Page 71 of Angel's Kiss
Christine’s breath slowed as she stared at the man she had been so willing to let into her bed, who had already confessed such horrors to her in the dark of his hidden world. Was he protecting her? Did she have a chance now to run before she was ruined? Before she fell too far? Maybe Raoul would take her back.
“Erik, I—”
A low laugh cut Christine off and her blood froze.
“So, the monster has a name.” They both turned in horror at the words, looking down from their unsteady perch to see none other than Joseph Buquet leering from a catwalk below.
“Dear God,” Christine whispered, her body seizing with terror.
“Don’t you take the Lord’s name in vain, you little whore,” Buquet spat, pure hate in his eyes. “To think, you spread your legs for thatthing. You know I thought he was a demon, face like that, but no, I was wrong. You’re just a man!”
“Are you so sure of that?” Erik growled, bracing himself like a snake about to strike.
“Oh yes.” Buquet grinned. “Who do you think will pay me more for your name? Carlotta, or the managers? Or the police? What’ll they do to your little whore when they find out about you,Erik?’
“You don’t learn, do you?” Erik intoned, Before Christine could blink, he sprang from their catwalk into the open air, catching a rope as he flew towards Buquet. The master of the flies’ face went slack in fear as the shadow of the Phantom alit beside him.
“Fucking hell,” Buquet yelped and ran headlong down the quivering catwalk, but Erik was close behind, rope still in hand.
“Erik!” Christine cried, racing to the flimsy metal stairs to get down. She watched the chase from the corner of her eyes, her heart pounding in panic. She arrived at Erik and Buquet’s level and rushed across the catwalk in time to see Erik seize his prey and loop the rope around Buquet’s neck. “Oh God!”
Erik spun with the man in front of him and Christine stopped dead at the sight of the master of the flies staring at her in abject horror, as Erik choked him from behind. She froze as the realization overcame her; the utter certainty that Erik was ready, and worse, capable of killing Buquet right there. And it was not the first time he had taken a life.
“Erik, no. Please, just let him go,” Christine whispered, trembling as she stepped closer, trying to calm the killer that she had let into her bed. For an endless moment, Erik held her gaze, his golden eyes glowing with deadly rage. And then, in a blink, it was gone. Replaced with horror that matched Christine’s.
“You will tellno one,” Erik commanded in Buquet’s ear with unquestionable authority as he drew his makeshift noose tighter. “You will leave my opera and never return. If I ever find you near this place again, my face will be the last thing you ever see. Do you understand, Joseph?”
Buquet gave gurgling noises of assent, his purple face making some semblance of a nod. Erik looked to Christine once more, awaiting her command.
“I believe him,” Christine said. With a final squeeze of the noose, Erik let Buquet go, throwing him to the catwalk where he collapsed, gasping for air with his arms braced around his chest.
“Get out of here, now,” Erik ordered.
Buquet continued to pant, rising slowly from his knees and meeting Christine’s eyes just as his hand slipped into his vest. He grinned and Christine gasped when she saw the pistol. The world slowed as Buquet spun, the rope still looped about his neck, drawing his weapon to aim it at Erik. Christine cried out in warning and lunged towards Buquet.
She could not grab him, he moved too fast, but she managed to push instead. For a second she felt the coarse texture of his shirt and smelled his sweat, as the catwalk bounced and shook beneath their feet. A second of contact and pressure and he fell, tumbling away into empty air as the gun flew from his hand, his wide, terrified eyes filling with terror. The rope still around his throat pulled taught and the wet snap of his neck breaking echoed through the flies.
Joseph Buquet’s body swung before Christine’s horrified eyes, lifeless.
