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Forget Me Not	By : spikesbint Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > AU/AR Views: 12354 -:- 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.

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Old habits

“He said he had business in Paris and would return by nightfall,”

“Oh thank God. I had thought…he…never mind,”

“What happened?” asked Madame Giry.

“I told him it was all too late…that it would have been better if he had never returned. I did not mean it. I was afraid for a moment that he had taken it as a dismissal….”

“Christine, you know Erik better maybe than all of us put together. It would take a lot more than harsh words to get him to leave. He loves you. Things are often said in anger that we do not mean,”

Christine looked down at the miniature in her hand.

“He loved me once, but that was a long time ago,”

She had felt her responses to him when they had been alone in the bedroom. It frightened her that after all these years he still had the power to make her burn. She was confused. She was still in mourning. She did not now how she felt. Christine cursed her fickle heart, she had been another man’s wife for thirteen years and she was already examining her feelings for another.

Madame Giry’s eyes travelled to what Christine was staring at. She held out her hand. “May I?” she asked.

Christine handed the little miniature to her.

“I found it in my room. It must belong to Erik,”

Madame Giry smiled at her. “He has carried your image around with him all these years, does that tell you nothing?”

“Only that he has affection for me,”

Madame Giry sighed. When Christine was in one of these moods, she could not see the wood for the trees and it was pointless in trying to make her.

“Come there are papers to go over in your husband’s study. The sooner it is sorted the sooner we can leave,”

“Where am I to go mother Giry? What’s to become of me?”

Meg came up behind them, making Christine start, as she whispered in her ear. “You are to come and live with me of course,”

Christine turned around and embraced her friend.

“Only for a few days and until I can find lodgings of my own. I have already told Erik, so I might as well tell you…I am going to return to the stage…if Monsieur’s Firmin and Andre will have me of course,” she added.

Madame Giry and Meg exchanged glances over Christine’s shoulder.

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

Erik enjoyed the hard pace he had set the magnificent black stallion. He had helped himself to it from the Vicomte’s stable. If pressed to say anything good about Raoul, he would say he knew his horses.

He was still smarting from Christine’s words. It would be so easy to take this horse, keep on riding to the nearest port, and return to the peace he had enjoyed before Madame Giry’s letter had arrived. However, deep down inside he knew it would be fruitless. For some reason he had been appointed her guardian angel, angel of music, or whatever label it was and he would not forsake her.

He had not lied to Madame Giry when he’d said he had business in the city, for he did, with Monsieur’s Firmin and Andre. Erik could not help the small curve that lifted at the corners of his mouth. He could imagine their reaction to seeing him again. The horse quickly ate up the distance to the city. It was late afternoon when he arrived in Paris.

He stabled his horse in the opera stables. Erik threw a few francs at the sleepy groom and then walked to the farthest darkest corner of the stable. He tapped at the wooden panelling until he found the part he was looking for. He gave it a shove, the panel gave way, and he entered the opera house, concealing the entrance behind him again as he walked forward into the gloom of the dark tunnel.

It was filthier than he remembered, but then again another thirteen years of neglect were bound accelerate the decay of decades. He brushed away the cobwebs with distaste as he made his way through the corridors. The tunnel brought him to the two-way mirror that joined to the dressing room of which he had taken Christine through. He slid back the mirror, surprised that it had not been nailed shut.

It slid back easily as if it had been opened only yesterday. The room was uninhabited although Erik would not have cared if the whole cast of the latest production had been there.

It was almost like stepping back in time. Little had changed to the décor even after all these years. Erik hummed a little tune under his breath as he exited the room and made his way to the manager’s office. He knocked on the door and awaited a reply.

“Come in,” came the impatient blustery voice of Firmin.

Erik smiled to himself as he slowly opened the door.

Andre was the first to look up from the desk at which he sat, puffing away on a fat cigar. His eyes widened and he reared up from his chair, the cigar smoke caught on his lungs. The newspaper, which had covered Firmin’s features, was lowered in impatience.

“Andre what ever is the matter now…dear God in heaven,” He said in surprise as he saw the strange man. Although they had never met the phantom up close and personal, there was only one man who had a penchant for wearing masks.

“I-it’s the opera ghost come back to haunt us from the grave!” said André. “Fetch the police!”

“Good afternoon gentlemen, I can assure you that I am flesh,” said Erik, knocking on the surface of the desk for good measure.

Firmin recovered his composure much quicker than his partner did. “What do you want?” he asked, intrigued.

“I shall get to the point…Christine Daaé has a wish to return to the stage. She intends to audition for you,”

“And you want us to employ her?” asked André, finally finding his voice.

“No, quite the contrary I wish for you to refuse her,”

André and Firmin looked at each other in puzzlement.

“She is very pretty…a Vicomtess would draw a huge audience...” Said André.

Erik sighed his impatience. “This place is looking in fine form…I noticed that the new chandelier is more grand than its predecessor,”

The nervous energy coming from the two managers was almost palpable in the small office. “What of it?” asked Firmin suspiciously.

“Nothing at all. I have a proposal to put to you…have you managed to find a patron to replace the Vicomte yet?”

“Not that it’s any business of yours, but no,” replied Firmin haughtily.

“How would you like a patron that lives the other side of the Atlantic and is willing to forward you a generous annual sum and give you free reign over how it is to be spent?”

“And who might that be?” asked André, interestedly.

“Why me of course. Maybe you have heard of the new opera house that has just been constructed in New York?”

“We have,” replied Firmin.

“I part own it gentlemen. I have more money than I know what to do with. Patronage of this place is well within my means. It is my plan that Miss Daaé becomes the new star at the Metropolitan,”

“And you promise to remain silent…no accidents or broken chandeliers?” Asked André nervously.

Erik held out a hand. “Gentlemen I give you my word,”

Both of the managers looked at Erik’s outstretched hand as if he were offering them a viper. Eventually Firmin drummed up enough courage to take it. He shook Erik’s hand vigorously.

“I will draw up the papers and return for your signatures. However, remember you are to let Christine audition. She must not know I am behind this, her pride would not allow her to take my offer willingly,”

Erik turned to go, the audible sighs of relief amused him as he turned back to face them.

“Just one more thing,”

“Yes?” asked the managers in unison.

“Box five is to remain empty…permanently,” he replied before closing the door quietly behind him.

“Why do I get the feeling that we have just made a pact with the devil?” asked Andre.

Firmin looked at him impatiently, “Oh for heavens sake stop being so melodramatic, business is business,” he snapped before returning to his newspaper.

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

Christine had rung her hands repeatedly. Supper had come and gone and still Erik had not returned. She had had to endure the lecherous stares from Rene as she sat at the dinner table. Most of Raoul’s relations that had journeyed to the estate had left that day leaving her to dine with the one person she loathed and detested most. He had already consumed a bottle of burgundy during his meal and had called for a second one to be served to him.

Christine pushed away her plate. Her appetite quite diminished by the sight of Rene’s manners, which would have been better suited to a farmyard than a great estate.

“You think I cannot see you watching me…like something the cat dragged in,” he hissed from the far end of the table.

“I do not think upon you at all,” she replied coldly.

Christine was glad of the ten feet of mahogany that divided them. Meg and Madame Giry flanked her on either side, both choosing to wisely remain silent.

“Just one more night,” whispered Madame Giry “We can leave at first light,”

Christine smiled at Madame Giry. She wondered what she would do without their comforting presence. Rene slammed his wine goblet on the table, making them all start.

“I know you are all talking about me,”

Christine rose from her chair. “I have had enough. I am going to retire for the evening,” She threw her napkin down on the table. Meg and Madame Giry followed her as she slammed out of the dining room.

They stood in the hallway; Meg touched her arm in sympathy. “He is a bore, not worth your worry Christine,”

Christine smiled at them weakly. “I really am tired and I haven’t even started packing yet,”

Madame Giry nodded. “Then we will see you in the morning,”

Christine walked off in the direction of her bedroom. She had been unable to confide in either women about Rene’s unwanted attentions or Erik’s reaction to them. The only shame she felt was knowing that Erik knew. What if he thought she had enticed Rene in someway to keep her home? Surely that would be the last thing he would think. Hadn’t she played him though?

Erik had loved her with all his heart and she had crushed it her hand. She would never forget the heartbreak in his eyes when he had whispered that he loved her. Even as Raoul had been taking them away, she hadn’t been able to resist one last glance at him before he was lost forever…except that he wasn’t, not any more. He was here now and he seemed somehow different from that wild passionate man she had known all those years ago. Had loving her, done that to him?

Christine sighed as she entered her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She pulled out her valises from under the bed, began to pack the remnants of her old life into the cases, and thought about the new life that would start in the morning. She almost missed the quiet knock at her door, as she was so immersed in her task. It sounded again and this time it registered.

“Who is it?” she asked warily.

There was a pause before her caller answered.

“Erik,”

Christine stopped what she was doing and strode over to the door. Her hand was shaking as she reached for the handle. It must have been raining outside for his hair was wet and moisture beaded on his fine black cape. He was breathing heavily as if he had been exerting himself. Christine felt her mouth go dry at the sight of him. She quickly averted her gaze, looking up and down the hall before admitting him entry to her room. The last thing she needed was inquisitive servants.

She closed the door behind them, suddenly feeling awkward at being alone with him. He shrugged off his coat and laid it on one of the chairs. Christine thought to protest that the silk would be damaged beyond repair, but she realised that she no longer cared, after all none of this was hers anymore.

“Where have you been?” she demanded more forcefully than she had meant to.

Erik looked at her. A tiny flicker of hope sparked inside him. Was there a slight chance she had missed him? He didn’t even bother to ask, for he knew she would rather die than admit to it. Instead, he walked across the room to where she stood. She was facing away from him. He turned her around to look at him. Erik was surprised to see the tears that were running down her face. He would rather endure ten lifetimes with out her than see her cry. He removed his rain-dampened gloves to wipe away the wetness from her face. She shivered at the coldness of his hands and at the sharp pang of desire, she felt at his touch.

Erik watched as her eyes dilated and took on a dreamy expression. He grew bolder in his attentions as he ran the pad of his thumb over her lips. She did not draw away, caught in the sensual spell he was weaving around her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, her conscience told her what she was doing was wrong, but she was past caring at that moment, only interested in the sensations he was arousing in her.

“Erik,” her voice came out on a soft whisper, full of need.

His body responded to her. He ran his hand down her neck to caress the softness of her throat before leaning in. She closed her eyes in anticipation, wanting his kiss more than anything she had wanted in a long time. He was so close she could feel his breath as it grazed across her lips. The first touch was gentle, so gentle that she thought she had imagined it at first. His hands crept into her hair as he pulled her up against him. Christine could feel his need for her. She groaned low in her throat at the knowledge as Erik fully covered her lips with his own.

Lips and tongues met and tasted as their passion grew. A need that had been bottled up for thirteen long years threatened to burst its confines at any moment, carrying them away on the floodgates of their desire.

“Oh God, Christine I need you so much,” Erik muttered as he broke their kiss.

Christine gasped, his words were like cold water, waking her up from this dream. What was she doing? Raoul wasn’t even cold in his grave and she was almost about to go to bed with Erik? The cold reason of her sanity crept in once more as she straightened her clothing and looked away, unable to meet his stormy eyes. She wanted Erik, she still wanted him, but she could not allow herself to tarnish her husband’s memory in such a manner.

Christine placed her hands on her cheeks in hopes of cooling the bright colour she knew must stain them. She finally looked at Erik, surprised to find he was no longer wearing his mask. It must have fallen off while they were…. She didn’t want to think on what she had almost done. She was every bit the whore that Rene had accused her of being, she thought glumly.

Erik’s breathing slowed as he got himself under some semblance of control. He brushed past her to retrieve his fallen mask; she flinched at the contact as if it burned her. He could tell by her expression that there would be no more lovemaking tonight. He sighed in resignation. Maybe it was all too soon; he certainly did not want to be a replacement for a dead man.

“I am sorry…just go…please?” she begged, needing to be alone.

“Very well,” he replied.

Erik nodded at her curtly. She could tell by his stride as he left the room that he was furious with her. She could not blame him for being so either. She had messed things up again. Christine sat down on the bed. She curled her fists on her lap impotently. She would not give into tears this time she told herself angrily.

She could hear him moving about in the other room as he slammed his door shut. She would go and apologise to him. Christine got up from the bed and walked over to the door. She was however arrested by the sight of the door handle turning. Maybe it was Erik returning to say he forgave her for her earlier treatment of him?

When she heard the soft strains of a violin penetrating the walls she knew, it could not be him. Even Erik could not be in two places at once, although it sometimes felt that way. Christine touched the handles only to have the door flung open wide as Rene staggered in and with a wink, he locked the door behind him with the key he still wore about his neck.

“You gave some to the masked monster, now it’s my turn. Don’t look so shocked. I saw him enter your room…he was here for at least fifteen minutes, plenty of time to tumble you. I listened at the door. You moaned so prettily for your lover,”

Before she knew what his intentions were, he cruelly grabbed her, tore the front of her dress, and squeezed her breast roughly. Christine tried to shove a knee between his legs like the last time, but he was ready for her. He slapped her hard across the face, so hard she fell to the floor and hit her head. As her consciousness faded, she was only glad that she would not be awake for the ordeal that would surely follow.

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

Erik’s bow paused on the strings; sure, he had heard something fall to the floor in Christine’s room. He put the violin carefully down on the bed and went to investigate the source of the disturbance. Erik listened at her door; all he was able to hear was the sound of laboured breathing and definitely not Christine’s. He tried the doors. They were locked fast. He could see the motionless form of Christine splayed across the bed while that animal pawed at her. There was no time to lose. He ran at the door, pushing up against it with all his weight. After several tries the wood gave way and as he burst into the room.

The sight of Rene with his hands roaming under Christine’s skirts was enough to bring out all his old instincts as he hauled the man off the bed and dragged him out into the hallway.

“Come we will settle this like men, although you are no better than an animal,”

Erik dragged him towards the stairs; Rene fought him like the animal that Erik had called him.

“Get off me you circus freak!” he roared as he struggled to be free of Erik’s iron tight grip.

He was still unsteady from drink as his footing on the stairs slipped and he tumbled over the balcony. Erik looked down disinterestedly expecting to see him on the floor below. He was surprised to see him hanging over the edge. He was caught on the railing by a long black ribbon that was tied around his neck, which seemed to have a key on the end of it. He was slowly turning several shades of purple as his air supply was cut off.

“Help me,” he gurgled.

“Why should I do that?” asked Erik.

“Please…I will leave here…and never come back,” he choked out.

“Do I have your word?” asked Erik.

Rene nodded, now incapable of speech. Erik reached out a hand to help him back over; when he heard a loud crack and saw Rene grow slack. His neck had broken. It was too late, and still Erik did not feel any sorrow for his end. He turned on his heel and walked calmly back to Christine’s room.

He was surprised to find that she had regained consciousness although was a little disorientated. She pulled at the edges of her clothing, her face covering her hair.

“Is he gone?”

“Rene won’t be troubling you any more Christine…ever again,”

“Did he manage to…” she could not say the words.

“No, I stopped him in time,”

Christine let out a shaky sob. Erik walked across the room and reached for her dressing gown so she could restore her modesty. She took it from him gratefully as she wrapped it around herself.

“I will leave you then if you think you will be alright?” he asked.

He turned to go, but was surprised as her hand shot out to hold his. “Please…stay?”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Just hold me…I don’t want to be alone,”

She moved over the side of the bed to give him room. Erik took off his jacket and laid it on the chair and got onto the bed beside her. She nestled into him and he lay on his side and wrapped an arm about her. He stroked her hair soothing away some of her hurt. She closed her eyes and slowly felt them grow heavy and as she drifted off to sleep, she felt the safest she had felt in a very long time.

Erik stared down at her. He softly stroked her hair with his other hand until she had fallen asleep. He closed his eyes and joined her. Tomorrow there would be questions about the manner of Rene’s death, but all he could think about tonight was holding her in his arms. Tonight was theirs, tomorrow could wait.

TBC
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Forget Me Not