Across the Bridge – Chapter 18
Closing his eyes does not help – sleep eludes him now even more than many nights before this. When they lay down, he actually believed for a moment he might be able to rest his body, if not his brain. A foolish belief if only for a moment. Being so close to her found him even more aware – all his feral instincts became engaged – sight, smell, touch – especially touch. The touch of her hand on his chest, holding her in his arms, then the touch of her mouth against his.
Still, how could he do this to her? When she cried out, he should have stopped himself, but his body overruled his will. The act proceeded far beyond the place where he had any control over himself. Being gentle, taking his time, using every bit of his will to hold back, was ultimately overwhelmed by the horrible creature he is. He simply could not stop. Never in his life had he experienced such incredible joy, release…and shame all combined in a complete confusion of emotions.
She wished to know you again, a small voice in the back of his head reminds him.
The fragrance of gardenia fresh on her pale, soft skin, but there was more – her own scent on his fingertips bewitching him. The taste of her still fresh in his mouth was more than he could bear. Looking at her lying next to him occasionally humming…singing a melody he does not recognize. Content. Is that a smile on her face? Reassuring him somewhat she was not grievously injured by him. Can one sing in one's sleep when hurt?
Never had he given such thought to the prostitutes – their bodies were accustomed to men's lust. But Christine is an angel. Carnal activities are simply too base for her.
She wished to know you again. That voice again, cheering him somewhat. Small, delicate fingers guiding you. Sighs of pleasure…endearments whispered in your ear. The warm, supple body pressing against you…never resisting – open to each caress – giving herself completely.
Stop this. You are going to waken her and she needs her rest. That drunken fool nearly killed her tonight. Then…then, you…you. Damn it, Erik. Feeling the stirring in his groin, he determines getting up before he wakens her is the best action to pursue. Take a walk. Practical matters must be tended to. See if Nadir fulfilled his promise.
Another disturbing thought. Why would he not? You are the one turning everyone else's world upside down. How could they bear being with him? Why were they helping him? Any of them?
"I have to leave here – you know that. It is best if I go alone."
"You do not want to go anywhere alone – have you not had enough of that?" Nadir said, as they pressed forward in the path from the little house to the street.
"She deserves better."
"You mean like with the sterling piece of humanity walking behind us?"
"No…but I am…"
"What? You are what? She loves you. I might question her taste, but that is the truth of it."
"Thank you for the reassurance."
"My pleasure."
Where can we go together? My original idea is the only thing that will do for me – but for her? The plan Nadir proposed will not work. Crazy as he is, the boy knows and at some point someone will believe him. I cannot stay in Paris. Would she be willing to leave? Does she even want to be with me at all now?
Grabbing his clothes, he slips quietly from the room to dress in the hallway. "What on earth?" he says looking at his fingertips. "Blood?" A rush of adrenalin finds him faint and vaguely nauseated. "Calm yourself. This is natural. You know this is natural," he assures himself, wiping off the stain with his handkerchief wet with spittle. "Why am I not relieved?" Dressing quickly, he walks swiftly down the hall toward the back of the theater.
Snuggling more deeply under the blankets, Christine reaches over to touch Erik's cheek. A shudder runs through her when she feels nothing more than a pillow and more bedding. "Erik?"
Throwing off the blanket, she stumbles to the dressing table to turn on the oil lamp. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she is reminded her chemise and pantalets were removed during the night. A sly smile curves her lips, fuller and a deeper red than usual.
Everything about her is changed – more than before – breasts rounder – her private area sore and throbbing but fulfilled. Unlike her own tentative explorations. Touching herself, much as she had the night before at the Khan apartment, she knows now what she was aching for. The wetness was something she did not expect. A sharp breath escapes as she examines her fingertips – sticky residue of a whitish fluid and blood – her blood? Like her monthly? No. No. Now she remembers. Her maidenhood was taken…given. Now she is truly a woman.
The few kisses she shared with Raoul bore no resemblance to what she experienced with Erik. How she loves him. After the initial touching, exploring one another. Thinking herself shy about such things, she quite surprised herself with her boldness – stroking his member as the rats instructed her. They both seemed surprised at his body's response. The stirring she felt within herself was familiar yet new to her. Whatever satisfaction she found from her own explorations, this was so much more.
When he took the lead, her entire body to sing. There was no part of her body did he fail to explore with his fingers and tongue. Then his movements became more intense, the shift was subtle, but it was as if he was taken over by another part of himself and took her – gentle at first he was…slowly entering her, but then…
"I am so sorry. Oh, I am a beast, my Christine."
"No. It is fine. Truly, I am fine."
Their tears mingled as they kissed and held one another again. Exchanging murmurs of love and contrition.
"I knew this was wrong."
"Well, we must simply do it again, now that we both seem to know what is going to happen."
"You forgive me?"
"There is nothing to forgive. Now the initial pain is gone, I find I quite like how I feel."
Where is he, though? His clothes are missing, so best to dress herself as well. "Cannot be standing around naked when he comes back," she giggles. Finding the bag brought from the de Chagny house, she picks out some fresh underwear, then goes to the small bathroom and cleans herself and dresses. Rolling up the Serafima costume, she stuffs it into the bag with her soiled undergarments and puts on her blue dress. Back at the mirror, she combs her hair, pulling the copper locks into a tail tied with a blue ribbon.
Perhaps, straightening the room would help quell the anxiety rising in her belly. Where is he? Why did he leave me alone?
The bedding sorted, folded and stashed behind the dressing screen, she sits down on the chaise and sings to herself.
Think of me. Think of me fondly when we say good-bye.
"No, not that song – enough with good-byes." Returning to her bag, she finds her glasses, sighing with relief. Taking out the remnants of the wedding dress Erik made for her, she replaces the bodice, keeping the bow and package of rhinestones and beads. Digging deeper, she finds her sewing kit and begins creating a stole to wear when they marry in church.
"Did you deliver the suitcases as I directed?" Nadir asks as Darius enters the flat.
"More or less."
"What do you mean more or less?"
"The door to the stage manager's office was locked."
"So where did you leave them?"
"Outside the door," Darius frowns. "You said no one was working there today. I made certain the outer door was locked in any event."
Nadir sighs. "I believe I have aged a hundred years today."
"Certainly not our normal routine," Darius laughs. "I found it quite invigorating having Erik back in our lives."
"How would you feel about leaving Paris?"
"Why do you ask," the younger man, sits down across from his adopted father and pours himself a cup of tea, using the small tongs to place three sugar cubes on his plate.
"Just something Madame Giry mentioned and Erik suggested."
"Left out in the open for anyone to find," Erik grumbles at the sight of the leather bags and the violin case stacked in the hallway. Trying the door of the stage manager's office, he understands why. "Well at least he did not hide them somewhere from strangers, and in the process from me as well.
"At the very least, she will have a new wardrobe and all the money needed if she rejects me as I expect she will," he continues muttering to himself as he transfers the bags of coins and jewels to the suitcase with her clothing. "Hopefully she will still be asleep so I can just leave this and not have to face her rejection."
Stopping as he crosses the stage to the dressing rooms, he stands looking up at the chandelier. A new one, of course. The papers he found in the managers' office showed a price of 30,000 francs. Once again he questions why his beloved would want him – having nearly been killed by his rage.
"You did not kill the vicomte. Not once, but twice. You are not a killer," Nadir reminded him.
"I was – in a manner of speaking."
"But no longer."
"How do you know?"
"I know."
Whatever the outcome, I must see her. One does not just leave.
Gathering up his burden again, he glances once more at the auditorium. There is no more glorious room on the earth. What a thrill it was to perform here, even just the once, under such challenging circumstances. Don Juan Triumphant. His opera.
Removing her glasses, she throws her needlework down on the chaise when the door opens. Christine runs to his arms – kissing his face before he can even put down the bags. "You came back," she cries. "I was so afraid you would not."
"I thought I might not – that you did not want me after I…" he shakes his head.
"We, Erik. After we loved one another," she says stroking his deformed cheek.
"At the very least, I wanted you to have these things," he says, dropping the bags on the floor, placing the violin on the chaise.
"How?"
"Last night, I asked Nadir to bring them here – for us to either leave together…or I would leave alone, but you would have your clothing…and the money and jewels."
"Where would you go? Did you have a plan? You talked of a plan. Allow me to participate – it is my future, too."
"You want to sing. You need to sing."
"I can sing anywhere."
"But the managers will pay you an enormous amount. The world will be at your feet."
"What if I do not want the world at my feet," she counters. "Tell me."
"America. That was the plan."
Christine cocks her head to one side, pondering the thought. "America. I believe I should like that."
"Are you certain?"
"I am."
"There is a ship leaving from Le Havre in two weeks' time Adele already booked passage for me, Meg and herself. I took the liberty to suggest Nadir and Damian join us and to book passage for three more, if you were willing. We would meet with them at the dock before sailing."
"Where will we stay until then?"
"Rouen. We would leave today by train."
"Rouen?"
"Close enough to the port, but far enough away if anyone thinks to look for me…us," he says. "The train connects there to another line going to Le Havre."
"Is there something else? Your voice caught when you said Rouen."
Looking down and turning away, he says, "I was born there."
"You will be returning to see your…mother?" The touch on his shoulder is gentle as she encourages him to face her again.
He shakes his head. "I went back when I left Persia…to recover. The sisters at the Abbey were most kind to me, almost had me believing in God again," his laugh is bitter. "I asked them to inquire…"
"And…"
"She had died. Still a young woman. Life was not very good to her, perhaps death was a blessing."
Christine frowns. "Why would you say that?"
A glimmer of tears fill his amber eyes.
"You? You believe your birth was so horrible?"
"My father died the night I was born," he says. "It is not untoward to think she may have believed herself to be cursed."
"I wish you might have seen her again – to find out that was untrue."
"To show her what an exemplary person I am? Although meeting you now might convince her I am not a demon." Further discussion is brushed away with a shrug of his shoulder. "I should like to see if any of the nuns are still there to say good-bye…perhaps to visit my mother's grave."
"I would like that," she says, wrapping her arms around his waist. "A new beginning in America."
"It is best we leave as soon as possible," he says drawing away, fingering the fine white silk she holds I her hand. "What is that you are sewing?"
"A shawl for our wedding, perhaps a bonnet if I can find some veiling…a cravat for you," she says, holding up her handiwork. "This and the bodice all that are left, but I wanted to wear something made from the gown you created for me."
"You saved this? Even after…"
"Even after."
"I do not deserve you."
"But you have me nonetheless," she laughs. "So this is alright?"
"We have to wait for a real wedding."
"As far as I am concerned, we are married – this is just to please my Mamma and Pappa if they are looking down on me from heaven." Eyeing the chaise. "I put the blankets away, but we could make do."
"I doubt your parents would approve and the idea of them looking down on us now has me concerned about flashes of lightening." Erik feels his face flushing. "Let us make certain we have everything we wish to take with us, then find a carriage to take us to the train station. I am sure we can find an inn in Rouen with a bed more comfortable than the chaise in any event."
"Alright," she pouts, "if you are sure."
"Best see to all your things, then."
"There is just this," she says, indicating her own bag. "Otherwise, there is nothing else."
Looking around the room, he gathers up the papers he removed from the Managers' office, finding room for them in his already full satchel. "You are certain leaving Paris is what you want?"
Nodding, yes. "Certain."
"Then, let us bid farewell to the Palais Garnier."
Taking up their cases, they walk to the stage.
"It was so exciting to perform here."
"No regrets."
"None," she says, smiling up at him.
"Very well, then…to the train and a new life in America."