| The Wedding Thief ~ Chapter 5 |
| Carlos del Travieso sped through the alleyways, his black cloak swirling behind him. He had changed into his shadowy garments at the brothel, and was enjoying the sense of freedom that such dark clothes afforded him. He blended in perfectly with the shadows, and his steps could not be heard. He knew, however, that the Phantom was just as cunning, so he stopped and listened and peered into the deep shadows to see if the Phantom was following him. To his great satisfaction, Carlos could find no trace of the Opera Ghost. The Spaniard heartily congratulated himself on his evasion of the Phantom, but he still decided to take an obscure route home. He hurtled headlong into the wretched parts of Paris, twisting and turning every possible way so that even the most skillful thief would have trouble catching his trail. When he knew that he was safe, he made his way to his newly rented apartment. The building he had chosen for his hideout was particularly nasty and most of the residents were accustomed to averting their eyes. Carlos delighted in the danger that pervaded the place, and he swaggered about, letting it be known that he was one to be feared and respected. No one dared to cross his path or question him. The Spaniard bounded up the steps to his flat and removed a black leather mask from his cloak. As he placed the mask over his handsome face, he could not help but smile. He remembered how Christine had first called to him before she realized her predicament. She had spoken almost warmly, making Carlos wonder if she was not a victim of the Phantom, as the managers had attested, but quite possibly his lover. Carlos was amazed that any woman who had seen the Phantom’s face would be able to love him, and he reproached himself for entertaining such an idle thought. Still… he was fascinated with the notion and was eager to see how Christine would respond to him. As he opened the door, he could hear her struggling, her cries easily muffled by the gag he had placed over her sweet lips. Carlos quietly closed the door and slipped into the room to drink in the sight of her. She was lovely with her long dark curls cascading over her soft bare shoulders. He could see why the Vicomte and the Phantom had had such a passionate interest in her. Her vehement struggles were testament to the fire that burned beneath her porcelain-like skin. “You are awake, I see,” he said silkily, noting how she seemed to go rigid with surprise at his presence. “I mean you no harm, querida,” he said, and he stepped out of the shadows. “In fact, I have brought you a gift. Food and wine to sustain you….” Christine eyed him warily as he set the food on the table. Her blue eyes flickered with a hateful glare, and Carlos was sure she would do him harm if she could. He completely relished the challenge. He withdrew a knife from his boot and held it before her. That seemed to cool her fire for a moment, as her eyes grew wide and fearful. “I will free you from your bonds, so that you may enjoy your meal,” he said. “But I must warn you that if you try to escape, you will be endangering yourself more than you know. Do you understand?” Christine nodded her head, though her mind was whirling with fearful possibilities. Who was this man, and what did he want with her? As Carlos bent to undo her gag, he leaned intimately close to her. Christine withdrew as far as her bonds would permit, but she was still too keenly aware of his nearness. She was tempted to bite him, but she knew such an action might provoke further violence and she was not ready to take such a risk. Carlos pulled back from her, a little surprised that she had not screamed. Her lips were pursed and she was still regarding him with those cold blue eyes. He was so tempted to kiss her, to break that chilly façade, but he sensed that she would not respond to his seduction so soon. When the time was right, he reminded himself, the fruit would ripen and be all the sweeter. Christine recognized his leer and tried to mask her fear. She hated the way he looked at her, his black eyes raking her body, promising untold wickedness. “I need to use the facilities,” she said coldly, hoping such base instincts would divert his attention. “Of course,” he said. He skillfully unloosened her bonds and hoisted her to her feet before she had the chance to lash out at him. Then he pinioned her arms behind her back and escorted her to a water closet that was near the flat. Somehow, he had managed to grab his knife and was pressing it into her side. “If you scream or cry out, you will deeply regret it.” “You obviously have little knowledge of opera singers,” Christine retorted. “We never scream for fear of damaging the instrument.” Carlos chuckled and ushered her into the water closet. He locked the door behind her and remained outside as a sentry. Once she was alone, Christine looked frantically about, grasping for anything that she could use as a weapon. But there was nothing to be found, not even a window to aid in her escape. Christine struggled with her tears and bit her lip to keep from crying out. She would not give that ruffian the satisfaction of knowing he had cowed her. She had to be strong and bide her time until she could find a way out. When she had completed her toilette, Christine returned with her captor to his dreadful flat. She was completely terrified, but she tried to remain calm. She dined with him, and though he remained masked, she took in what she could of his character. “Your accent marks you as a foreigner,” she said at one point, trying to ascertain his origins. “As are you,” he replied, taking a sip of wine. “A Swede, are you not?” “Yes,” she said, blushing uncomfortably when he turned the conversation back to her. “Then we have much in common!” he joked. “I have nothing in common with you, monsieur!” Christine said defiantly. “Oh no, querida mia,” the masked man replied. “You and I are bound together by a common thread.” “How so?” she asked cautiously. “We have both seen him,” the Spaniard said. Surprise then suspicion washed over Christine, and she tried to mask her response. “I don’t know whom you are referring to,” she said evasively. “Of course you do,” Carlos taunted. “I am speaking of that monster of a man known as the Phantom of the Opera.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Christine lied, trying vainly to maintain her façade. “Oh?” the Spaniard asked. “Then why did you call me by his name?” Christine caught her breath and unconsciously looked up at him. “Erik. Isn’t that what you called me?” Carlos asked, enjoying her apparent torment. “Did you think it was he who had stolen you away? You seemed quite used to such a thing. Perhaps you enjoy being taken by force.” “How dare you!” Christine spat. She rose from her seat and circled her chair to put a barrier between them. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you are playing with fire, monsieur! I am to be married to the Vicomte de Chagny, a true and noble gentleman, who I am sure will pay you handsomely for my safe return!” “That is good to know,” Carlos purred. “But I did not steal you away to wound the Vicomte.” “No?” Christine gasped. “Then...why did you?” Carlos rose to his feet like a giant cobra getting ready to strike. “I have been told that the Phantom has an obsession with you, that wherever you are, he cannot be far behind…” Christine shook her head in protest and felt a sob well up within her. “You are mistaken, monsieur. The Phantom wants nothing more to do with me. I don’t even know if he is alive.” Carlos smiled, reveling in the emotions that played across her face. “Were you in love with him?” he asked suddenly, drawing terribly close to her. Christine looked up at him in shock, and then quickly lowered her gaze. Her face heated with shame and remorse, but she did not want to give her tormentor the satisfaction of knowing the truth. “I think you might have been,” Carlos said, drinking in her distress. “You called me your ‘love’ when you thought I was the Phantom.” “I was confused,” Christine stammered, trying desperately to back away from him. “Were you?” he asked, his black cloak swirling seductively around his body. “Or did you find yourself drawn to me, thinking me your phantom lover?” “You are nothing compared to him!” she cried indignantly. “You might have adopted his costume, but you are a dreadful imitation!” Carlos's smile turned hard and he continued to advance upon her. “I would hardly describe myself as a false phantom, my dear. I don’t need to hide my face from the light of day!” Christine felt her back hit the wall, and she realized that she was trapped. In desperation, she reached out to claw at the masked man’s face, and she tore his mask away. With his handsome face revealed, the Spaniard grabbed her wrists and pressed her hard against the wall. He leaned in close to her, his dark eyes glittering with mischief. “Are you surprised?” he asked, his lips curling into a smile. “No,” Christine spat. She surveyed him with a cold glare. “Didn’t you expect another monster?” he teased. “I can already see one before me,” she replied boldly. Carlos offered a bitter laugh and gave her a rough shake. “Now there will be no sense of mystery between us!” he mocked. “Whatever shall we do?” He swept her into his arms and carried her to the small bedroom. Then he tossed her onto the bed and quickly reached for a length of rope. Christine screamed and thrashed about like a wild beast, but Carlos quickly subdued her. He gagged her with silk handkerchief and bound her to the bed. As she glared up at him, Carlo leered down at her. “You should consider yourself lucky, querida,” he said. “I have relinquished the bedroom, so that you may have it to yourself. But don't get too comfortable. I don't know how long I will be able to resist your charms.” He bent over her and leaned down as if to kiss her, but Christine averted her face. Carlos laughed at her defiance and nuzzled her neck with his rough, unshaven cheek. “So sweet,” he purred, and he purposefully wrapped an arm around her. He gave her an intimate squeeze, and then gingerly pulled away from her. As he walked to the bedroom door, he offered her a mock bow and gifted her with a smile. “Pleasant dreams,” he whispered, and he shut the door, leaving her in darkness once again. ~ Chapter 6 ~ |