Adult-FanFiction.org : Books

This One Night	By : spikesbint Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 3492 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-This One Night
- 1
Disclaimer: This story and its text belongs to me, along with the idea of it. The characters within it belong to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber (I think) No monies are being made from its creation and it is entirely for entertainment purposes

A/N Big apologies for no updates on “Forget me not” I had almost completed the new chapter. When I switched on my pc to complete it on Thursday I found the black screen of death, so I have to re-write nearly a whole friggin chapter! Grr but hopefully you wont have to wait too long. Thank you for your continued patience! Second note: If adultery or the idea of it offends, then don’t read! This is an adult fic site with adult issues

This One Night

“Christine, do you really think it wise to venture out on such a day?” asked Raoul.

Christine glanced out of the window. Frost made patterns on the panes of glass and she slowly traced them with her fingertip.

“You know that today is important to me. If I did not visit my father…”

Raoul sighed. They had been married for five years and they had been wonderful years. They had a beautiful son, but there were times when it felt as if she was not here. Times when he would watch her, when she thought no one was looking, and she got that far away look in her eyes. It was at those moments that he knew whom she was with. It was something he had learned to live with, accept, and with not one word, or look, had he ever betrayed the fact that he knew.

“I understand and I would come to the graveyard with you if I could. Mother is worse, the doctor doesn’t give her much longer…I am afraid if I leave…”

Raoul trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. Christine walked over to him and took him into her arms. No words were necessary; she felt his pain and understood it. She moved back and stroked his cheek.

“I had best get changed into my riding habit. I will take my horse. It will save dragging out the coachman,”

Raoul shook his head and smiled.

“Christine, that is what I pay them for,”

“I need to be alone; a ride will clear my head,”

“Very well, it is past lunch and the nights draw in quick this time of year. I had best not detain you any longer,”

“I will look in on our son in the nursery on my way,”

Christine reached up on tiptoe and placed a quick kiss on his lips, before exiting the room.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Christine fastened the last buttons of her riding habit, the soft scent of her child still clung to her skin and she smiled a tender smile. She stood back and surveyed herself in the mirror. The dark crimson fabric set off the pallor of her skin, complementing the brown curls, which she had pinned back for practicality. Placing the little bonnet on her head, she strode from the room and went downstairs.

A footman was waiting patiently for her to arrive. He walked forward and opened the front door. Her mount was waiting for her at the steps, held by a young groom. She smiled as she watched the boy struggle to keep her horse still. The black stallion looked magnificent. He had been saved the night of the opera house fire. However, he would not let anyone touch him. He was Erik’s horse and Firmin and Andre had been ready to sell him as horsemeat, until, Christine had paid him a visit in the stables of the opera house.

He had been as gentle as a lamb with her. His velvety nose had nuzzled her outstretched palm and, after that moment, she had been lost. She had pled the horse’s case to Raoul, begging to have him as a wedding present. She knew she had been asking a lot, but Raoul had not refused her.

Christine walked over to the horse and his struggles ceased. She ran her gloved hand along his nose and patted him gently.

“There, do not fret midnight,” she soothed, before she turned from him.

The groom helped her up into the saddle and she tipped her hat at him in thanks. The footman handed her a bouquet of red roses, fresh from the hothouse. The servants were well versed in their mistress’s yearly habits. Christine flicked the reins and they were off, racing across the countryside.

She had not gotten very far, when the first snow began to fall. The fat white flakes hit her nose and she brushed them away. Christine pulled in the reins. Should she stop, and return to the house? There were still a few miles until she reached the cemetery, but it was closer than the house. Maybe if she did not linger too long it would be fine. The wind was increasing, causing her hair to work itself free, as it whipped across her face.

The fur lined gloves were soaked by the snowfall. They no longer felt warm, as the cold began to penetrate her hands. Her fingers felt numb as they clung to the reins. Christine could just make out the gates to the cemetery in the distance. She spurred the horse on, anxious to fulfil her obligation to her beloved father’s memory, before the snow got too deep and she was in true danger.

Christine dismounted and left her horse near the gates. He walked over to a few blades of grass, which were still poking out through the deepening snowfall. She removed the roses from underneath her cloak and opened the gate. Everything was so still and silent. This is what she had craved for so long. She loved being a wife and a mother, but at times solitude was a welcoming friend. The virgin snow was spread out before her like a smooth blanket.

She made her way to her father’s grave. It had been a full year since she had last visited it. Christine walked up the steps to his tomb, almost slipping on the icy marble, but she managed to regain her balance. In the distance, she heard the lonely cry of a wolf. The sound sent shivers down her spine. It had been a hard winter, and they had been straying closer to populated areas in search of food. Christine shook off her fears as she knelt down and placed the roses at the door to her father’s resting place.

The wolf’s cry sounded again, but louder this time and Christine paled. She had brought nothing to defend herself with, unless she counted her riding crop. It would be little use against a pack of hungry wolves. She turned, about to walk down the steps, when she noticed a second set of footprints in the snow, beside the ones she had made. Hers were almost erased by the heavy snow that still fell, but these larger, much bigger footprints were fresh and they seemed to disappear a few feet from hers.

Her eyes frantically scanned the graveyard. There was no sign that anyone else was here, but somehow it felt as if there were eyes watching her. Could it be a ghost? Christine almost laughed aloud at her thoughts. Spirits do not leave footprints!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He watched her from the shadows. The sky was getting darker; it afforded him enough cover to hide him from her eyes. He came here every year without fail. Erik knew it only heaped the torture on his soul, but it was more palatable than the thought of never seeing her face again. He knew she was married and had born a child to her husband, but still he begged for crumbs at her table. His proud arrogance had been destroyed forever after the night she had kissed him. He had gone his own way, retreating to rural France, where no one bothered him, nor cared whether he lived or died. He had lived, much to his disgust.

Therefore, the years had passed this way. Every year he travelled to this place, because he knew that she would be there. Sometimes she came alone and sometimes, with her husband. So many times, he had wanted to speak to her, to make himself known, but he could not. It would serve no purpose. It would not change anything or the choices she had made.

He watched her as; she made her way down the path to the gates. As he watched her, Erik still had trouble crediting her foolishness in venturing alone in such weather. However, he, more than anyone else alive, knew how deeply her father's death had scarred her. This day meant everything to her.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The fear grew as she hurried back along the path to the gates. She could hear, not one, but numerous wolves’ cries and they sounded a lot closer than before. Christine screamed aloud as the first wolf burst out of the thicket and lunged at her. Several others followed. She quickly slammed the gates, just in time to see Midnight bolt and run away, pursued by the wolves. However, one remained at the gate, his jaws snarling and snapping through the frame.

She did her best to keep it shut, but her hands were so cold, and her clothing was soaked through by the snow. Christine could feel her grasp on the gate weakening, as she tried to hold in the uncontrollable shivers that went through her. Suddenly, on the outside, there was a dark figure, which moved with almost inhuman speed. Christine tried to focus as she saw the wolf turn its attention to the newcomer.

It leapt at the stranger and knocked him to the ground. Moments later, Christine could make out a huge crimson stain, spreading across the pristine snow, but neither man nor wolf moved. She felt she should go to him, her unknown saviour, and see if he were alive, but her limbs felt heavy and sluggish. It seemed so much easier to sink into the soft snow and take a rest.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Erik rolled out from under the dead animal. It would not do to stay here. The others would return, drawn by the scent of blood. He dusted the snow from his cape and looked at Christine. She was slumped in the snow. He walked over to her warily. He need not have worried, for whatever reason; she seemed to be at the brink of unconsciousness. Erik took off one of his gloves to touch her face. The ivory skin felt like ice and there was a blue tinge to her lips.

She needed to be warmed up and quickly. Erik shook her, but there was no response. He gripped her arms and shook her harder. Christine stirred and opened her eyes. She looked at him, a smile on her face.

“My mind must be playing trick on me…because for a moment I though it was…but it could not be. He has been silent as the grave,” she giggled, as her eyes returned to his half a face, the rest concealed by his white mask. Her eyes rolled up in her head, before they focused on him again. At least she was not shivering anymore.

“Christine, you have to get up,”

“No I want to stay here. It’s so comfortable,”

Erik tried to pull her to her feet. She refused to cooperate. He took the only course of action open to him and slapped her hard on the cheek. Her head snapped back and her eyes widened, as she realised fully for the first time, that she was not alone. Erik helped to her feet. She was unsteady and almost fell again, but he supported her.

“The wolves? My horse…”

“He will easily outrun them, however we will not,”

“Is it really you?” she asked again, not trusting her eyes.

His mouth twisted and hardness appeared in his gaze as he looked down at her.

“Disappointed? Did you hope that I had perished in the fire?”

Christine tried to speak to tell him how wrong he was, but he gave her no chance, silencing her with a look. He dragged her along, until they came to his waiting horse. Erik put out a hand to help her onto it.

“Sorry, but you are going to have to forgo a side saddle, but I promise not to look,” he said, mocking in his tone.

She ignored his outstretched hand and mounted the horse by herself. Erik got up in the saddle, behind her. He wrapped his arms around her, to stop her, when she would have fallen.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“If you wish to fall in the snow Vicomtess De Chagny, then by all means,” Erik spurred the horse on. The way her name rolled off his tongue, sounded every bit the insult, she was sure it was intended to be.

Christine cringed as she saw the dead wolf lying in the snow. That could have been her, if not for Erik’s intervention. It was a sobering thought. Some of the warmth from his body, pressed so close, seeped into hers. She sat up straight in the saddle, already conscious of the indecent amount of leg she was exposing. She had dreamt of seeing her tutor again, but never had she imagined it would be like this.

The snow had been blown into drifts by the biting winds, and once or twice, the horse stumbled as it struggled to make its way. They had made little progress. Although they had been travelling for some time, he had remained silent throughout. A thousand questions burned on her lips, eager to find a voice.

The horse stumbled again, almost throwing them from the saddle. The horse neighed in protest and refused to go any further. Erik caught her and crushed her against himself for a moment, as she swayed precariously, before releasing her and sliding off the saddle. Christine got down and watched as he inspected the animal.

“I think he may be lame. We will have to travel on foot for the rest of the journey,”

“Travel where?” Christine looked at the countryside, covered in deep snow it appeared very alien to her. There was not one recognisable landmark.

The shivers, which had earlier, abated, returned in full force. Erik looked at her, and noticed her trembling. There was no way she would make it to the next town, which was at least five miles away.

“If we are lucky, we may find a house somewhere, which will give us shelter from the cold. Come Christine, I may be able to fight off one wolf, but I do not want to take my chances with a whole pack,”

He held out his hand. Christine knew it would be childish to refuse him, so she took it, hesitantly. With his other hand, he slowly led the limping horse alongside them. They made slow progress across the fields. The snow had not abated, neither had the cruel winds that whipped around them. She stumbled a couple of times and she was shivering uncontrollably. Christine was sure that he could hear her teeth chattering, as she struggled to hold onto what body heat she had left.

About ready to give into the elements, she was surprised when Erik turned to her.

“Look! Can you see in the distance? Some kind of hut and by the looks of it, I would say a shepherd’s dwelling. We might be able to find shelter there from the storm,”

It looked so far away…Christine sat down in the snow. Her feet refused to work and her mind was becoming foggier.

“Get up!” he ordered harshly.

Christine flinched at the harsh tone of his voice, but she no longer cared. She just wanted to lie in the snow and go to sleep, and never wake up. Cruel hands, bit into her arms and lifted her. He picked her up and cradled her in his embrace. The horse could go to hell for all he cared. He was not going to let her give up and give into the cold. He strode through the snow, his steps hampered by it and the added burden of her body. After several feet, the muscles in his arms burned in protest, but he did not care as he trudged towards his goal.

Erik reached the hut, his breathing laboured and his arms ached, but still full of grim determination that they would not perish this day. He put Christine down on the ground, as he hammered on the door with his fist. No one answered, so he kicked at the door. The rusty lock gave way easily. The placed looked dirty and smelled of damp, but at least it was a shelter. Erik picked Christine up again and carried her inside, shutting the door on the violent winds. He set her down on the narrow cot in the corner of the one room abode.

It was not much warmer inside the hut, than outside. He needed to get a fire going and soon. Christine was chilled to the bone. Erik surveyed the meagre dwelling. There were logs piled in one corner, along side it, was a rough table. The fireplace was primed and ready for making a fire. A box of sulphur matches lay on the mantle. He struck a match and threw it into the fireplace, but it was taking too long.

“Erik?” came the weakened voice. “I am so cold…”

He returned to her. “Your clothes are soaked through. You need to remove them,”

“I c-can’t.” she blushed.

“Heavens sake woman, do you want to die?” he demanded.

“No…” she sobbed. “I don’t know if I can, that is all. I can hardly feel my fingers,”

Erik looked down at her gloved hands, sighing deeply before making a decision. He removed the gloves from her hands and dropped them to the floor. It was at that moment, that he caught the gleam of her gold wedding ring, topped by a diamond solitaire. He pushed aside his bitter thoughts and continued to remove her clothing. His hands hesitated over the buttons of the soaked riding habit, before he resumed his task.

Once the dress was removed, she wore only thin undergarments. He was sure she would not thank him for finding herself naked. Erik tried to ignore dark circles of her nipples, puckered from the cold and visible through her thin shift. He longed to reach out and touch a rosy tip, but then averted his eyes in self-disgust, as he lay her down and put her wet clothing over the chair, by the fire.

She closed her eyes.

“Stay awake!” he demanded.

“I am still so cold,” she murmured.

Erik eyed the bed. There was only one thin blanket covering it. This hut would usually only be in use for the spring months of the lambing season, there would be no need of anything more adequate. It was not enough to warm her. He took off his cape. Erik’s own clothes were wet from the snow, but he was hardier to the cold than she was. Years of living underneath the opera house, had made him impervious. It was just as well, as they might both now be laying dead in the snow. The storm had been sudden and unexpected for both of them.

With no other course of action at hand to him, Erik began to undress. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and unclipped the cufflinks on his shirtsleeves. His fingers hesitated on his mask, before he removed it. It concealed nothing, which she had already not seen. Quickly, he divested himself of his garments, rolled her over, pulled the blanket from the bed, and covered her with it. Erik climbed into the bed, next to her and took her in his arms. It was a hard thing for him to do. He had never shared closeness like this with anyone, only two kisses in his barren existence, to warm his lonely soul.

He pressed himself against her scantily clad body, willing his flesh to remain unresponsive to her. They had to be as close as possible, if she were to benefit from the warmth of his body. He wrapped a hand around her waist, her barely covered breasts pressed against his naked chest. They were joined together from hip to thigh. A soft feminine scent caught his nostrils and she stirred against him. Erik swallowed as his body hardened in response.

He wondered what Raoul would say if he found them thus. Warmth started to fill the room as the fire grew in the hearth. As Christine’s skin warmed, he knew it would be safe to let her sleep. He got up to leave the bed, but she, still half asleep, pulled him back to her. He too was exhausted. What or who would it harm if they slept in the same bed and shared a little body heat? Erik sighed and closed his eyes. His fingers wound their way through her drying curls, as he lay his head on the pillow next to hers and fell asleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Christine awoke. The covers must have slipped from the bed in the night. She groaned in protest as she searched for them. Her fingers only encountered a coarse blanket. She shivered in the cold of the room. Wind seemed to gust in from every nook possible. She opened her eyes, only to be met by a pair of grey green eyes looking steadily back at her. Erik mistook her horror from seeing his deformed face. The pain in his eyes was quickly cloaked with bored indifference.

A hand covered her mouth as the events of the last few hours came back to her. The snowstorm, the wolves…she glanced down at herself as she realised that she was almost naked in his arms. By the looks of him, he appeared to be unclothed too. She didn’t want to dwell on the hardness that was pressing into her abdomen at that moment, hoping she was mistaken in its origin, but also curious at the same time.

Christine wriggled in his embrace, wanting to be free. Being in such close proximity with him, was stirring feelings in her, which she had not felt in a very long time.

“Be still Madame, unless you want me to do something we both might regret. You were frozen last night, almost to the point of death. I did the only thing I could, and shared my body warmth with you, nothing else,”

Christine stilled her movements. He would not harm her. She knew that. It had just been something of a shock to find herself like this. She owed him her life, and she had been nothing but an ungrateful wretch about the whole thing. Her cheeks tinged with shame.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” she said quietly, not quite able to meet his eyes.

He looked down at her. “I do not want your gratitude,” he replied curtly.

Christine felt tears sting at her eyes, not really knowing why so few words would be so hurtful. He placed a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. A tear rolled down her cheek and he brushed it away.

“Why the tears?” he asked.

“It does not matter.” She looked away and sighed. “Yes…it does…I thought I would never see you again. I was not even sure if you lived, and now that I find you to be alive…why are you so cold? There was a time when we would talk for hours. You would tell me stories. You would tell me that you would always be there. You went away…and…and a light went out,” she finished on a sob.

“You had Raoul. Could it be that in some small corner of your life, that you missed me?” he asked disbelievingly.

“Every day, for the past five years…and for that long, I have had to pretend that I have forgotten you,” she admitted.

“Did you ever think of our kiss?” he asked, hardly daring to hope.

She looked into his eyes, sensing that her answer was important to him.

“Yes…sometimes I close my eyes and I still feel it,” Christine told him, no longer wanting to hide her feelings.

Erik sucked in a breath. “Christine…close your eyes,”

She glanced at him, before she did as he asked. Erik watched her face, her lips slightly parted, and her long dark lashes. He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers in the lightest of kisses. He felt her mouth open against his and he deepened the kiss. He traced her lower lip with his tongue before; he slipped it into her mouth. Christine returned the kiss with a passion, she had not thought she possessed.

Her sanity crept in; nagging at her as the kisses became more heated, leaving them both breathless. Where was this going to lead? Could she betray her husband with another? What of Erik? He had more or less admitted there had still been no one, but her. She could give him this one moment, this one night. No one would ever know, but them. Her heart contracted when she thought of him carrying on alone in the world, with no human contact, no touch…it would not be pity. It would be an act of love to heal a broken man. For she did love him, she had always loved him, but that knowledge had come too late for all involved.

They could never be together, Raoul needed her, her son needed her and Erik would survive without her. He was a survivor. If Christine gave herself to him, then maybe he could learn to love another, and with this one act, set him free. Erik pulled back, as if sensing her inner struggles. He looked at her, gently touching her cheek.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

She looked at him, before placing his hand on her breast. “No,” she replied softly.

“Oh, Christine…” he sighed her name in a sad whisper. “I have never…what if I disappoint you?”

“You could never do that…let me lead you. You have asked for my trust, now I am asking you to trust me,”

Their lips met again, with renewed passion as his hand cupped her breast. The peak tightened, and she gasped as his thumb grazed the sensitive tip. His lips trailed her throat and nibbled at her neck.

“I want you to kiss me…” Erik lifted his head about to kiss her lips. She parted the material of her chemise, to expose her breast. “No, I want you to kiss me there,”

He did as she asked, Christine cried out as his warm mouth closed over her nipple. She could feel the sensation spread through her body and settle between her legs with each flick of his tongue. She ran her hands down his back, her fingers encountering the ridges old scars from many beatings. Her heart ached for him and his suffering. Madame Giry had once told her of his past and the fate from which she had saved him. As she touched and stroked his body, she noted the differences between him and her own husband. Christine would not allow the wave of guilt that threatened to crash over her, dominate her mind, as her hands went lower.

She put her hands between their bodies to touch his swollen manhood. Erik’s movements on her breasts, stilled as her hand spanned the circumference, and gently squeezed him. His breathing became shallow as Christine began to move her hand up and down the length. If this was to be their only night, then she wanted to give him everything…

She pulled back the thin blanket and exposed his body to her gaze. The dampness between Christine’s legs increased as she looked on his nakedness. She got off the bed and knelt down beside it, smiling at Erik before she lowered her head. She blew a soft breath across the tip of his shaft; the sensation caused his hips to buck forward involuntarily.

She smiled at his reaction as her tongue darted out to taste him. Erik bunched the sheet in his fingers, as her mouth closed over the head and gently sucked it. Like any other man, he had satisfied himself a thousand times, but nothing he had experienced alone, could ever compare to the feel of her mouth on him. He could feel himself begin to lose it. He did not want it to be over so soon, he struggled to regain some control over his body. Christine glanced up at him, mischief sparkling in her brown eyes, as she pleasured him. Only her, would he allow such mastery over him. He had once been a proud man, but reduced to a shell by a mere girl.

As much as he enjoyed what she was doing, he wanted to touch her body and learn its secrets. Erik stroked her hair.

“Christine, let me touch you, I need to…”

Christine released him from her mouth. She worked her way back up the bed and kissed him on the lips. He could taste a salty tang on her mouth as their tongues entwined. She broke the kiss and guided his hand between her legs, showing him how to touch her. Erik smiled in satisfaction as he rubbed at the sensitive nub of flesh, causing her to arch upwards. He covered her body with his own and she parted her legs to bring them closer.

Christine lifted her hips to press herself against him. She could feel his shaft, nudging at the entrance to her body. She could wait no longer; she took him in her hand and guided him into her warm heat. He sank into her slowly, adjusting to the wonderful feeling of being inside her. Buried up to the hilt, he was afraid to move. He was so close that with a couple of thrusts, he knew it would be over, but he wanted her to be with him when he found his release.

So, he lay there, the only sound in the room was their breathing. A fine sheen of perspiration had broken out on his skin. Christine could see it glistening in the firelight. She reached out to touch his marred cheek. Both of them cried out, as he slid out of her almost all the way, before he thrust back into her again. Her hands moved lower to cup his behind. She wrapped a leg around his waist, and he sank in a little deeper. His confidence grew, as his speed picked up. The ancient bed, beneath them, only built for one, groaned in protest at its misuse. Their bodies took over as he set up a punishing pace. They slid together, both of them slicked with sweat. Erik grabbed at the headboard for greater advantage as he pounded into her mercilessly.

There was anger, hurt and pain, all mixed with pleasure in his face, as he thrust into her. She watched his emotions as he took pleasure from her. She closed her eyes as her body neared its peak.

Christine grabbed at his hips and cried out, as she came, her body clinging to him. Erik thrust into her a couple of more times; before she felt his warm seed fill her. He collapsed, his head hidden in her shoulder. Christine wasn’t sure what instinct made her stroke his hair, as he lay there, silent as the grave. However, it seemed the right one, when moments later she felt the sobs wrack his body. He rolled off of her and sat up in the bed, caring little for modesty after all they had shared.

The grey streaks of dawn were shining in the window, as the night was slowly giving birth to the new day. Erik got up from the bed and retrieved his now dry clothing. He put it on without a word, walked over to the fireplace, and sat in the chair, by the embers of the dying fire. He threw another log onto it, and it flared into new life. Christine observed his profile from the bed. She was confused by his coldness. She got up from the bed on shaky legs and began to dress.

She walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched.

“What is it?” she asked,

“Christine…please I am trying to be strong,” He got up from the chair and paced the room. “I am in hell now, more than ever. I thought if I had you, I would work you out of my system, but I was wrong, so wrong. It is like being offered a taste of heaven, only to be thrown into the fires of damnation,”

He raked his hands through his tousled hair in agitation. “I am no fool. I know that De Chagny still owns your heart,”

Christine turned away from him unable to meet his eyes. Erik strode over to her and grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. “You have the body of a woman, but inside you are still that little girl,”

Christine felt tears well up in her eyes. “Forgive me, I only thought to…”

He cut her off. “To what? Give a starving man a meal? I am a man Christine, and like any man, I took what was offered! I don’t need your pity, the very one thing I want from you, I can never have,”

“It is true, I do love my husband, but you own a part of me he never will. You own my soul, Erik. You have the best of me. My heart may be weak and inconstant, but my soul is what drives me. It is yours, and will never be another’s. And I did not lie with you out of pity…but out of love,” she finished quietly.

He pulled her against him, before kissing her on the lips, as if to take the very soul that she had offered him. Both were alerted by the faint sounds of dogs barking in the distance. Christine ran to the window, at first afraid that it was the wolves of yesterday, but she could make out several horsemen, far off.

“Is it your husband?” he asked.

Christine nodded, numbly.

“You must leave Erik. If he finds you here he will kill you,”

“I am not afraid. I died inside long ago,”

“Do not say that! Please, go for my sake,” she pleaded.

Erik, unhurriedly put on his cape and replaced his mask. He walked back over to her, and cupped her face in his large palm. He placed a soft brief kiss on her lips. Tears shimmered in her eyes when they parted. There was an air of finality in his touch.

“I am not going to see you again, am I?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No, not in this life. You are not made for deceit and I would not make a whore of you,”

Her hands closed over his, as the tears fell down her cheeks. He rested his head on hers.

“You have made me believe in God again, Christine. If he is a forgiving God, then we will meet in the next life. You will never be far from my thoughts or my heart. I love you,”

“Before you go, promise me one thing,”

“Anything,”

“If I should die before you, promise me that you will leave a rose for me each year on the anniversary of my passing,”

“Christine, you are young and strong. I will be gone long before you,”

“Just promise me,”

“Very well,”

The sound of the dogs grew increasingly closer.

“Now go!”

She closed her eyes, unable to watch him leave. She instead, felt the gust of icy wind as the hut door opened and closed behind him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Several minutes later the door was thrust open. Raoul walked into the room to find his wife, sitting in a chair by the fire, tears streaming down her cheeks. She turned to him, her eyes filled with such sadness that he wondered at it. Christine ran to his arms and sobbed, he took as relief for having been found. It was a miracle to him that she was alive. He kissed her and held her until her tears ceased.

Raoul’s eyes went to the crumpled bed in the corner. A dying red rose lie on the pillow, the red petals almost faded to black. He drew in a ragged breath. It pained him to see it. But he did not want to know its story. Christine was here and she was safe and alive, that was all that mattered to him. The rest, he would learn to live with. He pushed aside the pain and looked down at her bowed head.

“When your horse returned to the house without you, I thought I had lost you,” he told her.

“Is Dominic well?” she asked.

“Our son is fine,”

“Let’s go home,” she sighed.

Raoul led her from the hut and helped her up onto a horse, while the other men waited. Erik watched from the shelter of the trees as she was taken further and further away from him.

“Goodbye Christine,” he said quietly.

He turned and disappeared into the woods, missing the moment that Christine turned her head and looked over to the trees, as if sensing him.

“What are you looking at my love?” asked Raoul.

“Nothing…” Christine had seen him turn and leave. “Goodbye,” she whispered to herself.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

1919

Raoul placed the music box on her grave, he stood back to sit in his chair, when he noticed the red rose, resting on the edge of her gravestone. Bitter tears welled up in his eyes as he looked around the cemetery. He will haunt us till we're dead... He slumped down in his wheelchair. Christine had kept her secret well, and so would he, it would soon die with his failing body and be lost in the oceans of time and no one would ever be the wiser. Some secrets were made to be kept forever.

THE END
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

This One Night