90Chapter 12: The Black Widow
I find him, as expected, sitting at the piano, his fingers gliding effortlessly across the ivory keys, filling the music room with an ominous melody of his own creation. I cautiously walk over to where he is seated, taking up position beside the piano bench. He does not acknowledge my presence, even though he knows I am there, continuing instead to weave his music like a spider weaves its web. The invisible threads of his song wrap around my body and I cannot move, cannot breathe, trapped like prey among the spun silk. Defenseless, I listen helplessly as the sharp notes of his music pierce my skin like fangs, the melody like venom coursing through my veins. I endure a few more minutes of this torture, and just when I think I am about to die, mercifully, the final chords of his terrible creation echo in the space between us and I can breathe once again. Silence follows, as he stares at his hands still stretched across the piano keys, his thin frame struggling for breath, a reminder that even the composer is not spared the suffering his music inflicts.
"I call that piece Black Widow," he offers unsolicited, eyes still downcast. "Latrodectus mactans, are you familiar?"
"No," I say, a curious tension rising in the pit of my stomach.
He lifts his masked face to look at me, his golden eyes sparkling in the candle light. "The Black Widow is a venomous spider, first discovered by Johan Christian Fabricius in the late 18th Century."
"Erik, you know how I feel about spiders," I say pointedly, as a shiver passes through me at the thought of those horrid creatures.
"Yes, I am aware of your hatred for them," he replies dismissively. "But the female Black Widow is a precarious creature indeed. Her venom is highly toxic, even to humans."
"Then I should hope never to encounter one."
"Did you know," he continues, ignoring my comment, "that the female widow is especially ruthless."
"I was unaware," I respond casually, betraying none of the growing unease welling up inside me.
"Oh yes," he replies smoothly, his fingers delicately tracing the edges of the keys. "A male will spend considerable time searching for a female. When he is successful, he calls to her by plucking the threads of her web. If impressed, she will lure him in, allowing him an opportunity to mate with her, but once the deed is done, she devours him, piece by piece."
"Oh, Erik, how dreadful! Why must you share with me such unpleasant anecdotes?"
"It's all a matter of perspective my dear. The male is willing to do anything for her, even in the face of her deception, he carries on, for he does not fear death." He looks at me then, his eyes searching mine. "I believe some of your species would call that romantic."
"Well, I find it ghastly and not at all an appropriate subject to discuss with a lady."
Slowly, he rises from the bench to stand before me, his tall form hovering menacingly above my own. "Forgive me," he begins, his voice laced with sarcasm. "I sometimes forget how innocent you are. My Christine, who knows nothing of desperation, or deception," he leans in close to my ear, brushing one of my stray curls to the side with his finger, "or desire."
I keep my eyes plastered to the floor, trying to maintain my calm facade, yet inwardly my very bones tremble from anger and fear. There are so many things I wish to say to him now. Words laced with poison, words sharp like the tip of Raoul's dagger hidden inside my dress pocket. I have never been a vengeful person, but Erik has transformed me into the thing I most despise. He has awoken the darker side of my soul, and it wants him battered and bleeding, a penitent man at my feet. Drawing in a steady breath, I hold my tongue, knowing my actions tonight will cause more suffering than my words ever could. I move from the piano and approach the bookcase, letting my fingers glide across the smooth, solid spines that line the shelves.
"I want to sing Erik," I remind him.
"Hmmm, and what does Christine wish to sing? Perhaps something from Gounod's Romeo et Juliette or Wagner's Tristan and Isolde? You can close your eyes and imagine singing to your boy," he replies with distain.
"No Erik," I say, plucking a leather-bound book from its resting place to present to him. "Tonight, I shall sing only for you."
His eyes widen in surprise, and I detect a hopeful expression bleeding through the white of his mask, but then suddenly, his eyes turn cold. "Is this another one of your games, Christine?"
"Not a game, a peace offering."
He cocks his head to the side, contemplating my words. My heart pounds in my chest, as I await his reply, offering up a silent prayer that his eagerness to hear me sing will conceal the signs of my deceit.
A smirk forms along his thin lips. "My Christine is such a good girl. She wishes for a truce between us. She knows Erik's actions in the confessional today were necessary."
I smile sweetly while my hidden hands ball into fits, my nails digging into the skin of my palms. I do not care if I bleed. "Of course, Erik. As you've said, there can be no secrets between us."
Slowly he reaches out his hand to gently touch the side of my face. "My angel," he whispers reverently. I feel almost giddy as I lure him into my own web. Tonight, he shall have his black widow and she will be merciless.
He shifts his focus to the gold glint cover of the book I handed him, one corner of his thin lip curling upward in disgust.
"Is something wrong," I ask, secretly enjoying his displeasure.
"This music is not suited to your voice Christine. Why do you insult yourself with Bizet's drivel?"
"This is what I wish to sing, Erik," I reply forcefully, bracing for yet another confrontation. I am surprised however, when he simply returns to the bench with a huff, roughly thumbing through the pages of sheet music hidden within the book's binding. Relieved, I take up position at the bent side of the piano, adjusting my posture as he taught me.
"We shall begin with a warm up," he says crisply. "I assume you want to sing L'amour est un oiseau rebelle?"
"No," I reply, and notice his surprise.
"You do realize my dear, that the Habanera is the featured aria in this Opera. Even though it isn't written for a Soprano," he adds, mildly irritated.
"I am quite familiar with this opera, Erik. I wish to sing Pres des remparts de Seville."
"An interesting choice," he replies, licking his lips, his eyes studying mine.
I know it is a dangerous song, but if I am to be the Black Widow tonight, no other song will do. We run through a quick warm up and soon the room is filled with the lively melody of Bizet's Seguidilla. I wait for my cue, and then, with a quick inhale of breath, I hold my head high and begin to sing. It takes me a few moments to adjust to the lower key and to overcome the nervous energy coursing through my body, but eventually I relax. I surrender myself to the music, transforming into the confident temptress Carmen. I sing of Seville and my friend Lillas Pastia, of my desire to dance the seguedille and drink manzanilla, all the while watching Erik's hands skip across the keys.
"Qui veut mon âme ... elle est à prendre," I offer in song, and notice that he is staring at me with hungry eyes, his thin lips parted, his breathing shallow. He reminds me of a Parisian artist Meg and I once saw, huddled in the corner of the café, drawing fervently, absinthe flowing through his veins. Daringly, I meet his gaze, this dangerous villain, now the unsuspecting victim of his vengeful protégé. I continue to enchant him with my voice, swaying flirtatiously to the music, letting him drink in the sight of me, wild and carefree.
"Ah! Si je t'aime, Carmen, Carmen tu m'aimeras," he cries out, more desperate than Don Jose'.
"Oui," I reply lightly, singing of promises I don't intend to keep. We continue through the song and I feel no fear or regret, only deep resolve in my actions. When the final note is played and our voices return to Earth, Erik rises from the bench to stand before me, sobered from our encounter. He is so tall, yet moves so gracefully, that I have no doubt, if not for his face, he would be devastatingly handsome. Perhaps that is why he was given such a burden to bear, for it would not be fair for any man to possess the mind of a genius, the voice of an angel and a face like Apollo. Wordlessly, he leans in closer, trapping me within the curve of the piano.
"Tell me Christine. Why did you choose that song?"
"I am not sure what you mean Erik," I respond carefully, trying hard to disguise the nervous edge in my voice.
He laughs, but it is an evil, wicked sound, not at all like the angelic voice that sang to me moments ago. "For someone so innocent, as you claim to be, I would not expect the role of Carmen to suit you."
"Are you not the one always encouraging me to challenge myself," I counter, pretending to be unperturbed by his comment.
"Hmmm," he drones, cocking his head to the side. "Carmen is not much of a challenge for you vocally. If you wanted to impress me, you could have sung Der Holle Rache, but that was not your intention, was it my Christine?" He moves his face closer to mine, his eyes searching for more of my secrets, causing the sound of my heart to drum loudly in my ears. "I think you enjoy hearing my protestations of love. It makes you feel powerful, and I do make a pathetic Don Jose', do I not?"
I ignore his comment. I must think only of my freedom and of my Raoul who waits for me. "Erik, if you are not satisfied, I shall sing a song of your choosing."
He considers my request only for a moment, then steps away from me. "As much as I would enjoy that my dear, now is not the time. I think it best if you retire for the evening. You have a busy day tomorrow."
"What is tomorrow," I ask, feigning interest. For it does not matter what his plans for me are, I will not be here tomorrow. I will be with Raoul, my love, my savior.
"Why, it is our wedding day," he says with eerie excitement. "I see no reason to delay any longer. All the preparations have been made. The ceremony will begin promptly at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, at the town cathedral. A private affair, of course. I shall have the wedding dress brought to you in the morning. I am certain you will love what I have chosen for you." He looks at me expectantly, waiting for my reply. "You are silent Christine, is something wrong?"
"I-I'm just feeling a bit overwhelmed," I stutter, trying desperately to sound calm.
"Of course. A bit of nerves is to be expected from a soon to be bride, but fear not, for Erik has taken care of everything, down to the last detail. Only your presence is required. Then afterward, you can choose what we do to celebrate. I shall take you wherever you wish to go, together, arm in arm, as husband and wife. I have even fashioned a new prosthetic for the occasion. It is more realistic than my last one. All for you Christine, because I love you so."
How I wish I could drown out his words. Instead, my mind conjures an image of Erik wakening from a drug induced sleep hours from now, on the day of his long-anticipated wedding, only to find his bride missing. I must not allow myself to feel pity, now is not the time for second thoughts!
"Say something, Christine," he entreats.
I take a step toward him, my expression thoughtful, hiding my deception. "You do make a rather pathetic Don Jose," I tease lightly, plucking a piece of lint from the lapel of his suit jacket, "but Erik, I am much too anxious to go to sleep right now. Besides, I still would like to have some tea."
"Tea," he murmurs faintly, almost to himself, turning his face away from mine.
"Yes, tea," I repeat. "Surely, you will not deny me this small request on the night before we are to marry," I inquire, a small smile playing at the corners of my lips. Slowly he faces me again, his eyes dancing with an unnatural light. "I could never deny you anything."
"I will go set a tray for us then," I say, moving toward the door. Just then, his cold, boney fingers catch my wrist and he pulls me toward him until we are only inches apart.
"You will do no such thing," he whispers, into my ear. "Erik will serve his future bride tonight." Then lifting my hand to his lips, he places a gentle kiss upon it. "I insist."
In the blink of an eye he is gone, disappearing before my eyes, like the ghost I know him to be. I stumble to the sofa, fervently rubbing the skin on the back of my hand raw, trying to remove the memory of his lips. I had planned to add the laudanum to his cup while preparing our tea. Now, I will need a distraction in order to complete the task. He returns from the kitchen more quickly than I had hoped, setting down a silver tray onto the coffee table and taking a seat on the armchair directly across from me. Upon the tray, arranged neatly, are two porcelain tea cups trimmed in gold. A matching sugar bowl sits between them. I make no effort to retrieve my cup. Instead, I simply stare at it, as swirls of steam rise up from the bronze liquid held within, creating eerie shapes in the dimly lit room.
"Is there something else you require," he asks, pulling me out of my trance.
"Forgive me Erik, but I am a bit hungry," I lie.
He looks at me for a moment, thoughtful, his fingers gently tapping the sides of the armchair. "Yes, I suppose you should be." He shifts to the edge of the chair, casting a dark shadow over the tea tray. "Tell me what you want and I shall bring it to you."
"A piece of bread would be fine," I reply quickly.
He nods, then slowly rises from his seat, to stand before me. He lingers there for a time, some unnamed emotion hidden beneath his mask, then turns and leaves the room. As soon as he is out of sight, I reach into my pocket to remove the vial of laudanum, one eye on the door, anticipating his return. The container feels oddly cold in my trembling hands. I remove the stopper and steadying my hand with the other, I turn the vial upside down above his cup, waiting for the reddish-brown liquid to pour forth and mix with his tea, all the while offering up a silent prayer of forgiveness for this unholy act. Precious moments I wait, my hand suspended above the tea cup, but it seems God has truly forsaken me, for try as I might, no liquid will leave the already empty vial. I bring the vial closer for further inspection, and stare in disbelief. Surely this vial had been full not more than an hour ago! My heart begins to pound loudly in my ears, tears of frustration and fear prick at the corners of my eyes and I cannot breathe. I look back to the door, half expecting him to be there, but mercifully, he has not yet returned.
I stuff my hand into the pocket that once held the full vial of laudanum, hoping to feel some sign that the bottle had leaked, that this was somehow my own careless mistake, but my pocket is dry. I want to collapse to the floor, to cry until the well of my tears dries up and I turn to ash, but then I hear his footsteps getting closer and some deep-rooted survival instinct keeps me tethered to my seat. Quickly, I hide the empty vial back into my dress pocket, and rub the tears from my face. He enters the room, dish in hand, placing it on the tray in front of me before returning to his chair. I keep my head down, twisting my hands in my lap, trying desperately to regain some semblance of composure.
"Christine, are you well," he asks lightly. "Your face is as white as a ghost."
Drawing in a deep breath, I look up at him, "I am well. I'm just a little tired."
He lets out a soft sigh. "Yes, it has been a long day. Why don't you drink your tea, my dear? It will make you feel better."
And with that simple statement, my worst fears are realized. For it would not be under the realm of possibility that Erik emptied the vial. Perhaps he had known of the plan all along, and was simply ensuring that the liquid did not make it into his cup, or worse yet, perhaps he had emptied it into mine!
"Go on Christine, have your tea and biscuit, and then you can retire for the night."
Images of me waking to find myself standing at the altar of the cathedral shrouded in white lace haunt me. I hear voices laughing at me, taunting me. "There is no way out, Christine, no way out! The siren has you in his clutches, you will never be free." I shake my head to silence them. I refuse to let him win. Wordlessly, I reach for the sugar bowl dropping two cubes into my tea cup. I pick up the spoon to dissolve them in the now tepid liquid, all the while feeling Erik's eyes upon me. With trembling hands, I pick up my cup to bring it to my lips, and just as the liquid is about to touch the tip of my tongue, I stealthily yet purposefully let go of the handle, watching it fall onto my lap, its contents spilling forth, soaking the front of my dress.
"Oh Mon Dieu," I say, in feigned surprise. "How clumsy of me!"
Erik is already standing by my chair, napkin in hand. "You need to be more careful, Christine," he chastises, as he kneels down before me. He gently removes the cup from my lap placing it back onto the tray. Slowly, he brings the napkin to my chin, to clean away the droplets of tea that still linger there. "The tea was hot. You could have burned yourself," he whispers, causing me to shift nervously in my seat. He continues to move the napkin against my heated skin, letting it travel down my neck, then lightly sweeping it across the swell of my breasts. I gasp at the sensation and I see the corner of his mouth turn up in a sly smile. "Your skin is so smooth, so delicate, I would hate to see it marred by carelessness."
"I'm fine Erik," I say, reaching out to remove the cloth from his hand. I inadvertently let my fingertips slide against his cold hard knuckles, and instantly his eyes find mine. For a moment neither of us move, our hands still wrapped in an awkward embrace. I can tell what he is thinking by the intensity of his stare and I know that if I do not leave now, I never will. Even without the laudanum, I must find a way to make this plan work. As Monsieur Khan said, I am in control of my own destiny. Quickly, I stand from my chair startling him. "My apologies Erik, but if you will excuse me, I should like to get out of these wet clothes."
He rises to his feet gracefully, despite the dazed expression he wears behind the mask. "Of course," he replies, stepping to the side with a slight bow to allow me to pass. I make my way to the door, when he calls to me. "Christine, try not to keep your Erik waiting too long."
I stop and turn to face him. "You know, I-I think you might have been right Erik," I say, fumbling my words.
"About what my dear?"
"I think I should retire for the night. It is getting late and we have a big day tomorrow."
He sneers under the mask. "Is that so," he asks in a patronizing tone. "My, my, you are awfully fickle tonight."
"I'm sorry Erik, it's just," but he interrupts me with a wave of his hand, slithering his way toward me until I'm pressed up against the door with no escape.
"What are you hiding from me Christine," he asks, the tips of his fingers lightly touching the side of my face.
"Nothing Erik, I promise."
"Promises, promises," he whispers, his face so close to mine. He gently takes hold of my chin, forcing me to maintain eye contact with him, his voice velvety soft. "Tomorrow you shall promise me forever, Christine."
"And if I don't," I ask, as he runs his thumb lightly across my bottom lip making it quiver in response.
"We both know I can be very disagreeable if I do not get what was promised me," he replies with a smug smile. Then he reaches behind his head to remove his mask, letting it fall to the floor. Proudly, he stands before me in all his hideousness.
"If your intention is to intimidate me," I say more strongly than I feel, "it won't work. Your face holds no horror for me anymore." I pause, before continuing, hoping to burn him with my next comment, "Or did you not pay attention to that part of my confession?" He looks at me unfazed. Wordlessly, he snakes his hand to the back of my neck, tilting my head so that his face is inches from mine allowing me to study all its imperfections. Deep down, some perverse part of me wonders what it might feel like to run my tongue across his gnarled flesh. I flinch, trying to rid myself of this wicked thought as he moves closer still, my heart hammering in my chest. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, his skin cold and clammy. He inhales deeply, but it is a strange unnatural sound, and I wonder if he is able to smell anything at all. My thoughts are interrupted when I hear him speak, his voice low yet commanding.
"Go change your clothes and if you are not back in five minutes, know that I will come for you." And with that final statement, he steps away from me, to return to his armchair. Proudly he perches himself atop it, like Hades reincarnate.
Blindly I search for the door handle and when I find it, I swiftly exit the room, pulling the door closed behind me. I lean up against it, breathing heavily, as fresh tears spring forth from the corners of my eyes. I must leave now before the madness sets in. I survey the corridor and my eyes land on the small table across from me. Without thinking, I quietly push it up against the door trapping Erik inside.
"Silly girl. You think that will stop him? He will come for you Christine. You know he will!"
Shaking my head, I quickly make my way to the front door, throwing it open. The chill of the night air stings my face. Behind me, I hear the muffled cry of my name, but I do not turn around. Instead, I begin to run, as fast as my legs will carry me. Down the gravel road I sprint, heading in the direction of the rendezvous point where Monsieur Khan's driver will be waiting for me. It is so dark, but I do not stop, even as the tall blades of grass whip across my face, cutting my skin- even as my lungs begin to burn and I can no longer feel my feet, I carry on, desperate and frightened. I try to focus on where I am going, but the wind is fierce, and it speaks to me in whispers.
"You run because you want him to chase you. To feel his murderous hands sliding over your body, touching you, fucking you, consuming you. Christine Daae is nothing but a lying whore."
I place my hands over my ears to drown out the voices. Up ahead, I can see the outline of a carriage in the distance. I will myself forward, knowing that if I can just get there, I will be safe. My legs are throbbing, as beads of sweat travel down my forehead. I am almost there, just a few more feet, when suddenly I feel my body being yanked backwards. I throw out my arms in front of me, trying to propel myself forward, but a long thin arm is wrapped tightly around my waist keeping me still. I try to scream for help but my mouth is covered by a thick black glove.
"I told you I would come for you. Why do you not listen to your Erik?"
I struggle in his grip and try to scream again, but he only squeezes me more tightly, pinning my body against his chest. "Come my dear, let's not make a scene. Besides, Darius will not be much help to you now." My eyes go wide, as I look up at him, hoping for some reassurance that the driver still lives. He gives me nothing but a cold and empty stare.
"It's time to make our way back home, but since I cannot trust you to be quiet, Erik has no choice but to force your silence." I try to scream again but only a low muffle can be heard against his heavy glove. "Do not worry," he says, touching one of my tears with his gloved finger, "I would never harm you. In fact, I think you might enjoy this." Then reaching into his side pocket, he pulls out my red scarf. "I thought you might wear this more often after I returned it to you, but instead you keep it hidden in your drawer. I find that rather peculiar, but then again, you are an odd sort of bird, aren't you, my Christine?" Unable to answer, my body trembles in fear and anger but Erik does not seem to notice or care. Still holding onto me with one arm, he uses his other to fashion the scarf into a perfect loop which he then slips over my head. Once he has it securely in place, he tightens the knot, somehow freeing his other hand just as the scarf comes to rest across my lips.
"There, now you can have a piece of your precious Vicomte as I carry you back to our house." Then turning me roughly to face him, he bends down slightly, lifting me off the ground as if I weigh nothing more than a feather.
He does not speak on the way back to the house and I do not struggle, wanting to save my energy for the battle that is to come. When we arrive, he deposits me carefully onto my chair in the music room. He kneels before me and gently removes the red scarf from my mouth, placing it onto my lap, then turns to the hearth feeding it with more kindling. The soft glow of the newly made fire illuminates the room. Erik moves to take a seat across from me, the porcelain tea cups still resting on the tray between us, untouched. He sits back against the chair, a serious expression on his unmasked face.
"Tell me Christine, where did you go after your visit to the cathedral today?"
I look away from him defeated, as tears of frustration and anger blur my vision. I was foolish to think I could deceive Erik. I should have given up once I saw the empty vial, and resigned myself to my fate, but instead my selfishness likely cost a man his life.
"Christine," he calls to me, his voice soft but demanding. "I asked you a question."
I should be afraid, but all I can feel through my despair is raging anger. I cling to it as a source of strength. It might be the only way I survive this night without going mad.
"That is none of your business," I say pointedly.
He narrows his eyes at me. "My dear, you are in no position to deny me anything right now."
"I already told you," I say with a shrug, "I went to the marketplace and then returned here."
He shakes his head disappointedly. "Oh Christine, what tangled webs we weave."
I let out a sarcastic laugh. "You of all people should be the last to invoke that platitude."
"Perhaps," he replies, standing from his seat to walk toward me. "But you know my dear, you are quite a good liar as well. That little performance from before was one of your best. I'm sure Bizet would have been proud." He pauses for a moment as if trying to suppress some hidden emotion. "Even I was nearly convinced that you held some affection for me," he says, laughing nervously, his eyes glistening in the fire light. "Imagine that," he whispers to himself.
I remain silent and turn to stare at the fire dancing about the hearth. I can sense him walk past me to stand behind my chair, resting his hands upon my shoulders. I squirm at his touch, but he does not let go. Instead, he leans in toward me, pressing the side of his marred face against my own to whisper in my ear. "My Christine. My very own Latrodectus mactans." His fingertips travel lightly across my neck leaving goose bumps in their wake. Even now, with all his terrible sins revealed, my body still yearns for his, begging me to give him absolution. His fingers continue their journey stopping at the pulse point on my neck. Reaching over, he removes my hand from my lap with one of his own, guiding it to rest against a similar region on his neck. I can feel his pulse, strong and steady, through his thin, cold skin, as he speaks to me breathlessly, "Don't you see, our pulses share the same rhythm. We beat as one, Christine." I knew he spoke the truth, because, try as I might, I could sense no difference. Our heartbeats were in perfect sync, like a pair of violins, playing a shared melody.
"Christine, tell me what I want to know and all will be forgiven."
Pulling my hand away from his neck, I twist my body around to face his. Anger, disgust, disappointment and fear eat away at my insides. "I owe you no explanation. You may force me to be your wife tomorrow but know that I shall never belong to you."
He stands to his full height then, adjusting his cufflinks in an unnervingly calm manner. "Well then, it seems you leave me no choice."
"What is that supposed to mean," I ask, my heart thumping loudly in my chest again.
"Carmen should have kept her promises," he says, his eyes glowing unnaturally bright. "It would have been wise for you to have kept yours."
And in that moment, I knew that I was no longer about to do battle with Hades, I was going to have to battle Satan himself.
A/N:
Well I figured after six months, this story finally needed an update! I have actually been working on it for the full six months, but I reworked several scenes, plus my job takes up so much of my time, it is hard to find the time to write consistently. I do hope it lived up to the wait! There is still lots more of e/c to come in the next chapter! They really are a mess right now, aren't they? Thank you again to all who are still reading and leaving comments. I love to hear your thoughts so keep those comments coming! Your support means more than you will ever know!