Chapter Eighteen:
Aftermath
As he slipped through the front
entrance of his home, Erik had mixed emotions about the night’s events. He was
greatly relieved that the danger to Christine was over, but now there was no
reason for her to remain in his home. What was worse, he knew he could never
ask that of her. After two years of hiding, his angel deserved to walk and live
in the sunlight. Hanging his cloak and hat with a sigh, Erik made his way towards
the office that now served as his bedroom. His clothes were dirty, bloody, and
smelled distinctly like horse. He wanted a bath, a brandy, and the pipe organ.
In that order.
After a thorough bath, he entered the
den for his brandy and noticed his favorite chair was occupied with a
half-awake Angelique Giry. He wondered just what had happened that she felt it
necessary to stay up to wait for him and shot a concerned glance in the
direction of Christine’s room. Entering the room and pouring his drink, Erik
took a seat across from his friend with a quiet greeting.
“It is done, then?” Madame Giry’s
voice was low and she, too, stole a glance towards the room that housed his
sleeping angel.
“Yes. Gachot will no longer be a
threat to Christine or your gaggle of little ballet geese.” Before she could
ask, he shook his head. “No, you definitely do not want to know, my friend.”
She sighed and nodded in acceptance, knowing that when Erik was this adamant,
it was for a good reason.
“Erik…what happened to Christine while
she was with Gachot?”
“I can only guess what went on inside
the carriage,” Erik sighed and placed his empty glass on a side table and ran a
hand through his hair. Remembering the things his angel had been subjected to,
his tone sharpened and his anger grew once more. “When they exited, she was
completely unclothed and he was letting his driver stare at her nakedness.
He…strapped her to shackles hanging from the ceiling and…and began…touching her. Touching her in places he
had no right to even dream of, much less place his filthy hands!” Standing, he
began to pace in front of the fireplace. “I couldn't go to her immediately;
there were guards posted. And they were allowed to watch his disgusting
violation of my angel. One of them even…he had the nerve to…” Turning abruptly,
Erik grabbed the empty glass and threw it at the fireplace before collapsing
onto his knees. “I had to get rid of them, Angelique. I had to! But my poor
angel, my Christine…”
She slid from the chair to wrap her
arms around him when he began to sob. He resisted her comforting embrace for a
moment before hiding his masked face in her shoulder. Angelique murmured
soothing words, rubbing his back like she would a child, until he finally got
his emotions back under control. Embarrassed, Erik pulled away and sat with his
back against the chair he’d recently vacated. Staring at the ceiling, his voice
was emotionless as he continued.
“When I was finally able to get to get
to him, the bastard was doing things…he’d disrobed entirely…” His eyes and
voice grew hard though there was a hint of malicious satisfaction in the slight
upward turn of his lips. “I replaced my angel in those shackles with his own
filthy hide and encouraged the warehouse’s occupants to keep him company while
I brought her here to you. He received no more than he deserved and I was most
disappointed I couldn't spend more quality time with him.”
“You need to speak to her, Erik, when
she awakens. I slipped her some laudanum to ensure she rested tonight and didn't try anything foolish.” Angelique returned to her chair; she was too old
to crawl about on the floor.
“Foolish? What do you mean?” He
immediately locked his amber gaze on her face in concern. “She’s not going to
try to…harm herself, is she?”
“I truly don’t know,” She gave a deep
sigh and averted her eyes to stare into the fireplace. “She asked me to lead
her to the street as she felt she’d no longer be welcome here. She’d planned on
disappearing. That’s why I drugged her drink; I couldn't be certain I could
remain awake and didn't want her roaming the tunnels alone.”
Somewhat embarrassed, and angry at his
embarrassment, Erik explained what Gachot was doing when he wrapped the lasso
around his neck. Angelique nodded in understanding; that was why Christine was
so upset. She blamed herself for her body’s natural reaction to sexual stimuli.
Now it was her turn to throw her hair into disarray by dragging her fingers
through it. How would she ever convince the girl that she wasn't perverted or
sick?
xxxxxx
Rousing from her drug-induced sleep,
Christine’s head was pounding and she could have sworn something small and
furry had died in her mouth, as it had such an awful taste. Her body felt
heavy, like she’d just left the lake after a swim, and she struggled to sit up.
A large but gentle hand wrapped around her shoulders to lend support as the
pillows were lifted and placed behind her. She’d know that touch anywhere and
kept her eyes on her hands, which had twisted together in her lap. Christine
could only hope that he’d not make things more difficult than they needed to be,
but feared he was there to do just that.
“Good morning, mon ange.” God, did his voice have to be as gentle and soft as his
touch? “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine, Monsieur,” her words were
barely a whisper as anything more would have triggered the tears she was
fighting to hold inside. “If you will return my clothing, I’ll be gone as soon
as I've changed.”
The bed dipped as he sat beside her
and claimed one of her shaking hands. “If you speak of those horrible rags I
first met you in, they have finally been disposed of.” One of his hands
released hers and reached out to softly caress her cheek but stopped short of
actually touching her. He can’t bear to
touch me now. Christine felt tears slip through her defenses and escape
down her cheeks. “What is wrong, mon ange?”
“N…nothing, Monsieur.” The lie was obvious as she shook from
the effort of stopping her tears. They continued to escape, however, and were
multiplying in numbers and force. She nearly broke down when he tenderly
cupped her cheek and brushed her tears away with his thumb.
“Your tears tell me otherwise, my
dear.” Erik’s whisper was as tender as his touch and she covered his hand with
hers and held it close to her face.
“I have to go, Monsieur, surely you
know that. I can’t stay; you can’t
want me to stay. Not now. Not anymore. No one will….” Her voice caught and,
before she knew what he was intending, Erik had pulled her close and wrapped
her in his comforting arms. The final thread of control snapped and Christine
clung to the lapels of his coat as she cried once more.
“Sshhh, mon ange. It’s over now. Erik will never let anyone hurt his
Christine ever again.” She could barely feel the soft touch of his lips upon
her hair and wondered if she was imagining it. “You are safe now.” He continued
to stroke her hair gently as his soothing voice calmed her tears.
“Thank you, Monsieur.” Christine finally got her emotions
locked down once more and attempted to move from his embrace but found herself
held fast.
“You once called me Erik, mon ange.” Leaning back, his amber eyes
gazed down at her with tenderness and none of the disgust she’d expected to
see. “You are also suffering under a vastly erroneous assumption. You may stay
here for as long as you wish; you are always, and forever will be, welcome in
Erik’s home.” Leaning back, he smiled and wiped the tears from her cheeks
before laying her back against the pillows. “Angelique shall be here
momentarily with your breakfast, my dear. After you have eaten and dressed, I
would be honored if you would join me in the den.” He rose at her nod and placed
a light kiss, the barest brush of his lips, on her forehead before he left the
room.
Within a few minutes, a soft rap on
her door preceded Angelique Giry with a breakfast tray. Setting it across her
legs, the older lady apologized to Christine about the laudanum and assured her
that nothing on the tray held anything of a similar nature. While she ate,
Madame Giry pulled out a gown and all the required underthings and laid them on
the end of the bed. It was clear there was something she wished to say, but
just as clear that she didn't quite know how to begin. Only after Christine set
the tray aside did the ballet mistress broach the subject of what had happened
at the warehouse and the girl’s response.
xxxxxx
In the den, Erik paced fretfully.
Angelique had explained Christine’s distress and, on an intellectual level, he
fully understood. According to the many texts he’d studied, the female anatomy
had several lesser and one major erogenous zones. Gachot had known this and
used that knowledge to his advantage so that, even in death, he still held sway
over the young woman. Like the abuse he’d forced upon the child two years ago,
and the humiliation of the night before, it was all about power. What better
hold could Gachot have over Christine than for her to project all her hate and
loathing for her tormentor onto herself? In that way, his power would never
dim.
Erik knew he wasn't a saint; in fact,
he wasn't even a good man, really. The evidence for that lay in an abandoned
warehouse at the mercy of the rats and other vermin. Therefore, he didn't understand why he was so unnerved to know that Christine had responded to
Gachot’s touch for any reason. He knew it had been both unwilling and unwanted,
a simple matter of anatomy. He also knew that he had far more blemishes on his
soul, some of which he even enjoyed, than this one transgression. Why, then,
did this bother him so much?
Clenching his hands into tight fists,
Erik wished he’d left Gachot alive so he could take his confusion and
frustration out on his filthy, perverted hide. He couldn't blame his angel; she
was the victim in all this and was doing a fair job of blaming herself already.
No, he had to put his anger, his disgust, and his hatred onto the one
responsible and then he had to bury it with him. Erik knew that he had to be
strong for his Christine; she was hurting in ways he’d never understand. He
would do whatever it took to make her happy, even if that meant he must remove
himself from her life forever.
xxxxxx
Across town in an abandoned warehouse,
the banging of a carriage against a bay door alerted a patrolling gendarme.
Investigating the warehouse, the seasoned veteran found a nobleman’s carriage
hitched to a matching pair of horses that were trying to back out of the
building. The gendarme found the latch and pulled open the bay doors to lead
the animals outside. Tying them to a lamp post, he returned to discover what had
upset them so. The odor of death, faint at the bay doors, grew stronger as he
advanced into the building. His footsteps echoed loudly as he approached what
appeared to be the carcass of a dead animal swarming with flies and rats. Upon
closer inspection, he was horrified to learn that the pile of chewed flesh and
bone wasn't a stray dog or some other animal but the remains of a human being. He
stumbled out the door into the cool morning air in an effort to keep the
contents of his stomach where they belonged. Catching another patrol, the
gendarme sent them for help. It was going to be a long day.
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