Chapter Fourteen:
A Gauntlet is
Thrown
Throughout Christine’s story, Erik’s
anger continued to rise until he dared not to even look at his angel for fear
he’d traumatize her even further. The things he’d planned to do to Gachot
seemed pedestrian now that he knew the complete story. It was going to take
more creativity to truly hurt him as he deserved; Erik would need to go
shopping once more. When her voice dwindled away to nothing, he had a tenuous
hold on his fury and sanity. It wasn't until he felt the small figure ease from
his arms that he realized she might have taken his silence in a way he hadn't intended. She was in her room in a flash and he could hear her sobs through the
door.
“Christine?” It took great effort to
keep his simmering anger from his voice. He didn't want her to think he was
angry at her for any reason. “Please open the door, mon ange.” When there was no reply other than her tears, he eased
the door open only to find her room empty. The rustling behind the bathroom
door alerted him to her hiding place and he crossed the room to knock softly on
the door.
When the door finally opened, his eyes
widened to see his angel dressed as the young boy once more. Her gorgeous hair
was braided and pinned tightly under the battered hat and her clothing, though
clean, had more patches than original cloth. She’d scrubbed her face but her
eyes, red and puffy, were still bright with unshed tears. They also looked
everywhere but at him and his heart broke a little bit more.
“If you would kindly show me the way
out, I will bother you no more Monsieur
Devereaux.” Christine’s voice shook but that was all the emotion she allowed to
show.
“Christine…”
“No,
Monsieur, don’t. Please. I…I knew…I expected this once you’d heard
everything, but I would prefer not to get lost in the tunnels.” She brushed
past him quickly so that he wouldn't see the fresh tears on her cheeks. “I
promise that…that I've taken nothing, Monsieur,
but what I had when I arrived so, if you would…” Erik’s hand on her shoulder spun
her around to face him and she fell silent, shocked at the anger on his face. His
fingers, wrapped around her upper arms, tightened to the point that she knew
she’d carry bruises as he shook her.
“Is that what you think I’m worried
about, Christine? Do you think I give a damn about all these useless pieces of
junk?” Flinging her aside so she fell onto the bed, Erik picked up a vase and
shattered it against the opposite wall. “Dammit, child, I could replace
everything in this house a hundred times over and you dare to assume I’m going
to accuse you of theft? No, I will not show you how to navigate the tunnels as
I’m not letting you leave this house until it is safe to do so.”
“Letting me?” Christine’s fear of his
outburst was overshadowed by her anger at his high-handedness. “You’re not letting me? Monsieur, you are gravely mistaken if you think I’m going to be
controlled by any man ever again. I will
be leaving.” Rolling off the bed, she marched determinedly to the door only to
be stopped once more by those firm, unrelenting hands.
“Very well, mon ange. If you will not listen to reason…” Tossing her back onto
the bed, he quickly slipped out the door. A grim smile graced Erik’s lips at
her shriek of frustrated anger when the lock clicked into place. “When you are
willing to converse in a more civilized manner, mademoiselle, I shall unlock the door. And throw those clothes in
the fire!” Pocketing the key, he entered the music room. A song was forming in
his mind and he wanted to get it on paper before he forgot.
xxxxxx
Christine
paced the small room like a caged tiger. She’d never liked being confined and
after that night she liked it even less. It made her feel helpless, and that
was something she was determined not to be. Pulling out a hairpin, she set to
work on the lock; she wasn't an expert but she wasn't a novice either. Ten
minutes turned into thirty and then an hour and she was still no closer to
unlocking her door than when she’d started. Who puts such difficult locks on
the inside of a house? A thought
occurred to her that made her groan. If they were this bad on the inside, how
difficult was the exterior lock? With a frustrated growl, Christine tossed the
hairpin across the room to join the pieces of the broken vase. She knew she was
being foolish for trying to leave but pride and stubbornness refused to bow to
logic. She wouldn't stay where she was pitied.
Another two hours had passed before
she heard Erik’s knock at the door. During this time she’d counted 120 floor
tiles, 250 boards that made up the wainscoting, seventeen candles (five of
which were lit), and five spiders of various types and sizes. She was bored out
of her mind which did little for her temper. So when Erik knocked, she was
itching for a fight…anything to change up the monotony of being in that room
alone.
“Are you ready to let me go, Monsieur?”
The door opened slowly as if he feared
her reaction, which was wise. He barely had time to duck the vase that matched
the one he threw earlier. As it shattered against the door's frame Christine was
already looking for her second missile while a grim smile of satisfaction
graced her lips at his muttered curse. If she could get him away from the door,
she could slip past him and lock him
in. Something tickled the back of her mind that this might not be the wisest
course, but she was no longer listening to logic. The glass by the pitcher of
water on her vanity was the next contestant and she aimed away from the door’s
hinges this time, hoping to herd him into leaving a gap she could use. When he
moved further into the room, she saw her chance and bolted towards the door.
Not a good idea.
She was almost through when an arm
like a steel band caught her around the waist and spun her back into the room
and onto the bed. The momentum of snatching her and spinning her around had
carried him as well and he’d landed atop her with enough force to knock the air
from both their lungs. Christine glared into Erik’s furious amber gaze and was
reminded once more that he was also the infamous Opera Ghost. Caught as surely
as a fly in a web, she watched as the anger faded to be replaced by something
just as intense. Before she had a chance to say or do anything, Erik leaned
forward and kissed her. Hard. Then sanity and reason returned and he flew
across the room to huddle in the corner.
“Erik is so sorry, mon ange. Erik should never have touched
his Christine with his hideously deformed lips. Please don’t die, mon ange, Erik is so sorry. Please don’t
die.”
Christine laid in stunned silence
wondering why he’d kissed her. Did he think she was fair game now that he knew
of her past? But no, that didn't seem like Erik at all. Then why? Bringing a
shaking hand to her tingling lips, she remembered the feel of his. They were
soft, oddly textured on the right side but not unpleasantly so, and warm; so
warm she could feel it running through her body. Slowly, she became aware that
Erik was crouched in the corner, sobbing and rocking back and forth like a
child after a particularly harsh punishment. It took a while for her sluggish
brain to comprehend his words. He thought
she’d die if he kissed her? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Who had told him that
rubbish? She never thought she’d want a man that close to her after her attack
but it had felt…nice. She always felt so safe with Erik; she still did. He was
nothing if not a gentleman.
Christine rose from the bed and approached
him cautiously; she felt that one incorrect move on her part and he’d bolt from
the room like a frightened rabbit. Kneeling before him, she gently took Erik’s
hands and eased them from his face.
“Erik! What…what have you done?” His
fingers were red from where he’d clawed at his face, leaving several large
gashes on the already mangled skin. “We have to get you cleaned up; it could
get infected.” He didn't resist when she pulled him into the bathroom and sat
him on the small stool by the tub while Christine gathered the needed medical
supplies. Erik’s eyes remained unfocused during the entire procedure and he
never so much as winced, even after the sting of ointment. Once he was clean
and doctored, she led him into the den and sat next to him on the sofa growing
ever more worried when he remained unresponsive. After more than ten minutes,
he turned to look at her as if surprised to see her.
“Christine? Why…?” His golden eyes widened
as he remembered what had occurred and he stood from the sofa quickly only to
be tugged back down. “Please forgive me, mon
ange. I promise it will never happen again.”
“Erik?” Reaching over, she gently turned
his face to hers. “Why would you think I’d die?”
“I am hideous, Christine, a monster. My…my
mother wouldn't let me touch her for fear of what I might do to her.” She
wasn’t sure what was more disturbing; what he’d been told or that he repeated
it so matter-of-factly.
“You are not a monster, Erik. And…and it wasn't awful. It was actually quite nice.” A blush tinted her cheeks as she
said this and she wondered if she was beginning to feel more than friendship
for her host. This would never do!
xxxxxx
Practice had ended for the day and
Madame Giry was glad. Ever since the death of the little ballerina, Vivienne,
the girls in the ballet corps were more nervous and jumpy than ever before.
Before dismissing them, she reminded them all to travel nowhere alone, inside
or outside of the opera house; and patrons did not count. Tired and aching, the
girls slowly left the practice room as Angelique packed up the necessary
bandages and poultices a ballerina always needed. It wasn't until she turned to
leave that she realized she wasn't alone.
“Bonjour,
Madame Giry,” the gentleman bowed in greeting. He was richly attired and
handsome and would have been quite appealing if not for the hard set to his jaw
and the calculatingly cold gleam in his eyes.
“Bonjour,
Monsieur le Comte. If you will excuse
me, I must see to my girls.” Giving her best ballet mistress glare, she waited
for him to move from the doorway but he remained still. She felt a small
frisson of alarm run through her when he stepped into the room and closed the
door.
“I’m afraid I must insist, Madame, on a private audience. You see,
you have a friend who has taken something that belongs to me. I am a forgiving
man, Madame, and would be willing to
overlook certain things if it were to be returned to me within, shall we say,
twenty-four hours. However, I am not one to cross and if my property is not in
my grasp by the appointed time, I am certain the gendarmes will be most pleased to know that Buquet’s murderer is at
large and hiding beneath the Garnier.” Though she was shaking inside, not once
did she drop her haughty demeanor and piercing stare.
“I don’t know where you get your
information, monsieur, but I do not associate with thieves and
murderers. Now move away from the door so I can leave; you have delayed me long
enough.” Head held high, Angelique attempted to brush past him but was stopped
by the press of cold metal against the side of her neck and an unmoving arm
around her waist.
“Listen well, you supercilious bitch,”
Gachot increased the pressure until she could feel a trickle of blood running
down her neck. “You will tell that freak to deliver my property to Box Five by
the end of the Overture tomorrow night or I’ll take another of your precious
little ballet rats home for a night of fun. And I will continue to do so every
day until I reclaim what is mine. Do
you understand?” The last came out as a low hiss which very nearly froze the
blood in her veins. Defeated, she simply nodded and the sharp bite of the blade
was gone from her neck. Just as she was satisfied they were through with their
talk, he grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. With a sneer that
twisted his handsome face into a vision of pure evil, he brought the knife up
and slashed across her cheek. “To help you remember, Madame.”
He left the room in high humor, his
laughter carrying a more than a hint of madness. Angelique quickly pulled the
bandages from her basket to press against her bleeding cheek. She had to tell
Erik, and soon. They had to find some way to stop that monster from hurting any
more of her girls without sacrificing Christine.
he's gonna get his ass handed back to him on a rusted platter once erik gets his hands on him.
ReplyDeletethe switch in erik's character is well done too!
more to read tomorrow!