| The Wedding Thief ~ Chapter 10 |
| When Carlos and Christine arrived at the Opera House, the morning had turned gray with clouds, and a thin mist had settled over the city. Under such excellent cover, Carlos was able to smuggle Christine past the Opera House without drawing too much attention. He looked to her to guide him to the Rue Scribe and the Phantom’s secret entrance. Christine’s heart grew hopeful at the sight of two guards patrolling the Rue Scribe, but Carlos quickly caught her eye and gestured wickedly to his dagger. Christine knew that to invite the guards’ attention would also invite their deaths, and she could not risk it. She reluctantly led the Spaniard to the secret door and opened it to reveal the corridor beyond. Carlos pushed her through and quickly closed the door behind them. His face was alive with excitement as he nodded to Christine to continue. The diva tentatively walked down the path, anticipating the darkness of Erik’s domain. But to her great surprise, she found that the caverns were fairly well lit. “The gendarmes have been through here,” Carlos explained. It was then that Christine heard the echoes of hammers and the shouts of men. “Pay them no heed,” Carlos instructed. “We have other affairs to attend to.” Christine gave a nervous nod and proceeded along the path to Erik’s house. As she led Carlos past the underground lake, she could see a group of men toiling on the other shore. They were busy pushing rowboats out onto the dark lake and were attempting to bring light to the place with their lanterns and torches. The flickering lights danced across the black water and illuminated their faces, making them all look like ghosts. Christine squinted to see if she recognized any of them and was surprised to see that Raoul was among them “Raoul!” she breathed unconsciously. Carlos heard her exclamation and quickly clamped his hand over her mouth. He dragged her into the shadows, and stole a cautious glance at the Vicomte. Raoul was looking blindly their way but seemed to be oblivious to their whereabouts. “I should have remembered that you have a weakness for the Vicomte,” Carlos growled into her ear. “Do not tempt me to remove him from your life forever.” Christine clutched at his hand that muffled her voice and tried to swallow her fear. “I’m a very jealous man, querida,” the Spaniard explained. “You would do well to remember that.” Christine nodded in understanding, and Carlos reluctantly released her. He gestured to her to continue the trek, and Christine turned away from him to stumble blindly down the corridor. Her body was shaking from suppressed sobs and she could not seem to stop the tears from coursing down her cheeks. But she quickly brushed them aside and tried to think of what she would do when they finally arrived at Erik’s home. A part of her hoped that the Phantom would not be there, that he would have moved on with his life since their dreadful parting. But her heart ached to see him once more, and she was hopeful that he would be glad to see her once again, despite the unwelcome presence of the Spaniard. Her mind raced with a thousand possibilities, and before she knew it, time had slipped by and delivered her to Erik’s doorstep once again. She moved cautiously towards a dark stone wall that cleverly hid the Phantom’s abode, and searched for a particular indentation in the stone. She pressed hard and stood back to watch the stone slide away, revealing a secret door. Carlos grabbed her in a hug and kissed her on the forehead. “So this is it!” he said excitedly. He pulled a small lantern from his pack and lit the fuse. Then he gestured to Christine to open the door. “I don’t have the key,” she whispered weakly. “It doesn’t matter,” Carlos said, and he gave the door a rough kick. To Christine’s surprise, the door opened easily. Darkness loomed within, and the place was as still as a tomb. “Call to him,” Carlos prompted her. Christine shook her head in mild protest, but the Spaniard withdrew his dagger and gestured to her menacingly. “Erik,” she finally whimpered. “Are you there?” Carlos strained his ears, listening for any telltale sign that the Phantom was at home, but the place was filled with a dreadful silence. The Spaniard moved cautiously into the foyer and dragged Christine with him. He ordered her to light a few of the candles while he skulked about the darkness. Christine complied, and the place was soon filled with soft candlelight. “So this is the mouth of hell,” Carlos breathed. He kicked at a Persian rug and drank in the Phantom’s surroundings. It seemed too lavish and beautiful a place to house a monster, he thought. “He doesn’t appear to be home,” Christine whispered anxiously. “Perhaps he has abandoned this place…” “I doubt it,” Carlos replied. “Where else would he go? No, I believe if we wait for the Phantom, he will indeed appear….” At that moment, the Spaniard's words were cut short by the lash of the Punjab Lasso about his neck. Christine turned from him in horror and looked frantically about for the Phantom. “ERIK!” She screamed. “Where are you?” “I am here,” the Phantom replied. He stepped out of the shadows to stand before her, and Christine impulsively threw herself into his arms. Though Erik was startled by her response, he gladly welcomed her embrace and enfolded her in his arms. “Don’t ever leave me!” Christine sobbed, clinging to him with all of her might. She buried her face into his shirtfront and unleashed a torrent of tears. “I won’t,” Erik promised, and he caressed her long curls with his fingertips. “Bastard!” another voice cut in. The couple whirled about to see that the Spaniard had cut himself loose with his dagger. Christine screamed and Erik cursed while he struggled to place Christine behind him. The Spaniard took advantage of their surprise to thrust out with his dagger, drawing a fine line of blood from the Phantom's wrist. “So you’re not a ghost after all!” Carlos cried in triumph. The Phantom clutched at his arm but managed to evade Carlos' second attack. He reached out to take hold of the Spaniard’s wrist, but the younger man lunged to the side and struck out a third time, creating a blossom of blood on the Phantom’s dress-shirt. “NO!” Christine screamed. She tried to rush between the two men, but Carlos quickly grabbed her and pinned her to his side. He laughed at her futile struggles and held the blade to her throat. “I think that’s enough from you, querida,” he taunted. “Don’t you agree, Erik?” The Spaniard looked to where his adversary had last stood and was horrified to see that the Phantom was gone. Carlos cursed and held tight to the sobbing diva. “I know you’re here, monstruo,” he said steadily. “There’s nowhere for you to run, and you can’t possibly abandon Christine to my blade.” Christine wept pitifully and tried to shrink back from the sharp dagger, but Carlos held her in a deadly grip. “Shall I end her life right here and now?” Carlos threatened. “NO!” the Phantom thundered, and his voice seemed to echo all about them. “Then show yourself!” Carlos shouted in frustration. As if by magic, a small door opened to the Spaniard's left and the Phantom’s voice could be heard from the dark doorway. “I’m here!” he called menacingly. Carlos thought he caught sight of the white half-mask and he flung his dagger at it, but the Opera Ghost was too quick and miraculously disappeared into the chamber beyond. As the blade hit the door with a thud, Carlos released Christine and sped to retrieve the dagger. He looked back at the diva with a grim smile and ordered her to give him a lantern. Christine reluctantly complied and backed away from the dangerous Spaniard. She knew the room he was about to enter. “Wish me luck,” Carlos said with a wicked grin. Then he descended into the dark chamber, holding his lantern aloft. Christine quickly locked the door behind him, but Carlos was not overly concerned. He figured he could coerce her into letting him out later. And besides, the room he was entering completely captivated him. The light from his latern was instantly directed back to him by the many mirrors in the place, and Carlo was greeted by numerous reflections of himself. “A mirrored room,” he queried. “How perverse!” He caught sight a black shape huddled against the wall, but the mirrors were misleading, and Carlos could not ascertain the Phantom’s true location. “I'm amazed you can stand the sight of yourself, monstruo” Carlos taunted as he edged further into the room. “Do you think that she could possibly look on you without growing violently ill?” The Phantom drew himself up to his full height and leveled his fiery gaze at the Spaniard. “Christine has seen me unmasked, and still she returned to me,” Erik said softly. “Oh really?” Carlos hissed in mock astonishment. “I doubt any woman would come to you of her own free will.” “Unlike you, who has to pay a woman for her affections,” Erik replied sharply. “Ah, but I didn’t have to pay for Christine,” Carlos leered. “I simply took her!” Erik growled in rage and rushed towards the Spaniard. He threw his Punjab Lasso towards the scoundrel's neck, but Carlos anticipated the move and lunged to the side. Erik continued to barrel towards him and savagely knocked Carlos' lantern to the floor. The glass shattered with a crash, and the room was plunged into darkness. Carlos quickly refocused his senses and lashed out wildly, hoping to strike at the Phantom. But he only managed to drive his blade through Erik’s velvet cloak. “I suppose I shall have to take you down one piece at a time,” Carlos chuckled as he fingered the torn fabric. “And how will you deliver me to Firmin and Andre?” the Phantom retorted. “In pieces? Or do they just want my head?” Carlos laughed and gingerly moved from the center of the room to feel for the mirrored walls. He knew that the best way to catch his quarry in the dark was to keep him talking, so he conversed with the Phantom, and marked the perimeter of the room as he tried to gauge the Phantom’s whereabouts. “Do you really believe that I’ve come after you for the sake of the managers, those two idiots?” he asked. “No,” Erik replied, making his own trek through the darkness. “You’ve gone to too much trouble to satisfy the mere whim of the managers. What do you really want?” “Revenge!” Carlos intoned, letting the word ring throughout the pitch-black chamber. Erik drank in the word and was immediately intrigued. “For whom?” “My mother,” Carlos choked, suddenly overcome with emotion. Erik pondered the statementt and then finally gave in to curiosity. “Enlighten me. Who is your mother?” “Seralda!” Carlos seethed. “La gitana!” “Ah... Seralda…” Erik said with a verbal caress. “Yes, I remember her…the lovely gypsy girl. But she did not have a child at that time. She must have bore you after I escaped.” “Yes,” Carlos replied fiercely. “Then Javert was your uncle,” Erik said in disgust. “My condolences….” “Demonio del infierno!” Carlos shouted in rage. “You shall pay for your slight against my family!” “But I never hurtyour mother,” Erik disputed, moving quickly through the darkness. “Liar!” Carlos thundered. “Because of you, she was cast out from her family and cursed to an early grave!” “Killing me will not bring her back,” Erik argued. “It will sure as hell give me satisfaction!” Carlos roared. He made a mad lunge towards where he thought the Phantom stood, but came up empty- handed. Howling in frustration, he began to move wildly about, slashing at the air with his dagger. Erik listened to the exertion and wondered patiently when the boy would tire himself out. He quickly bound up his wounds and waited for the Spaniard to grow weary. After a few moments, Carlos finally stopped his tirade and strove for a better way to draw the Phantom out of hiding. “Do you know what else gives me satisfaction, Erik?” he breathed heavily. “The lovely Christine Daae.” Erik tried to ignore the taunt, but he could not keep his hands from balling into fists. “I suppose I should really thank you for keeping her pure for me,” Carlos continued. “After all, when I took her, she had never known the pleasure of a man’s touch…” Erik uttered a cry of rage and rushed blindly towards the young scoundrel. He flung his Punjab Lasso towards the Spaniard’s voice, but Carlos lashed out with his dagger and luckily stopped the noose from sliding about his neck. The two men collided into each other, but Carlos used the connection to plunge his blade deep into his opponent. He heard the Phantom gasp in pain, and he joyously drew back the dagger to stab at his victim again. Erik knew he was in danger, so he frantically twisted out of the Spaniard’s grasp and dropped to the floor. He heard the blade slash over his head as he felt along the floor for the chamber’s secret trap door. Though the dark would have hindered any other man, Erik was able to locate and access the trap door with ease. He lifted it up and quietly disappeared into the chamber below, taking time to quickly bolt the door behind him. The Spaniard heard the thud of the trap door and the sound of the bolt sliding into place. He muttered a curse and dropped to his knees to feel along the floor for the secret door, but he could not seem to open it. He was trapped. “Damn!” he growled. And he stood up, trying to gauge the direction of the original entrance into the room. But his frustration and fury were keeping him off-balance and the darkness was so thick. He could not cut through it with his knife. He would need help. “Christine!” he beckoned at last. “Open the door!” There was a moment of silence, and then suddenly, the room was bathed in bright, hot light. The mirrored walls seemed to hum strangely and an intense heat began to reflect off of the glass. Carlos looked about in confusion and realized to his dismay that he was in an exact duplicate of the Phantom’s famed mirrored torture chamber from Mazenderan. Cursing his foolishness, he searched the walls for a way to dismantle the trap, but he could not touch the burning glass without blistering his hands. The room was becoming unbearably hot, and sweat began to pour off of him. Carlos stumbled about in terror, realizing that there was no way out. “Christine!” he called out desperately. “I know you can hear me! Don’t let me die like this!” He tore off his cloak and shirt to better handle the heat, but could not seem to cool the fire in his brain. “Think of what he has done to me! To us!” Carlos shouted madly. “This is but another one of his tricks! And once he is done with me, he will take his revenge on you!” An eerie silence answered his call, and Carlos screamed until he was hoarse. “He will make you his plaything, Christine! His puppet, his whore! And that’s all you’ll ever be! A marionette for men!” “You fool!” Christine’s voice suddenly rang throughout the chamber. “You think you can order me about or name my destiny? You are my prisoner now, Carlos! Do you hear? And I will never again be terrorized by the likes of you or anyone else. My fate is mine to choose! Mine! It does not belong to any man – least of all you!” “Puta!” the Spaniard growled savagely. He fell to his knees and clawed at his throat in a mad attempt to subdue his thirst, but the heat was beyond his comprehension and he was soon wavering beneath an onslaught of hallucinations. “Mama!” he wept. “I’m sorry, Mama! I didn’t mean it! I love you! I’ll be good! I promise!” But no one answered his plea, and Carlos fell back into the arms of unconsciousness. He hit the floor with a thud and did not rise again. Sensing his subdual, Christine immediately turned off the firey mechanism and wiped a hand across her brow. She had felt as if she were the one in the torture chamber, burning in the hellishness of hatred, and it unnerved her. Suddenly, Erik’s front door opened with a creak, and Christine turned about fiercely, ready to defend herself. To her relief, she saw that it was the Phantom who stood in the doorway. He moved with a stilted grace, as if exerting great control not to fall, and Christine could tell that his wounds were great. The former diva ran to him and gathered him up in her arms. She guided him towards the sofa and urged him to recline on the soft pillows. Erik glanced questioningly towards the torture chamber and then back to Christine. “I didn't kill him,” she answered uneasily. “I couldn’t do it!” Erik nodded wearily and sighed, “It would... not have been my choice to spare his life. But I trust you... Your conscience will be clear...” He leaned back, exhausted from his struggles, and he tried to steady his breathing. Christine took in the sight of his garish wounds and began to tear madly at her skirts, looking to form a crude tourniquet to further bind the wounds. She hovered over him in fearful concern and worked quickly to stop the bleeding. Erik sank back into a delirium of pain mixed with the pleasure of Christine’s touch. He thought of how exquisite it would be to die at that moment – in his beloved’s arms. But Christine spoke sternly to him and begged him to fight death. “I have not come all this way to have you leave me,” she insisted. “Christine…” he moaned softly. “It is better this way…better that you return to the Vicomte…” “No!” she said fervently. “Erik, I know what is right for me!” “I have nothing to offer you…aside from this life of pain…” “No, no, mon ange,” Christine soothed. “There is so much more! But we will discuss it at another time, Erik. You need to rest now.” “Christine… ” “Rest,” she said again, and to her relief, the Phantom closed his eyes and went to sleep. Christine completed her task of binding his wounds and listened intently for his breathing to steady. When it finally did, she took a deep breath herself and relaxed a bit, but she did not take her eyes off the Phantom. She had never had the chance to observe him so intimately. It was intoxicating to be so close to him once again. She rested her hand on his heart and felt the steady beat. A good sign. Then she tentatively reached out to trace her finger along his jawline and inadvertantly caressed the edge of his mask. Biting her lip in frustration, she wondered idly if he would offer a struggle if she dared to remove the mask. But Erik seemed to be lost in a deep, healing sleep, and was unaware of her intentions. Unable to resist the temptation, Christine took a deep breath and carefully removed the white leather mask from her maestro's tortured face. She unconsciously held her breath, worrying momentarily that her old fear might resurface and drive her from his side. But Christine found to her relief that she did not start in terror. She merely offered a secret smile when she beheld the Phantom's face, and she leaned closer to him to tenderly kiss his lips. ~ Chapter 11 ~ |