| The Wedding Thief ~ Chapter 8 |
| The next morning, Carlos awoke to find himself face to face with Christine Daae. She was still asleep, but he could see the dark circles under her eyes that clearly marked her distress. Carlos instantly felt a pang of guilt, and he thought keenly of his mother, who would have been horrified at his treatment of the fairer sex. “Perdóneme, Mama,” Carlos whispered a prayer. “Please remember, I’m doing this for you.” He brushed a stray curl from Christine’s forehead and gently removed the gag from her lips. As he worked to undo the ropes from her wrists and ankles, he readied himself for her possible escape. But Christine merely rolled onto her side and sighed deeply in her sleep. As Carlos watched her, he felt a strange yearning take hold of him. It was slightly different from the usual lust that flared within him at the sight of the beautiful woman. It was deeper, richer, and far more inspired by the beauty and purity that lay before him. Spellbound, Carlos reached out to touch Christine’s cheek and felt his heart give way to the powerful emotions that surged through him. “Have I stolen an angel?” he whispered softly. At the sound of his voice, Christine awoke with a start. “What?” she asked shakily, sitting up in alarm. “Nada, querida,” Carlos said to calm her. “I was merely wondering when you would awaken from your heavenly slumber.” Christine gulped and tried to erase the fear and disgust from her face. She wrapped her arms protectively around herself and suppressed a shudder. “Are you hungry?” Carlos asked, attempting to play the gracious host. “I have brought you some treasures.” He rose from the bed and began to rifle through his bag. He unloaded a small banquet of bread and fruit at her feet; then he reached deeper into his bag for something else. Christine took advantage of her captor's distraction, and stole a quick glance towards the door. She was tempted to bolt from the bed and make a daring escape, but then she remembered that the key to the front door was still in the Spaniard's possession, and so she knew she would not get very far. She deflated back onto the bed with a frustrated sigh and tried to think of a way to get the key from him. Think of an opera role, she told herself desperately. What would Tosca do in a situation like this? Carlos looked up at her with a devilish grin and withdrew a dress from the bag. “I have also taken the liberty to buy you some new garments.” He held up a beautiful green dress and offered it to the diva with a small bow. Christine gingerly took the gown in her hands and looked up at him curiously. “Do you want me to wear this?” she asked softly. “I think it might prove flattering,” Carlos replied with a smile. “Besides, your current gown seems to have drained all of the color from your cheeks.” Christine swallowed her retort and carefully slid from the bed. She saw the Spaniard moves towards her, and she steeled herself for his firm grip. But the villain did not grab her roughly as he had before. Instead, he took her gently by the arm and escorted her from the room. His sudden change in behavior puzzled her, and Christine was tempted to try a violent escape. But something made her think better of it, so she simply walked into the water closet and closed the door between them. As Carlos stood guard at the door, he thought again of Christine’s countenance that morning and how it had affected him. He still could not find a logical explanation for his newfound feelings for her, and it vexed him to no end. It was a complication he had not anticipated, and he worried that it might interfere with his plans. In frustration, he began to pace, trying vainly to regain his foolish heart. But the image of Christine’s sweet face continued to taunt him and he could not seem to quell the emotions that raced through him. He raked his hands through his hair and forced his mind to focus on a different emotion, something he was much more acquainted with - revenge. For as long as he could remember, it had been his lifelong obsession to defeat the man who was known as the Phantom of the Opera. Of course, when Carlos was growing up, he had only heard tale of the man who had mistakenly fashioned his destiny, a man who had been born with the face of a devil and the voice of an angel. Erik had not yet attained the status of the Phantom at that time; he was merely known as a sideshow attraction, a freak of nature amongst the beautiful outlaws known as gypsies. Carlos' mother, Seralda, had been one of the few gypsies to interact with Erik, and her brother, Javert, had been the one to “discover” him. When Erik finally rebelled against Javert and killed him, the gypsies came to look upon Seralda as a cursed woman. “Death has taken a bride,” they used to say to her, and the poor woman became an outcast. In desperation, Seralda used her charms to ensnare a young Spanish lord who was known to have a penchant for gypsy women. She became pregnant by him and bore the man a son, Carlos. But Carlos was not destined for an easy life. Considered a bastard of mixed blood, he found no acceptance amongst the gypsies or the Spanish nobility. So he decided to invent a new identity for himself, one forged from hatred and shaped by the need to survive. He climbed his way up from street urchin to master thief, quickly usurping his masters with his wit, beauty and charm. He stole hearts as well as jewels, and the wealthy Spanish ladies flocked to him. He was a rogue with a dark side, and they loved him for it. But no one could touch Carlos' heart aside from his mother. When she died, it nearly destroyed him, and he vowed he would take vengeance on the man who had ruined her: Erik. He made it his business to learn all he could about the Phantom, and he traced Erik’s steps throughout Italy, Persia, and finally France. When news reached his ears about the mysterious Phantom of the Opera, Carlos knew that it was Erik who had adopted the ghostly guise, and he decided to settle in Paris. Carlos quickly garnered his own living quarters and devoured any news L’Epoque reported on the Phantom. He attended the Opera on a regular basis and bribed the stagehands to allow him to snoop about the theatre. But he could not seem gain access into the Phantom’s world until that fateful day when he read of the Phantom’s interest in a young singer named Christine Daae. It didn’t take long to put two and two together. Christine’s triumphs and disappearances, coupled with the Phantom’s violent “hauntings” aroused suspicion that the Ghost had grown attached to the young diva. Though Miss Daae declined to give an interview about her speculated interaction with the Opera Ghost, Raoul de Chagny (her reputed lover) was quick to denounce the Phantom for his mischief. Intrigued, Carlos attended the Opera’s annual Masquerade to observe the love triangle further. He watched the Phantom descend upon the crowd as the villainous Red Death, and he noted with interest that Christine seemed to be strangely drawn toward the menacing specter. As the weeks passed, Carlos began to observe Christine very closely, sensing that she might be the key to the Phantom’s undoing. He watched her perform in the Phantom’s very own opera, “Don Juan Triumphant,” and he gaped in astonishment when the Opera Ghost appeared onstage to seduce her in front of the entire audience. By the time Carlos had gathered his wits, it was too late. Christine had unmasked the Phantom, and the monster had spirited her away. In the confusion, Carlos was able to join the angry mob that had gathered together to hunt for the Phantom. He descended into the bowels of the theatre with them, but could not seem to find the elusive Opera Ghost. The Phantom had evaded capture once again. Not to be discouraged, Carlos visited the theatre the next day and offered his services to the despairing theatre managers, Firmin and Andre. The disgruntled pair confessed that the Ghost had not been captured, though Christine and Raoul had made their escape. Carlos assured them that he was an expert in apprehending such a villain, and he quickly won the managers over to his side. They promised him a large reward for the Phantom's capture and gave Carlos access to the cellars of the Opera House. Carlos searched the catacombs for weeks, trying in vain to find some trace of the Phantom or his lair. But all seemed for naught. The Phantom had vanished like the ghost he appeared to be, and Carlos was at a loss as how to draw him out. But then the news of Christine’s forthcoming marriage to the Vicomte came to light, and Carlos knew he had found the key to the Phantom’s demise. A smug sense of satisfaction flooded through him as he congratulated himself on his well-executed plan. Then he heard the sound of the deadbolt sliding away, and he knew Christine had completed her toilette. He whirled about to face her and caught his breath when she emerged from the small room. "Beautiful..." he whispered, taking in her form with hungry eyes. Christine blushed and looked down at the floor. “Thank you for the dress... I was in need of a change…” “Truer words were never spoken,” Carlos said with a smile. “May I escort you back to our room?” Christine looked up at him with tears in her eyes. She seemed on the verge of hysteria. “Why are you doing this to me?” “Querida,” Carlos sighed heavily. “Please come with me.” He took her firmly by the hand and led her back to his flat. Christine trembled at his touch and tried to hold back her tears. But once inside the apartment, she collapsed onto the floor and wept uncontrollably. “Please let me go, Monsieur!” she sobbed. “I will do whatever you ask, only please let me go!” Carlos looked to the Heavens. Why was his heart defying him so? “Christine,” he said, going down on his knees. “I don’t want to hurt you. In fact, I need you to help me.” “Help you?” she sniffled, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Yes,” Carlos replied, his mind grasping for the hook to bait her. “I need you to tell me all you know about the Phantom of the Opera.” “But why?” Christine asked. “What do you want of him?” “I have a score to settle with him,” Carlos replied steadily. “Then why do you need me?” the diva queried. “Because you can help me to avenge the woman who was wronged by him!” “What?” Carlos took a deep breath and looked Christine directly in the eye. “He was responsible for the death of my mother.” “My God!” Christine gasped. She gathered her skirts about her, and turned over the Spaniard’s words in her mind. Could his accusation possibly be true? Certainly, Christine knew very little of Erik’s past, though she did know he was prone to violence. But she could not believe that he would ever intentionally harm a woman. It was simply not in his character to do so. She looked up at Carlos, ready to spring to the Phantom’s defense, but the Spaniard seemed determined in his accusation. She knew she wouldn’t get anywhere by pleading the Phantom’s case, but perhaps if she made it appear that she was working with Carlos to accomplish his goal, she would be able to escape and could warn Erik. “What can I do?” she asked at last. Carlos extended his hand to help her up. “Come with me,” he said. “Let us break fast, and I will tell you my tale.” ~ Christine drank in the Spaniard’s story like the draught of poison that it was. She knew that the man was obsessed with protecting the spirit of his mother, and she could not blame him for his attachment to his deceased parent. She had been down a similar path herself. “But I still don’t understand why you need me,” she said when he had finished his tale. “Because you are the only person who knows the way to the Phantom’s lair,” Carlos said dramatically. He took a lusty bite at an apple and eyed Christine from across the table. “Why didn’t you simply approach me and ask for that information?” she argued. “Would you have readily given it to me?” Carlos retorted, taking another bite. “I highly doubt that, senorita.” “But your show of force was unnecessary,” Christine persisted. “Perhaps,” Carlos purred. “But you must admit that it was marvelously dramatic!” “Oh!” Christine cried in frustration and she buried her head in her hands. Carlos felt an ache of lust as he watched her hair fall forward, obscuring her face, and he leaned across the table to gently caress her dark curls. “Tell me, querida,” he whispered gingerly. “Did you really want to get married that day?” “What?” Christine looked up in shock. Carlos let his hand hover where it had been, feeling the pain of her sudden withdrawal. “I’d wager the answer was ‘no,’” he said steadily. “Anyone who saw you walk down the aisle could see that you were a reluctant bride.” Christine gave a cry and rose indignantly to her feet. “You presume to know a great deal about me, sir!” “I do,” Carlos said with a smile. “I have watched you many a day, and that day was no different. I could see the pain that accompanied your every step.” Christine's jaw went slack and any possible retort died in her throat. She wasn't prepared to fight the truthful sting of the Spaniard's words. “Did your bridegroom know that your heart was torn in two?” Carlos continued. “Could he see that you were tormented by uncertainty?” “I…” Christine wavered. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.” “Of course you don’t,” Carlos soothed, rising to his feet.“You’ve been held captive by indecision for so long….” Christine gaped at him, ready to point an accusing finger, but words seemed to fail her. The Spaniard could see her resistance falter, and he took advantage of it, moving towards her like an expert toreodor, graceful and deadly. “You’ve never really been in love, have you?” he asked as he stalked about her. “You’ve had two different men pursue you for your hand, but did either of them capture your heart?” Christine shook her head in confusion. “I... I don't know... What you are saying to me?” “I am saying that perhaps I am the man for you. I am the one who can win you your freedom – from the Phantom and the Vicomte. I can give you more than both of them put together!” “Stop!” Christine wept, putting her hands up to create a barrier between them. “I can’t think….” “Love does not require thought,” Carlos said. “Love is passion and action, nothing more.” He boldly swept her into his arms and pressed a kiss to her lips. Christine struggled futilely, but could not break the Spaniard’s hold on her. He was too strong, too determined in his course, and Christine was quickly losing the will to fight. She abandoned herself to the passion he professed to have for her, and found to her surprise that the kiss was fiery and erotic. It would have swept any other woman off of her feet. But Christine’s heart and mind belonged to another. Erik! She thought longingly. Where are you, my Angel of Music? Why haven’t you come to save me? As the Spaniard continued to ply her with kisses, Christine tried to subdue her fearful doubts, but her dark worries raged through her mind like monstrous shadows. What hadn’t the Phantom come for her? Was it possible that he did not know of her abduction? And if so, would he even come to her defense if she led the Spaniard to his lair? Certainly, their last good-bye had been brutal enough, and Christine did not know if the Phantom would even be there to greet her. But the diva had run out of choices, and there seemed to be no other alternative to enable her escape. In desperation, Christine returned the Spaniard’s kisses and summoned up every ounce of courage her spirit possessed. When they parted, Christine took a small step away from him and assumed a demure pose. She put her hands to her cheeks to cool her maidenly blush. “You seem to know a great deal about women, Monsieur,” she said breathlessly. “Carlos,” the Spaniard purred. “Call me Carlos.” “Carlos,” Christine relented. “I must confess that I am intrigued by this offer of freedom you speak of….” “Indeed,” he said with a smile. He personified complete confidence as he lounged back in chair and lit a cigar. “You were right when you said that I have been living in torment,” Christine continued. “Ever since the Phantom came into my life, my world has been turned upside-down. Fear, confusion, it has been a nightmare!” “I can imagine,” Carlos said through a puff of cigar smoke. “I was wrong to think that Raoul could save me from the nightmare,” the diva said softly. “You have shown me that I must confront my fear, or else I shall be forever terrorized.” Carlos leaned forward, trying to ascertain Christine’s motives. She seemed to be pacing about, speaking more to herself than to him, but Carlos could tell he had awoken something within her, and it excited him to see her succumbing to his plan. “You have offered me a truer freedom than I dared to dream of,” Christine said at last. “If I guide you to your quarry, perhaps we will both find what we seek.” Carlos rose to his feet and easily closed the distance between them. He pulled Christine into his arms and noted with delight that she offered little resistance to his embrace. In fact, the girl wrapped her arms about his neck and tilted her head up to receive his kiss. Elated, Carlos claimed her lips with a hungry ferocity, and congratulated himself on his greatest theft of all time. He had just stolen what little love the Phantom might have ever known in his lifetime. ~ Chapter 9 ~ |