if she would ever wake up again. Something cold briefly touched her face. She thought of her father. Then she thought nothing.