Page 81 of Angel's Fall
“Maybe that’s for the best. He’s a bad influence on all of us.” Raoul gave his brother a surprised look. Philippe shrugged. “I’m still hoping I can talk you out of all of this.”
“The plan is sound.”
“The plan is ridiculous,” Philippe countered. “You’re hoping to lay a trap for a man who has already escaped you when you had him in chains. A trap set in the opera house where he can walk through the goddamn walls!”
“Our mistake last time was being merciful.” Raoul clenched his fists, imagining how much better things would be if he had not aimed to hurt Erik in the cemetery and aimed instead to kill. As he would tonight. “I will be ready for him when he shows himself.”
“And if you succeed – somehow – what will you tell Christine? After you’ve killed her lover and she finds out you lied?”
Raoul had already thought long and hard on that subject. “She believes he is to be freed after hearing her sing, I will simply tell her that he broke the deal with violence, and we had to defend ourselves and her.”
“What if that’s what she wants though? For him to break free and save her?” Philippe’s expression was deathly serious. “She has made it clear where her heart lies.”
“She agreed to marryme,” Raoul protested again, thinking back to his elation at the sound of that simple word: yes. Christine had kissed him, and all had been right in the world when he saw the woman he loved begin to throw off the shackles Erik had placed on her soul.
“What about Richard? I don’t trust that man – he has some other game here.” Philippe approached his brother.
Raoul shook his head once again. “He’s agreed to call up all the firemen and have the police in the building. That’s logical!”
“None of this is logical, Raoul,” Philippe entreated. “When it goes wrong, who will have to save you? Me. Do you have any idea how unqualified I am for heroics?”
“Then don’t come,” Raoul snapped. “Have a brandy. Go find wherever Antoine is licking his wounds and leave this to the men of action. Now, I need to go.”
Raoul bolted out of the parlor and into the coach house to rouse the groom who had audaciously fallen asleep as well. Soon enough, he was on his way across the Seine, to the church where he had always known Christine Daaé would say her vows. She needed to free her soul entirely first, and then she could be his.
Perhaps it could happen tonight. Perhaps once that thing was dead, Christine would rejoice and elope with him immediately without even waiting for Sunday. Then he could have her, at last. It made his cock twitch to think of it. He had seldom thought of Christine in such sinful terms, but to have their marriage so close meant he could not help it. He had dreamed of her since he was a boy, but as a distant, chaste ideal. Now, she would be his as a woman. He closed his eyes, imagined her voice...
Shall I tell you all the ways he fucks me? All the places he’s had me? How hard he makes me come?
Raoul jumped in his seat as the carriage came to a stop, crying out in disgust. Christine hadn’t meant that. She had said that just to placate Erik and drive Raoul away. She had lied.
Adèle’s words haunted Raoul too.No matter if you steal her away, you’ll never give it to her as good as he did. She was a liar too.
Raoul hid his face in shame, horrified to think on such things so close to a house of God. He looked up at the Madeleine in all her Romanesque glory. Christine was a free spirit, he’d always known she’d like this church dressed in a pagan costume. She was like Mary Magdalene now too: a fallen woman only God could redeem. She had to cleanse her soul and come to their marriage free and pure again. So did Raoul.
There was one young priest attending to the candles when Raoul entered, and he signaled to the man to meet him in the confessional. Raoul knelt in the close, dark space once the door closed behind him and crossed himself, exhaling and feeling his soul unburden as he did so.
“Good morning, my son. Do you wish to make a confession?” the voice came from the other side of the screen.
“Yes. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been five days since my last confession,” Raoul began.
––––––––
Erik reached the onepassage into the Opera from the catacombs, only to find it wide open, a sight which filled him with rage. It was a message from the other shade that haunted the underground, or the Daroga. It declared that Erik’s way out had been found. It was open now to welcome him home, but Erik knew it would not be so later.
This was the final insult in a long journey of pain and humiliation, hiding from the searing light of day as best he could. Thoughts of revenge and hate had kept Erik moving, but more than anything memories of Christine had driven him, even as they were tainted with doubt. He remembered her cries and entreaties to the boy, that he could take her. She had done that to save her angel. What more had they made her do?
Christine didn’t want their life in the dark and she was tired of the career Erik had forged for her. She wanted the daylight – the cursed sun that had tempted Erik, only to remind him why he was not welcome in its light. Did that mean she would see the world through the boy’s eyes now? Would she want him? Erik had to take her back before she could be swayed, but what if it was too late? What if they were gone?
Erik found himself leaning against a cold stone wall, gasping for air, his mind spinning in terror building to rage. This was not the first time such an attack had taken him on the journey, but it was certainly the worst. His breathing was shallow, he shook from his legs to his fingertips, and his vision was tinged deadly red.
He hated them, all of them. His brother and the boy and all the rich and careless fools above. They had taken everything from him again and again, driven him to the dark for crimes that were not his. And now, after he had scraped together an existence in the shadows and dared to find love, they had stolen away everythingagain.
Erik hated them so much he could barely breathe. He had to force the air in and out of his throat, force himself to feel the concrete against his hands and the solid earth beneath his feet until the crimson fog of rage abated. He was not surprised to find that he was on his knees when he came back to himself, or that he had somehow come to the fourth cellar already. He stood and stalked towards the stairs that would take him into the Opera proper.
The Phantom was back in his safe haven, but he was not ready to return to his home. He didn’t want to enter the house that he had shared with an angel for so brief a time without knowing how he could return her to his grasp. He sped up the stairs, eager instead to learn anything that had transpired in the Opera while they were gone.
As if on cue, a uniformed gendarme was the first thing he saw – in deep discussion with a fireman.
