Chapter Fifteen:
The Best-Laid Schemes
o' Mice an' Men…
The faint tinkling of an alarm broke the
silence that had begun to grow awkward in the house on the lake. Erik quickly
replaced his mask and bade her to remain in the house; Christine agreed without
protest. Pausing only to fasten his cloak about his shoulders and grab his
fedora, the ghost slipped out the door to see who had invaded his home. Slowly
pulling out the pins that secured the hat, Christine took a long frank look at
her feelings for her masked host. She valued him as a friend, that much she’d
already been aware, but these new feelings were most unwelcome. She couldn't allow herself to fall for anyone when there was no chance it would ever be
reciprocated. With fresh tears forming, she returned to her room very much
afraid her heart had already taken that leap.
Changing into a simple pale blue dress,
Christine considered her options. If everything were to be settled with Gachot,
she could finally take the stage like her father wanted. She was certain Erik
would train her voice but, after two years of working at being invisible, did
she really long to have so many eyes focused on her? No, aspirations of the
stage were her father’s dreams, not hers. What then? Christine had no desire to
don her boy’s clothing and take to the flies but she needed a profession, a
place to stay, and food on her table. As she entered the kitchen to put a
kettle of water on for tea, an idea struck her that seemed perfect: housekeeper
and cook to the Opera Ghost. She giggled softly at the thought. What a job
description! She would definitely give Erik his bedroom back, of course, but
she could happily remain in the house on the lake. She ignored the voice
whispering that it would keep her close to him as well.
The kettle’s whistle jarred her from her
introspection and masked the sound of the door opening. She nearly dropped the
kettle when Erik rushed in with a rather disheveled and…bleeding? Madame Giry.
“Angel, in the bathroom is a first aid kit.
I need it, some towels, and boiling water.”
“The tea kettle had just come to a boil,
Erik, so water is ready. I’ll be right back with the rest.” A brief pause at
the door, “Gachot?” His grim nod dropped her heart into her toes. Already those
around her were paying for the sins of her past.
Reentering the kitchen with the necessary
items as well as a candle to sterilize the needle, Christine laid everything
within Erik’s easy reach and moved out of his way. She sat by Madame and took
her hand with a reassuring squeeze. He made quick work of cleaning and
stitching her cheek, his golden voice singing hypnotically to dull the pain.
Once he was finished and everything cleaned and put away, Christine put more
water on to boil and began preparing a light snack to go with tea as Angelique
related all that had happened with Gachot. When the kettle whistled, she
brought everything to the table and poured for each of them, wondering if she
was strong enough to do what needed to be done.
“The bastard.” Erik’s growl made the hairs
on the back of her neck stand up and a shiver ran down her spine. “I had a
feeling he was responsible for the little rat’s murder. He has to be stopped,
Angelique.”
“I know, Erik, but how? If you take him
from the Opera House, the gendarmes will be swarming the place like a hive of
angry bees. I’d rather he pay for what he’s done, not you.”
“Simple, Madame,” Christine’s soft voice
eased into the discussion. “I go to him tomorrow as he wishes and Erik follows.
There can be no connection to the Garnier if he is disposed of in his own
home.” Though she was proud that her voice remained steady, she couldn't keep
the blood from leaving her face. She knew the risks if Erik was delayed or lost
them altogether.
“NO!” Erik stood so quickly that his chair toppled
over with a loud crash. “I will not lead you like a lamb to the slaughter into
the monster’s lair.”
“You know it’s the only way, Monsieur. I
will not let another suffer in my stead.”
“So you would return to him after all he’s
done to you?”
“Of course not!” Horrified he’d think such
a thing, her own anger began to stir and she stood and glared up at him. “How
dare you think I want to return to
him! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you know what he’s done to me! I could never
knowingly put another in that position.”
“And what if we get separated, Christine?
What if he doesn't return to his estate and I lose you?” He grabbed her
shoulders and shook her, trying to make his point. “You little fool; there are
too many things that could go wrong that would put you at his mercy once more.
It’s because I know what he’s done that I refuse to turn you over like some
kind of present.” Suddenly he pulled her into a tight embrace and murmured
against her hair. “I cannot risk losing you, mon ange.”
Angelique, forgotten momentarily at the
table, watched the two with a speculative gaze. She’d never seen her masked
friend get so worked up over the well-being of anyone, and yet he was shaking
with both anger and fear over his little angel. Christine also seemed to be clinging
to him a bit more than mere friendship would allow. Could Erik have fallen for
her? Would she allow herself to return his affections? Seeing that they were
far too comfortable holding each other, she called forth her best ballet
mistress voice and ordered them back to their seats. It was all she could do to
hide her amusement when they jumped apart like a pair of scalded cats and
quickly took their seats.
“Thank you, it made my neck hurt to look up
at you both.” Hiding her grin in her tea cup at their discomfort, she took a
fortifying sip before continuing. “Erik, the girl does have a point…”
“…and a name.” Christine’s soft murmur
earned her a glare from Angelique and a smirk from Erik.
“As I was saying, she has a point. If he
were to believe that Christine went to him against our wishes…”
“…which would be the truth.” This time it
was Erik whose muttered interjection received Angelique’s glare and Christine’s
smirk.
“…he might be less inclined to stay for the
entire performance, which allows you to spirit him away from the Garnier with few
witnesses.”
xxxxxx
Hidden in the secret tunnels near Box
Five, Erik was in a foul mood and itching to take it out on Jean-Louis Gachot.
For hours he’d tried to come up with some plan that did not involve putting
Christine back into the clutches of that monster. Unfortunately, time was
against them and so he agreed with extreme displeasure. His angel had chosen to
wear her boy’s attire for the meeting, citing ease of movement through the
tunnels, but he knew there was more to it than that. He chose not to press the
issue and put more strain on her nerves and his temper. The orchestra had just
started warming up when Gachot entered the box. It was time for them to put on
a show worthy of the stage.
The lights dimmed as the first strains
of the Overture began and Erik took advantage of that short moment before one’s
eyes could adjust to silently step from the passageway and into the darkest
corner of the box. In all his years of being subjected to the violence and
hatred of mankind, there was no one he’d ever wanted to kill as badly as he
wanted to kill the man who now sat before him. The fact that it would be so
easy to do so now and yet knowing he could not did nothing for his temper. A
deliberate movement made Gachot aware of his presence and Erik smiled evilly
when the man’s face reflected fear before he’d schooled his features into one
of indifference.
“You must be the infamous Opera Ghost
I keep hearing about. Nice trick with the eyes, Monsieur le Fantôme.”
“It is no trick, Gachot,” the golden
voice of the angels now reverberated through the box with such evil menace that
it sent a shiver down his foe’s spine. “You wish to reclaim someone you once
abused, discarded, and very nearly destroyed, but I am here to inform you that
will never happen. Do not press this matter, Gachot, or I will take great
delight in persuading you to reconsider.” Before the Comte could respond in any
way, there was a sudden, blinding flash and smoke in the center of the box.
When the spots finally faded from his eyes, Gachot was alone in the box once
more.
Back inside the passageway, Christine
was having a hard time gathering the courage to play her role. When Erik
reentered the dark tunnel, she flung herself into his arms and begged him to
come for her, to save her once they were away from the Palais Garnier. He
gently stroked up and down her back and whispered his promises before
reluctantly releasing her to go wait in Gachot’s carriage. Shaking and very
nearly hyperventilating, Christine waited until the end of the first aria
before exiting the tunnel and into the box with the man who’d ruined her life.
xxxxxx
She was here. Gachot smiled as he kept
his eyes on the stage. He knew her kind well; she’d not let another suffer in
her stead. He briefly wondered how she’d escaped the Opera Ghost but was truly
unconcerned with the how, or even the why, as long as she was here. Without
even so much as a glance to acknowledge her, he patted the seat beside him. She
was slow to come near him and he could practically feel her fear rolling off
her in waves. Excellent. He couldn't wait to have her under his control once
more.
“I have to thank you, my dear,” his
soft murmur barely cut through the screeching of La Carlotta but she heard, he
knew it the moment he saw the shudder envelop her small frame. “I never knew
myself until that night with you. You've shown me what I am and what I was
meant to be. That’s why I had to have you back, to show my…appreciation.” Her
whimper when he trailed his hand along her thigh ignited his blood. To hell
with the opera; he wanted her now!
Standing, he finally looked at her and
smirked at her disguise. She didn't make a very convincing lad in his mind. She
was far too frail and effeminate to be considered anything but what she was,
but he was going to enjoy unwrapping the gift so cleverly packaged for him. A
flare of light from the stage chased the shadows from the box and he considered
taking a sample of her delights right there in the theater. The fear plainly
wrought on her face as well as her steady rain of tears had him harder than a
virgin boy in a whorehouse. When she cringed away from his hand, he smiled
evilly and wrapped his fingers in her tight braid, pulling her from her seat
and flush against his body.
“We are going home to have some fun,
my dear. If you value the lives of everyone in this pathetic building, I’d
advise you to keep your mouth shut as we walk to the carriage. I’m sure the
ballet wench is dear to you, is she not?” At her terrified nod, he chuckled.
“It is up to you to keep her breathing. Do not forget it.” Grasping her arm
tightly, he escorted her out of the Garnier and into his waiting carriage. With
a tap to the roof, they left the relative safety of the opera house and its
resident ghost.
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