Wow! Here it is. Five years later...
Do you know how the last lap of the mile/marathon is the hardest? Yeah, that is what happened with this story. I started it when I was in HIGH SCHOOL. So, forgive the writing mistakes throughout. I needed the mental closure of completing this before I could give enough space for other projects. Anyway, please enjoy the final chapter. And if you are interested, look at Christmas Desserts and A House Divided, my other stories on here. Thank you for reading!
The gas lamp on the porch illuminated the group. She spotted six horsemen. Their faces were pinched, their clothing weathered, and they looked furious.
She spotted blonde curls on the back of one mare. Her stomach clenched.
Though restrained, Meg seemed…
Fine.
Christine sighed in relief and crouched under her son's windowsill. Collections of army men stood in various positions. French soldiers held their rifles. Russian soldiers marched in lines. One German stood in front of the lead canon. She cracked the window, wincing when it creaked. It was winter, and they had not opened them in a while. The dogs rumbled, but she quieted them.
Voices grew louder. Then harsher. Swearing? She struggled to make sense of their tones, the language foreign to her. Her husband spoke with ease. Nadir set his shoulders back, gesturing to the house. Their breaths made white swirls in the night air—silence for several beats. The men exchanged harsh glares. Then, Meg dismounted. One man shoved her towards Erik and Nadir. Meg stumbled, Erik catching her arm and pointing toward the house. She ran up the steps through the front door. More conversation. Nadir raised his voice, only for Erik to shush him.
"Meg," Christine whispered.
"Christine!"
"Meg. My God, Meg." Setting the gun down, Christine made to untie the bindings, only to fail. She sought out drawers. Alexandre had a pocket knife here, right? "Watch the window. Wait for Erik's signal."
Meg nodded, her face set in a firm line.
"It is good to see you, regardless."
"How are you? Did they-"
"No. They were remarkably polite if you can believe it."
Small blessings.
As Christine scoured the drawers, Meg tapped her. "They are searching them. Erik is getting on the horse."
"What?" She pulled the knife out, sawing through the bindings.
"They are tying his legs."
She could scarcely imagine it. Was he surrendering? She poked her head out, adjusting the gun on the windowsill. He would signal soon. He had to.
He had promised.
Cocking the hammer, she had forgotten the French soldier positioned on the windowsill. As she adjusted her position, the barrel pushed the toy off the ledge. With a loud clang, the metal figurine rattled against the porch steps.
The man's eyes followed the sound, eventually spotting her darkened figure.
"Get down!" Erik yelled.
Meg yanked her friend down, shaking as gunfire blasted through the windows. Glass scattered around them like tiny crystals. Brutus whimpered.
"Is he...?" Christine's stomach dropped.
Meg placed her hands on his broad chest. She felt soft fur. "No. Just from the glass."
Christine clenched her teeth. She had given them away. There would be no signal. They would come up here. And her husband could be dead. Her children would be alone, locked in that room.
Rising, Christine peered through the scope. She let out a breath, then pressed the trigger. The man pulling the rope tight of her husband's leg fell to the ground. The horse jostled. Snow fell in silence.
A yell. They ducked again, the windowpane destroyed, but the brick provided enough protection. Wood splintered around her, the toys flying. The two women stared at each other, soaking in the reality of what Christine had just done.
A younger man, taller and looking like the group's leader, commanded orders. Another figure trudged through the snow and smashed the gas lamp on the porch. His companion restrained Nadir, pressing a gun to his head. They were going to kill Nadir! Her husband yelled, tied up as he was. Trying to diffuse the situation? She had one bullet left before she needed to reload. Moving her eyes to the first man, she aimed. Erik shook his target and lit a torch with the lamp.
And sent it careening towards her and Meg.
She was the one to tug Meg down this time. The gun skittered out of her hand and under the bed. Alexandre's bedsheets caught fire. Meg tried to put it out, but the flames grew more extensive, the smoke unbearable. So they sought to burn them out. Christine ground her molars, picking up the weapon as the bed erupted into flames. She coughed, the smoke chafing her lungs. The open window offered some relief, and with an exhale, she let out another shot.
It struck true, and the man holding Nadir tumbled to the man's left.
"We must leave!" Meg yelled.
Chaos erupted. Nadir recovered, grabbed the gun, and shot another man. Erik cursed and barked orders at her, but she could not hear them through the ringing in her ears. Downstairs? Was he telling her to go to the books? Yes. She nodded. Two men. She had murdered two men. Her head felt stuffed with cotton, and her palms were sweaty. She most likely would have burned to death if Meg had not escorted her, still holding the gun in her shaking hands, down the stairs.
Finally, coming to,- Christine pointed to the lever which brought them to the cellar-staircase. Such a room was underground and thus fireproof. Ordering Macbeth to protect the children, she took advantage of the commotion to shove her friend inside and lock the door. Only Alexandre knew the way out, and he would follow his father's orders. As she coughed into her sleeve, she heard Meg pummeling the door, yelling how stupid she was and how she was about to get herself killed.
She turned toward the door and ushered Brutus out, his gait strong. The fire upstairs had spread, and the ceiling above her was beginning to collapse. She ran out the back door, clinging to the side of the house to see the commotion. She had an advantage in that they did not know where she was. She would keep it that way.
When she laid eyes on her home, her heart tightened. Ten years of memories melting into the cold winter wind. First steps, birthdays, dinners, smiles, kisses, fights. Her Il Muto programs. Their marriage certificate. His music. Gone.
But her family drew breath, even if their keepsakes were ash. She summoned air in her lungs. Before she panicked, she had to evaluate the situation. Yes, that is what Erik would do. Nadir bled, the blood staining the snow around them. He splayed out on the ground, flat yet breathing. Erik was bound at his ankles, his wrists, and his neck. Immobilized was he. She moved to load the gun but realized the bullets were still upstairs. She tried to think as the two other men bickered back and forth. Where was the third?
Her question was answered with a hand coming over her mouth. Brutus growled and lunged. His teeth sunk into the man's leg, and he released her enough for her to scramble away. But he caught her again, pulling her leg. The three were connected in a strange, violent chain. A firm kick to the head caused Brutus to fall to the snow and Christine's chest cramped. The dog had always been more watchful of her—a loyal protector.
Large fingers wrapped around her waist and mouth. She maneuvered against him, but he was too strong. He pocketed her weapon.
They emerged from the side of the house to see two other men and their captives. Erik sat up, his eyes burning. He said some words to the group leader, causing the man to yank the rope that connected around his neck. Christine squirmed, but he did not give her any reprieve. She struggled to draw breath and began to panic. Her stomach flipped when he reached under her legs but calmed when she realized he meant to bind them. Erik uttered what she could imagine to be threats and curses, but it made little difference. He deposited her in the cold snow.
A loud crack drew her attention away. The house erupted in flames. She could peer through the bracings to see furniture, rugs, and the outline of the fireplace covered in a thick layer of stared in dismay, and when their eyes met, she struggled to hide her tears.
The men spoke in hushed tones. They kept looking at her, then at Erik. She ripped off a part of her dress and handed it to Nadir. He looked pale and forlorn.
"Use this to staunch the bleeding."
He groaned but assented. At some point, he lost consciousness. But they could do nothing. She prayed.
The three men gathered away, watching the house crumble and crack.
"You are a remarkable shot, my dear."
"What are they discussing?"
"They cannot afford to take three hostages. Nadir is injured and too much work."
"They plan to leave him to die?"
"It seems so."Erik shrugged.
Her heart sunk low into her stomach. Erik's jaw clicked.
"And what of you and I?"
"Most likely, they will force my obedience by threatening you." He wriggled the knots and leaned over, voice lowered. "The children? Meg?"
"In the cellar. Safe with Macbeth"
His posture slackened.
"What are we to do?"
A wild look appeared in her husband's eye. He made gestures with his hands. He motioned to Nadir. At first, she did not understand, but with his pantomimes, she nodded.
"Ah!" Blood covered her frock coat. And it was difficult to tell where the injury came from. She recalled previous performances in which she played dying heroines. It was not so complicated, especially when her fear was not make-believe. "Monsiuers, please."
Erik agitated the bindings, wriggling to get to her and playing the anxious husband. She knew he was not acting as much as it seemed. His fear was real. The man with a thick beard crouched next to her. He uttered something to his superior, then felt her abdomen. She pretended to feel pain when he touched her right ribs.
It was then Erik who came upon the man with ropes in his handcuffs.
She saw his pulling, so natural. He was unencumbered by the man's thrashing, even bound as he was. As if he had had practice before.
Because he did.
She shivered, and before she could think any further, Erik shouted at her to grab his pistol.
She breathed. A man rushed her. Her finger pressed onto metal. She heard a click, and a jolt hit her shoulder. And heard loud pops and yells. But all the noises felt distant. The gun rattled on the icy ground—so much carnage.
He and Erik came tumbling to the ground, a picture of blood and violence. They rolled in the snow, the large man bellowing curses at Erik, using the demon word Nadir had called him earlier. Perhaps Erik was a demon to these people. But she had chosen her side, and she would be glad of her husband's victory, even if it meant this man's death. The two men wrestled, shouting curses. She watched in horror as the man pulled out a weapon, lining it up with Erik's heart. He clicked the trigger. Erik froze, his eyes meeting Christine's. She screamed.
No bullet was fired because she had forgotten to reload.
She stumbled and gagged. Nothing came out. Her pulse pounded in her head. Erik took advantage of his attacker's momentary surprise.
Her husband's larger frame emerged on top. His long fingers gripped the sorry man's neck, squeezing.
"Christine!"
Erik's eyes rounded in an unfamiliar expression as they beheld her. His jaw fell open. The man below him lay dead. Strangled? How had Erik managed? And she had seen the bullet fly into the other man… But that left.
Another.
Thick red pooled out of her side. She gasped at the pain, sharp and severe. Her body felt light, and if it weighed nothing, the wound was the only thing keeping her weighed down onto the earth. She thought of Josephine walking for the first time, and how happy she was, then she cried that night because Erik was not there.
The cold snow embraced her as she vaguely noticed her husband rushing the man behind her. He swore and cursed, and red seemed to emit from his body as he unleashed fury onto him. She gasped, and her breaths shortened. The snow suddenly felt hot, and the moon was too bright. She stared at Erik's leather boots. His feet were abnormally large. It would not be easy to get him a new pair, considering these current ones were so bloodstained. She would manage, though. Such was the duty of a wife.
Then his face was above hers, smoothing out her hair. She felt a dull tug on her gut. He muttered words to her, but she couldn't understand. Was he speaking French at all? His face was not so ugly, she surmised. Rays of moonlight cast deep shadows on him. His bald brow furrowed. His pretty white teeth were stretched into a grimace. She smiled.
Christine woke. She battled her eyelids, white flashes coming before her. Dust danced through the air, the light illuminating the tiny particles. Her mouth begged for water, her lips dry and cracked. Each joint ached, and she felt one hundred years old. Stinging emanated from her side. Course bindings covered her torso, limiting her movement, but she figured the pain would have anyway, even if the restrictive fabric were removed. She was grateful for the pain, though, since that meant she was alive.
She registered her unfamiliar surroundings. Erik sat slumped in a chair. Blood was matted on his suit, and she didn't know who it belonged to. His cravat was untied, his mask in place. His body caved in on itself. His eyes had fallen shut, and one leg stuck out. He looked… exhausted. Brutus, the dear dog, perked his ears up when she looked at him. She held her hand out, and he limped over to her. Grey hairs peppered his face. They both seemed to have aged last night. His tongue lolled out, and she gasped when she saw the ruddy stumps of several teeth.
Erik jolted, rushing over.
"Christine!" He grasped her hand, squeezing.
"Where are we?"
"How do you feel? Are you in pain? I have a tincture for you: my God, Christine. Forgive your Erik. He failed. His darkness spreads to everything he touches. How dare he-"
"Tell me what happened. Where are we? The children? Are we safe? Please, take off the mask." She would learn to ignore the pain. But she had to know.
He peeled his mask off in acquiescence. They stared at each other, disbelieving that the other was there. She scanned him for injuries and noticed some bruises. His skin was so sensitive. She would have to tend them soon.
He seemed to realize she was conscious and pulled the cover back to show her. "We are fine. They are fine. The dear children, yes. Your friend helped them stay safe. They did not see. Not they should ever see. We are at her house, you know. She told me you knew this place. Her husband is quite the cello player. He distracted the children from the violence. Yes, that is what a good father would do." His eyes became distant, and she tugged his hand to bring him away from his dark reverie. "The gun skirted your side. The surgeon found no bullets embedded, thank god. That bastard fractured your ribs. I would kill him again."
She did not doubt it. "Are they gone? For good."
"Nadir and I threw them in the fire. They provided us with tools to conceal their own murder. Ha."
Her husband's humor was morbid. "So. The authorities will believe..."
"We are dead, yes. And the children, if you wish it so."
"Ghosts." Such a state offered much freedom. They could go anywhere and do anything without the burden of their pasts.
He quirked an awkward smile.
She patted her side, still very tender. "So, no singing for some time, then?"
His mouth fell open; his head hung low. He wailed. "Forgive your Erik, Christine!"
She had not meant to send him into hysterics. "Calm down! I am fine." She knew she would recover. The tension of the last several months had finally been released, and a heady peace settled within her.
"Erik believed his Christine had gone above. To heaven forever. But Erik was fast and clever. He bargained with God."
"How did you bargain with God?"
"Erik promised never to leave his wife again. To stay beside her. To care for her. And in return, Erik would be granted more time. He and Christine have lost so much time."
She could not argue with that.
He gasped out a sob, his chest heaving. "Christine." He gripped her hand, the other wrapping around her leg like she would float. "Christine, my Christine. Erik never wanted to leave her. Erik wanted only to keep his family safe!"
"You did, Erik! You did." Tears dripped on her forearms, and she bid him onto the bed, wrapping her arms around him as much. "What is it, my love? All is well."
Erik shook his head back and forth. He fidgeted, his hands tightening onto her. He panted, calming. "The physician, when visited Christine, performed an evaluation. Erik hated how he poked and prodded her."
She could imagine Erik's threats. She only prayed that Nadir or Meg had tempered him, though that was unlikely. "Physicians often do. What is wrong?" Her ribs pained her, and she clutched them. He was making her anxious.
"Christine must not die. Christine shall not die! Erik would kill himself in a fit of agony. He would prolong it, you see, to fit what he deserves. The children would be taken care of."
"God, Erik. You are scaring me!"
"Do not be frightened. Erik is frightened enough."
"Husband, promise me something."
"Anything! Christine shall have anything she wants!"
"I am going to heal. But promise me if anything happens to me. You will stay with Josephine and Alexandre."
His face fell. "Such torment is too horrible."
"Do you think I do not know the burden I ask of you? I have carried it myself. But we have created life together and must do what we can to nurture that life."
Erik moaned.
"Erik?"
"Fine. Yes. Erik will be a father. But when the children are adults, you will allow Erik to end his suffering?"
She questioned what his definition of 'adult' was. They would speak of this later. But his agreeance was enough for her at the moment.
"What did you wish to tell me?"
"Christine will have another child."
Her heart stilled and roared to life. Her face heated, and she grinned. She swatted him. "Why did you say it like that?" Her chest lightened. "Do you not realize how incredible this is? It is a miracle!" His yellow eyes widened, and his lip pulled upwards. She dragged over his hand and splayed it across her abdomen, below the bindings. "And what more did he say? Is our baby well?"
Her husband nodded, adding, "he mentioned the period where the child was most vulnerable to miscarriage is over. You are four months along. However, we must take care of your injury." He kissed her hand. "You truly did not suspect?"
She thought about it. Her courses had stopped, but she did not pay much mind to them. After Josephine's birth, they had been irregular. She said as much, and Erik nodded.
"Is this not joyous news?"
"Alexandre was surprised enough. I just found out I had another child. Now, a third?"
"You are adjusting." She said, her voice monotone.
He winced. "Understand me. I am overwhelmed, yes, but find myself seeking to avoid placing my wife in yet another near-death situation."
"I will be fine."
"So you say."
"You will be there to take care of me. Will you not?"
"I shall never leave your side again."
A pang of guilt hit her for not thinking of their friend. "Nadir?"
"That old coot could survive anything. Except me. Ha."
"Erik, you cannot mean?"
"He is fine! Just sleeping like the dead."
"And we must find a way to repay Meg."
"I have a few ideas. I still have my old contacts at the Opera. Perhaps a large retirement sum is in her future. She is quite the dancer. You know how I loathe to be in someone's debt."
Christine let out a sigh, leading to a cough. She winced, her years of training causing her to draw breath with her belly, the most painful way at the moment. She focused on inhaling short gulps of air through her chest. It was almost as uncomfortable as the pang in her ribs.
Erik shoved some bitter concoction into her mouth. In minutes, the sharp sensation dulled.
"Thank you." She leaned back. The pillows were fluffy and warm. "Will you send for the children?"
"You must recover, my dear. It is too much."
"I want-"
"-the surgeon insisted."
"I believe I have the right to see my own children." She bit out.
He nodded, looking chastised, and left the room. She tried to piece together the night's events. They would need to sort through the wreckage. And find a new home. She doubted Erik could stand living with another couple for too long, no matter how trustworthy. She felt a surge of regret for Meg's involvement in the entire situation and what they owed her.
And a baby! A thrill of excitement washed through her.
Macbeth barked, and her daughter's little feet padded on the wood planks.
"Maman!"
Josephine rushed her, and Christine braced for the impact, but Erik's long arms yanked her upwards. His exasperated eyes bore into Christine. "Be gentle, mon coeur. Your mother is sick."
With Erik's help, Christine ushered her daughter into the crook of her left side. She glanced up to see her son wobble in, tears brimming his eyes. He was so like his father. She wanted to cry but was too overjoyed to see them safely tucked in the city flat. "My dear son. Come here."
He broke at that. Sobbing into his mother's arms, he cradled himself in her lap. Josephine wrapped her tiny arms around her, her breath evening. Christine whispered into their ears that she was safe and would be fine. That everyone was alive and well. That the sun would poke out again despite the bad weather. She would tell them of their new sibling later.
A feeling of warmth spread through her as she held up children. Josephine fell asleep. The previous night had taken its toll. Alexandre asked questions about where they would go and what they would do, but she had yet to discuss them with Erik. She had an idea. She glanced up to see him peering out the window, his face pulled into a frown.
"Come, my husband, join us."
"I do not deserve-"
"Hush. Come here." She had enough of his self-deprecation today.
He kneeled, flinching when she touched him but remained still when she slipped the mask off. "I am grateful to see you once more. Thank you." She gazed at her son's measured reaction.
"Papa, you do not need that around us."
Erik huffed a laugh, shaking his head. He placed a firm hand on Alexandre's shoulder. "You were courageous, like your mother. Now sleep. You have had a long night."
Christine's heart lurched at the sight of her children coiled under the blankets at her side. She dozed to find Erik sitting beside her. Her smile was wide when she saw adoration in his gaze.
"Let us go to the Opera House."
"You do not mean-"
"Let us stay there. It is intact, yes? I know you do not want to stay here."
His relaxing features told her what she needed to know. He did not want to stay here. "You would go back to that damp cellar? To live among the rats and skeletons?"
"Do not exaggerate. We will be in the heart of Paris. There are flushing toilets and electric lights, for pity's sake. And enough room for us. Do you think Nadir will mind keeping the dogs?"
"He will appreciate the company, I am sure. You mean for us to live there permanently?"
"No. But we need to spend some time alone. Just the five of us." She placed a hand on her stomach. "Protected and safe. I cannot think of a better location until we find another home, one that suits us all. I would like us to go as soon as I am able." At one time, the underground home suffocated her. A prison. Now, the security called to her. They could live unworried and free of intruders. Free to live. It was what she always wanted. Together.
"My brave Christine." He sighed, smiling. "Everything should be amenable. I will ensure you and the children's comfort."
She knew he always would.
"Erik?"
"Yes, my dear?"
"I would like another portrait. Of the four of us. With Nadir as well. And another when the baby arrives."
"You cannot possibly want a photograph after all of this."
This was important to her. She would not relent. "I do."
"As you bid, wife."