Page 102 of Angel's Fall

“I promise,” Erik rasped, still gripping her tight as he stumbled to the mantle and opened the second casket to reveal the bronze scorpion waiting. “I’ve had it there so long. I meant to turn it one day...”

“Now – we’ll turn it now,” Christine commanded, and Erik steeled himself to obey. She did not hesitate as she lifted his hand and set it upon the figurine, and so he did not wait either. He had waited long enough for this. It was time.

Together they turned the scorpion. The second the gear clicked and the mechanism began to work, Erik collapsed towards the mantle in relief as one more vise around his heart broke away.

“It’s done,” he panted as Christine threw her arms around him and kept him from falling. The sound of rushing water below the floor filled the house and the barrels that could have ended them all were drowned and disarmed.

“It is. It’s all done,” Christine repeated, relief and joy and love in her voice. “Keep breathing. Just keep breathing, my love, and let it end.”

Erik’s chest heaved as he obeyed her, her head moving up and down with the rhythm as she pressed her cheek against his heart and held onto him tight. It was a new birth, breathing with her and for her, trying to be the man she believed he could become.

The water slowed beneath them, and Christine pulled back to stroke his face before kissing him once again, wondrously gentle and kind as she always had been. But there was something different to her now, a strength and a sureness Erik had only ever glimpsed before. If he had stepped into the light at her urging, she was the sun. And oh, how she blazed now.

“Now, show me how to open the door. We need to let them out.”

“As you wish,” Erik stammered, leading her to the wall. He could feel the heat radiating from the hidden room of mirrors. “Are we sure that the boy – Raoul – that he’s not conscious?” It would be much harder to take their next steps, whatever the hell they were, with the young man trying to kill them.

“Shaya, are you there?” Christine called, eyes still on Erik. “Is he still unconscious? And can you promise to be reasonable when we open this door?”

“I swear it,” came the Daroga’s instant reply.

Erik braced himself, doubtful as always.

“Open the door, Erik,” Christine commanded. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Erik groped for the hidden switch on the side of a painting to turn off the electric lights, then triggered the door with the mechanism he’d hidden behind a drum mounted next to the painting. The wall swung open, and hot air blasted from the darkened space as the Daroga tumbled out. Behind him, on the floor, as promised, lay the man who still wanted nothing more than to see Erik dead.

“You did it,” Shaya wheezed, bent double as he struggled for breath. He was looking at Christine with as much awe as Erik. “You made him hear.”

“I did not make him do anything,” Christine countered, her hand still tight on Erik, her voice calm. “I asked.”

“And you said yes.” Shaya turned to Erik, his face ashen beneath the sheen of sweat. He’d even removed his customary Astrakhan hat along with his jacket. “Didn’t you? I have to confess, I’m not feeling entirely well—”

Shaya collapsed to the floor in a heap. Christine gave a cry and rushed to his side to feel his pulse. Erik faltered, unmoored with her hand in his as he remained standing. He was whole. He was his own, even if he was but a mere reflection of Christine’s compassionate light. All that mattered now was to do all he could to keep it burning.

“Let me help,” he muttered as he joined her in attending to the man who had hunted him for so long. He would not let him die tonight.

––––––––

Shaya woke at the tasteof water, dusty and stale and the most wondrous thing he’d ever had on his tongue. He grabbed the cup that someone was holding to his lips and blinked, blearily trying to regain his senses. Above him, he saw gold and silver stars.

“Careful now, Daroga, or you’ll make yourself sick,” came Erik’s calm voice. Shaya did not have the strength to be startled when he looked up into that hideous and familiar face above him, the man’s long, lank hair doing nothing to remedy his funereal appearance. “Here, let me refill that,” Erik went on kindly and poured more water from a jug set beside them.

“Was I at your mercy for long?” Shaya asked, trying to keep his dignity even though it was incredibly hard just to sit up.

“Only a few minutes,” Erik replied.

“Don’t over-exert yourself though, or you’ll be right back on the ground.” The words came from Christine Daaé as she swam into Shaya’s vision.

“Thank you,” Shaya said before he forgot again. Christine gave him a beatific smile, as if there was nothing to be grateful for.

“Is the young man intact?” Erik asked, nodding towards (Shaya assumed) the torture chamber.

“He won’t wake for a while, I don’t think,” Christine answered. “But he’s alive and breathing.”

“Well, that is a pity.”

Erik sprang up at the intruder’s voice. Shaya forced himself up to see that Christine, in her threat to leave, had left the door of the house wide open. And another ghost had walked right in.

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