Adult-FanFiction.org : Books

Rossignol	By : Savaial Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 5240 -:- 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-Rossignol
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Ch 4
- 5-Ch 5
- 6-Ch 6
- 7-7
- 8-Ch 8
- 9-Ch 9
- 10-Ch 10
- 11-Ch 11
- 12-Ch 12
- 13-Ch 13
- 14-Ch 14
- 15-Ch 15
- 16-Ch 16
- 17-Ch 17
- 18-Ch 18
- 19-Ch 19
- 20-Ch 20
- 21-Ch 21
- 22-Ch 22
- 23-Ch 23
- 24-Ch 24
- 25-Ch 25
- 26-Ch 26
- 27-Ch 27
- 28-Ch 28
- 29-Ch 29
- 30-30- Epilogue
- 25
- 26
- 27
The serpent wire seemed the best route to take. I hauled myself onto it and followed the quivering trail of my bell filament. Lescot had entered through the least known entrance, the underwater passage past the third system of locks. This meant he was alone. The tunnel wasn’t large enough for more than one person at a time and the bell had only rung once.

Perfect.

In seven minutes time I stood in the ideal position to view my guest. I stooped into an easy crouch on one foot and waited. Sure enough, the man came into my vision. He was a large man, tall and brawny. His brown head turned from side to side, taking in the narrow walkway between the south edge and the north edge of the lake. He held a military issue gun in his right hand and held a saber tight to his body with the other. I smiled. He seemed a bit over dressed for meeting a ghost.

Lescot stopped almost directly underneath me. A pool of water collected at his feet as he peered intently into the murky darkness. If not for the guide lanterns on each side of the lake he would have not been able to see at all. No doubt the fitful light gave him a small measure of comfort. He wouldn’t have been able to bring a lantern through the waterway. I knew if I swam out the way he came in I would find an abandoned lamp. I made a mental note to retrieve it after I was finished with him. Wouldn’t do to leave evidence of a visitor.

“He’s in here, somewhere,” Lescot muttered. “I’ll get him. I’ll get him and the little runaway whore.”

I ground my teeth together. Celeste wouldn’t be subjected to this creature again. The very thought of what she’d suffered because of him made me sick, pushed an insidious darkness up into my throat and enflamed my blood. He’d used her and cast her aside to languish in misery. Well, what was good for her would also be good for him.

Lescot began moving again. He took his steps carefully, mindful of the sometimes crumbling mortar and shadowed path. I followed from above silently, waiting for my chance to strike. He would fire his gun at anything that moved and I didn’t intend to fall to a bullet.

He reached the secondary junction and stared out over his choices. He could either enter the water to the left and wade to the first platform or traverse a two inch reinforcement over the water, which was darkened with algae and looked slick. I watched him try to test the depth of the water with his sword. When he couldn’t find the bottom he drew back and gave a frustrated sigh. He tentatively tested the slender ledge. When his foot did not slip upon it he pushed his pistol into his coat and started forward.

I waited until he was halfway across. Kneeling directly above him, I dumped the chloroform into my handkerchief and swung down, clamping it over his nose and mouth. He was strong. His panic and surprise nearly threw me into the lake but I held on, determined to do this right. He tried to draw his gun. I slammed a fist into his kidneys, aborting his movements. His gasp of pain sucked the knock out drug into his lungs. Lescot fell into the water with a large splash, face down.

It was easy to drag him out. I slapped the handkerchief back over his face as I hauled him back to the bank. The brute weighed a ton. To speed things up a bit I hefted him onto my shoulder and carried him. I had a nice place set up for my guest; I had a place free of disturbance where he could reflect upon his life in quiet solitude.

Funny how the biggest, meanest men fall prey to me only because they were prey to their own egos first. Confidence is an overrated quality.

Lescot swam to consciousness upon hitting the hard stone floor. I wasted no time in sliding the needle into his arm. From Celeste’s descriptions I knew exactly what she’d been dosed with and it had been easy to procure a supply for myself. Chloral hydrate would deaden pain, unfortunately, yet it would also keep Lescot manageable. I would lower the dose as needed to allow him a full appreciation for his pain.

Like Friedrich Nietzsche, I understood the angles of moral relativism.

“Who?” Lescot attempted a vertical angle. I promptly shoved him back to the stone with my foot.

“I’m the man you’re looking for,” I said, crouching beside him. I tapped my mask, making it click-click-click. “You’re a foolish trespasser, to come here armed with bullets and steel. I suppose you think you’ll dance into hell, retrieve your poor wife and dance back out?”

Lescot frowned as he tried to sit up again. “You son of a bitch,” he growled. “What do you mean by taking what’s mine?”

I stripped him of his sword and gun while he struggled with basic motor function, smiling all the while behind my mask. “Celeste doesn’t belong to you,” I corrected him. “And, once you’re dead she’ll not even have to admit a connection to you at all.” I threw his weapons into the lake without even looking backward. “But don’t worry. I’m going to give you plenty of time to make peace with God; you won’t die a sinner unless you’re too stubborn to even pray.”

Lescot opened his mouth to speak. I couldn’t have that. Hadn’t Celeste suffered in silence? I shoved a cloth in his mouth.

“This will go easier on you, monsieur, if you simply relax and take your punishment.” I dragged the heavy sledgehammer from its place beside the support column, resting it on its spine near his feet. “Tensing up makes the pain all the more intense, you see, and also draws out the process.” With that I lifted the mallet and brought it down on his right knee.

The sickening, splintering crack of bone and cartilage displacing under flesh was music, but no more beautiful than Lescot’s muffled scream of agony. I let the weight rest on the ruin, the pressure against the injury breaking the skin. Before he could move away I jerked the hammer back and let it impact with his other knee. He tore the cloth out of his mouth and screamed, using his elbows to crawl backward away from me.

“Now, now, what did I tell you?” I followed his snail’s pace, twirling the mallet casually in my hands. “Resisting me will only make you tired, and I can’t have you fatigued. You’ll need your strength to endure what I have in store for you.”

Lescot sobbed like a child, sitting to bed protectively over his ruined legs. “Don’t,” he croaked out. “We can talk about this. You can have the woman!”

“I already have her,” I pointed out.

“Then just let me go. I swear I’ll never come back or bother you again!” Lescot shuddered as he looked at me, his fear overriding the drug in his system.

“Oh, I know that,” I said softly. “But you see, I want to kill you. I like to kill.” I swung again and broke both his shins at once. Overtop of his howls I continued to talk. “I have the stomach for murder, unlike you. I am not content to put people away and forget about them. I prefer a clean solution to the problem of bothersome people.”

“I didn’t hurt her!” Lescot collapsed onto his side, his arms curled protectively over his stomach. No doubt he thought I meant to move up now. He’d figured out my anger was over Celeste entirely. It certainly had taken him long enough.

“It doesn’t matter if your hands are clean; you are responsible for all of Celeste’s ills. And really, I don’t care. At this point I’m satisfied to indulge myself without caring who did what.” I swung the hammer and crushed each of his ankles, pausing in between just long enough to let him scream and thrash a bit. When finished I stepped back and watched.

Lescot’s screams became moans, then finally whimpers as he assimilated what I’d done. His broken, sobbing breaths rattled in the stone chamber and echoed crazily. Except for the small place on his right knee he wasn’t bleeding, which was good. Free bleeding meant a quick end and I intended to make his suffering legendary.

“Please, please, stop,” he whispered. “Surely this is enough for you. I am a cripple now; I’ll never walk again.”

“Weren’t you listening?” I leaned up against the column at my back and pulled out my flask. The brandy warmed me. I was getting too old to linger in this dampness. “I mean to kill you, monsieur Lescot. Pretty words won’t sway me, nor will pity. I have no pity for a man who locks a woman away. I have no pity for a man who claims a wife only to mistreat her. I have no pity for a man who allows criminals to rape and torture a woman-child.”

“I didn’t know what they were doing to her!” Lescot writhed as his pain took another measure of the chloral hydrate away. “I swear to you, I didn’t know!”

“Don’t insult me by implying it would have made a difference.” I put my flask away and picked up the mallet again. “You knew what would happen to Celeste when you put her in that madhouse. You visited her to make sure she was being used and tortured. You and countless others raped her, beat her, savaged her mind and soul.”

He knew he could not get out of it now. Lescot shut his eyes. I brought my foot down on his hand and pinned him to the floor. In two quick strikes I broke his wrist and both radius and ulna. It took five minutes for him to stop thrashing enough for me to go on and break his humerus. His shrieking threatened to deafen me.

I decided not to let him rest. It took only another minute to break every bone in his other arm. Useless now, Lescot stared straight up into the ceiling. In shock, I surmised. Well, it was to be expected.

Now I could proceed with his torture. Briefly I considered breaking his fingers and toes, but then I decided that to be overkill. Those simple digits wouldn’t add much to his overall pain. I elevated what was left of his legs and threw a blanket over him. He had to be warm to stay conscious.

“What will you do with me now?” Lescot more cried than talked.

I took off my mask. Incredibly, Lescot had enough energy to be afraid of my face, for his eyes widened. Human nature amazed me. I had broken all his useful bones and he was still fearful of something as inconsequential as ugliness. True, I was more than simply ugly, but still…

“Now?” I smirked. “Now I show you what it is to endure pain. I regret I don’t have a few years to draw your suffering out, but I will make do with what time I have.” Walking to a distant corner, I retrieved the object I’d spent three days creating. I rolled it to where Lescot lay and let it fall beside him. “This is quite aptly called the wheel,” I informed him. “You have read of the Spanish Inquisition?”

He didn’t answer.

“Ah, well, no doubt you are nearly illiterate.” I made a tsk-tsk noise. “But never mind. You don’t have to know of it to appreciate it.” I bent down and grabbed him by his lapels, hauling him over to the large structure of wood and iron. He gasped at the pain of movement and promptly passed out. Sighing, I brought out the vial of smelling salts from my inner vest pocket and waved it under his nose. “You can’t sleep,” I said sternly. “This is your party and it is ill mannered to sleep.”

“Oh God, just kill me,” Lescot begged. “Please, just kill me!”

“All in good time.”

The screams he’d made when I’d broken his bones were nothing compared to the cries he made as I began threading his mutilated arms and legs into the spokes of the wheel. With his bones broken so thoroughly it was easy to weave him in and out. He couldn’t resist me. I bent him as if he were made of putty. Soon, his voice gave out and he merely twitched in agony. To my fascination he was sweating blood near his injuries. I’d never seen that before.

I stood back to admire my handiwork. Lescot, bent at a miserable angle contrary to the way a human spine usually worked, looked like a cloth puppet. I gave him an injection of cocaine to wake him back up and attached a chain to the wheel. In three pulls I had him elevated a few feet off the floor, upside down. Gravity would add to his misery quite well, I was sure of it. And, if it didn’t, I would be here to rectify the matter.

I settled into the corner to watch him.

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

I paced back and forth for what seemed like hours and still Erik did not walk through the door. Silence overwhelmed me. In it I could imagine what was happening, see in my mind the possibilities with absolute clarity. Erik had no mercy in his heart for my husband and I had no doubt the warning bell had heralded Pierre’s doom. A subterranean death-knoll…

Still, I did not know how to feel. I wanted Erik to be the victor, certainly. I wanted Pierre dead and gone. I just didn’t want to have my imagination as my only respite. A part of me would always wonder how Erik had killed him. The hurt child deep inside of me would still be afraid of his return if I did not see for my own eyes his demise.

I slipped off my hard soled shoes and slapped the door release. A blast of frigid, musty air hit me in the face. Steeling myself, I jumped and caught the wire overhead. Erik would have traveled it to meet Pierre. Once my footing became steady I took a deep breath and began to walk.

Oh, it was as easy as I thought it would be! For a moment I lost all thought of Erik and Pierre, reveling in walking the taut narrow line and the sense of freedom it inspired. I hadn’t lost my sense of balance over the years, to my joy. My feet molded around the rough wire and my toes curled to keep my poise. What a wonderful way to travel, above the ground, teetering in an underground heaven.

A blood-chilling series of screams halted my progress. Heart hammering, I crouched low and waited. It could only be Pierre I heard. Erik would not scream in pain if someone was ripping him apart. The sounds died to moaning. Erik’s voice lifted over the noise easily.

“Such histrionics,” he tutted, his silken tones oozing disdain. “I’m sure Celeste made such sounds during her confinement, but you wouldn’t have paid them any mind, would you? I suppose it is only fair I pay no heed to you.”

Nausea waved over my gut as Pierre began screaming anew. The horrible sounds of his agony kept going and going, growing in strength. I heard an indistinct crunching sound, the wet noise of cartilage giving way under pressure.

“But I do grow weary of listening to you,” Erik went on. “Poor Celeste lost her voice during her horrors. Like a dumb animal she could not even speak of what poison she held in her mind. I see no reason to give you any relief you would not allow her. You’ll be more tolerable without your larynx anyway.”

Trembling, I eased up to the scene. The sight below me took my breath away. Pierre was broken, woven into a large wheel. Twisted in pain and barely recognizable, he twitched feebly as Erik leaned over him. A bloody mass rested in Erik’s long fingered palm. I clamped down on the bile rising in my throat. He’d torn out Pierre’s voice box.

“I can’t have you bleeding to death,” Erik said conversationally, tossing the mess in his hand into the water nearby. He produced a needle and thread from his pocket and proceeded to sew up Pierre’s throat. “I must thank you, monsieur, for delivering yourself to me. It has been many years since I could indulge in my hatred of men.” He finished his job and stepped back to admire his work. It was at that moment I saw he didn’t have his mask. “And you, my dear Lescot, are enough by yourself to awaken that hatred. I’d almost forgotten the limits of depravity men could reach.”

Pierre’s hands flailed a bit.

“What’s that?” Erik pretended to listen to the mute man. “You say I’m an animal too? Oh, but of course I am. Men made me the way I am.” He pulled a flask out of his pocket and drank from it deeply. “And I’ll let you in on a little secret. I enjoy what I am. Why, I’m having the time of my life right now!”

When Erik began to laugh I felt my own mouth stretch into a smile. Distantly, I felt horror over my pleasure, but I squashed it down into the very pit of my stomach. Perhaps I was as mad and cruel as Erik.

“You look a little fatigued monsieur,” Erik said after a moment. He produced a shining needle from his pocket and filled it from a small bottle. “I told you I didn’t think it polite for you to sleep during your own party.”

The injection made Pierre thrash as much as possible while so utterly confined. He rocked the wheel with his energetic movements but the rocking motion only seemed to enflame him more.

“Careful, you’ll hurt yourself,” Erik admonished.

A small sound far down the way made Erik turn his head. I looked back behind me to see my brother approaching, alone. Fear for them both nearly overwhelmed me. Erik might not take kindly to an interruption, and Raoul would certainly find the scene horrifying. I felt my body coiling. My grip on the wire tightened to the point of pain. I couldn’t let Erik kill my brother and I couldn’t allow Raoul to harm Erik. Up here I was helpless. I had to wait and see what would happen. I would come between them if needed.

“I expected you sooner,” Erik said by way of greeting Raoul.

Raoul took one look at the ruin that used to be Pierre Lescot and vomited.

“Yes, I suppose one could look at it that way,” Erik said, chuckling. “I do beg your pardon, Vicomte.”

“Oh my God, Erik, what have you done?” Raoul gasped, turning his head away. With trembling hands he scooped water from the lake and threw it over his flushed face.

“I think it’s fairly obvious what I’ve done,” Erik said, his thin lips twisting into a parody of a smile. “What’s the matter? Don’t you like my handiwork?”

Raoul only moaned.

“Oh come now, I’ve merely made his outside reflect his inside.” Erik offered his flask to my brother. “He doesn’t look any worse than I do.”

Raoul took the flask and drank deeply, choking all the while. “Oh my God,” he repeated, “you can’t let Celeste see this. It would kill her!”

“I have no intention of letting your beautiful sister view this,” Erik replied a bit grumpily. “What kind of man do you take me for?”

“A madman,” Raoul answered. He straightened, took another look at Pierre and promptly hurled his drink into the lake. “For the love of God, couldn’t you just have killed him? Did you have to do this?” He gestured to the wheel with his eyes firmly closed. Groping blindly, he snatched the flask from Erik and drank again. “How could you do this?”

“Easily,” Erik chuckled. “Oh, it was simplicity itself.”

For several minutes the only sounds below me were Raoul’s shattered breathing. My brother slowly reached into his vest pocket and drew out two glimmering objects. “I will not interfere,” he said quietly. “I can’t bear to see it and I can’t condone it, but I will not stand in your way. Take these.”

Erik plucked the objects out of Raoul’s hand. My wedding ring and a bullet.

“What shall I do with them?”

“I’m sure you can find a use for them.” Raoul turned on his heel. “I’m going above ground. Contact me when it’s over.”

“I’ll do that.” Erik closed his fingers over the small items.

Raoul staggered back the way he’d come. Erik caressed the ring, tucking the bullet between two fingers. “Do you recognize this?” he asked Pierre, brandishing the ring. “You wed Celeste with this hateful ring. Her finger will ever be scarred.”

Pierre twitched once. His eyes were dull.

“More cocaine?” Erik pushed the syringe back into Pierre’s arm. “You’re quite the addict, aren’t you? You have a high tolerance. No doubt you use many different drugs.” He stood with his hip cocked to one side, his fingers pressed over his slash of a mouth. “Drugs will kill you, you know.”

He laughed at his own joke for almost five minutes. I felt a tear escaping my eye. I wasn’t crying for Pierre. Erik tore my heart out with his madness. He’d been treated as cruelly as I, perhaps even more so, if he could find humor in what he was doing.

“The Vicomte is a genius,” Erik exclaimed suddenly. “All these weeks he’s been carrying his bullet and Celeste’s ring around as totem to pain, and finally he knows where to put them to rest. He gave them to me because he knew I would make use of their poignant meaning.” He advanced upon Pierre, his golden eyes glowing with malice. “Open your filthy mouth,” he demanded.

Pierre fought him as best he could but it was useless. Erik pried his mouth open and wedged the two objects inside. From my vantage point it looked as if he put them under his tongue. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t swallow them,” Erik said. “If you think I’ve given you the limit of pain, you’re sadly mistaken. I could keep you alive like this for months.” As he spoke he brought out the sewing needle and thread again.

Several times while Erik sewed Pierre’s mouth shut I thought I would faint. I stretched out on the wire and made myself watch, made myself stay awake. There wasn’t as much blood as I imagined there would be.

This was the man who had nursed me back to health. This was the man who had tenderly taken me from a mute, wreck of a woman to an outspoken, free-willed lady. This man, maiming and torturing my husband, had made me feel loved, protected, utterly wanted. My mind easily accepted his duality. Had I not wanted Pierre’s death for myself, many, many times? Had I not dreamed of hurting him, knifing him in the back, setting him on fire? What was the difference in my cruelty and Erik’s?

I could find but one thing. Erik had the strength and nerve to actually commit such a deed. I would have dreamed of it until death but I doubted I would have ever summoned the courage to see my dreams become reality. Now, thanks to Erik, I would not ever have to worry about Pierre again. I was free.

I was free.

Before my eyes, Erik changed. The blood that covered his pale wrists and hands became nothing but a pretty color. His face, twisted with unholy joy, became the face of an avenging angel, a welcome harbinger of retribution. Oh yes, Erik was my angel of death, my guardian angel, my angel of music, my seraph of suffering. He was Lucifer illuminated, made flesh and blood and bone. He would never hurt me. He would destroy anyone who dared to harm me.

He abandoned his work to sit upon a thick blanket about ten feet away. I observed him, wondering what he would do next. There didn’t seem to be much left to do to Pierre, really.

I grew weary of merely watching. Gathering my nerve, I lowered myself to the ground in front of Erik.

He seemed surprised to see me.

“Oh Celeste,” he whispered, not moving from his spot on the floor. “You should not have come to see this.”

I turned my back to Pierre and sat facing him. “Regardless, here I am,” I answered.

Suddenly, Erik remembered his bare face. His arm shot out to snatch his mask. I reached out and took it from him before he could put it back on.

“You don’t need it,” I said. “I’ve seen you before. I can live with your face.”

Slowly, Erik held out his hand, palm up. “I appreciate that, Celeste, but I would feel better if you would allow me the cover.” His eyes were bright gold, pained. He didn’t believe me.

I gave the porcelain over to him and stretched out by his long body. He tied the mask on and sighed in relief. Hesitantly, as if I were a wild animal to be approached gently, he eased himself down until he lay level with me. Our eyes met.

“You couldn’t bear to stay with me now,” Erik murmured. “It is for the best, I’m sure. You are free to do as you like.”

“Do you mean that?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, I do.” Erik closed his eyes. “You will spread your wings and become as you were meant to become.” He shuddered before looking at me again.

I let my eyes wander his lean, bloodstained body. I rather thought any wings I had would be black, like his. “Erik, you don’t know how I was meant to develop,” I pointed out. “Perhaps I was always meant to be exactly what I am now.”

“I cannot imagine God ever meant for you to become the woman of a killer, not when suffering and brutality eclipse the whole of your childhood.” Erik lowered his head. “I truly wish you had not seen this. You will have night terrors again.”

“I’m bored with nightmares.” I rolled over onto my back and propped my head up with my arms. Pierre was watching us. He still had his mind despite what Erik had done to him. I smiled at him. “Why doesn’t he cry?” I asked Erik.

“He can’t. I cauterized his tear ducts.” Erik sat up but made no move to leave me. “I can’t bear to watch a grown man cry.”

This struck me as incredibly funny. I smirked to avoid outright laughter. “Erik, you can’t bear to see a woman cry either,” I pointed out.

He paused. “Well, yes, I suppose you’re right,” he admitted softly.

I sat up and looked at him. “What do you say we go back home and get something to eat?”

He eyed me askance. Disbelief made his body stiff. “You are hungry?”

“Starved. I haven’t eaten well all week.”

“I…suppose.” Erik glanced at Pierre. He didn’t know what to do now that I’d pushed a bit of normalcy into his evening.

“He’s not going anywhere,” I said mildly. “You can always come back. Perhaps he could do with the time to reflect anyway.”

Erik turned his head to look me dead in the eyes. His searching, golden gaze sought the measure of me. I quivered at his intensity.

“Leave him all alone,” I went on. “Let the damp and the rats keep him company.”

Slowly, Erik turned his head to look at Lescot. “Leave him to die by himself? That isn’t polite.”

I shrugged. “Alright then.” I got to my feet and approached Pierre. The oil lantern at his feet made my legs hot. I found a dry splinter of driftwood and wedged it inside the lamp. When it caught fire I brought it out and laid it over a rock. Dousing the lantern, I dumped the contents all over him.

Erik made no move to stop me. Unhindered, I took the flaming bit of wood and held it up before Pierre’s frightened face. “In India the widow often throws herself on her husband’s funeral pyre,” I said. “I think I can restrain myself.” With that, I set him on fire.

I turned my back to him for the last time and held out my hand to Erik. “I think potato soup would be nice, don’t you?”
- 25
- 26
- 27
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

Rossignol