Page 51 of Angel's Fall
Shit.
The bushes rustled as Erik fell to his knees, and the men above went silent.
Shit.
“You should talk to your groundskeeper about whatever vermin has been sneaking into the garden in the off season,” de Martiniac said, pointed and threatening.
Erik’s instinct to live was the only thing that kept him from bolting right there and running into the street to get home as soon as possible. He stayed frozen as the small talk resumed – politics and hate for the Germans and something about a dowry. He didn’t care. Finally, the men went in, and Erik ran.
It was a far different thing to get back to his part of the city from the refinedFaubourg Saint Germainthan it had been to get there. It was colder on foot, and Christine’s gentle worry had been replaced by a whole host of voices in his mind screaming that he was a monstrous fool in every sense. His lungs were burning from the pace he kept, but soon enough, he was near theRue Notre Dame des Victoiresand Adèle Valerius’s flat.
Erik didn’t wait to scale the side of the building, dashing up a gutter pipe and to the window that had been Christine’s. It was more important to find her right now than to be subtle. Christine’s old room was dark and cold when he entered through the window. The bed where he and Christine had first made love was neatly made, not a wrinkle in sight. There was light from under the door and hushed voices. Once again, Erik found himself an eavesdropper.
“You can’t let them get into your head – the managers or those bitches in the chorus or whoever this new singer is. You sing because you love it, right? Not to be the star.” Adèle’s voice was warm and comforting, and yet the words were nearly as alarming to Erik as what he’d heard in that garden.
“Then why does being on stage even matter?” Christine replied. “I’d be just as happy singing with him alone forever.” That was a consolation, but still concerning. And likely something Erik was not meant to hear.
What the hell was he supposed to do now? Open the door and give Valerius the fright of her life? He settled for making himself known by knocking a chair over so it clattered loudly.
“What was that?” Adèle asked as Christine sighed in annoyance. It was only slightly embarrassing.
“I’ll check,” Christine said, and Erik stood back from the door as she opened it. “For God’s sake, how did you get in?” she demanded tiredly as she met Erik’s eyes.
“What on – Jesus fuck!” Adèle exclaimed as she saw the legendary Phantom of the Opera standing in her spare room.
“Adèle, I don’t believe you’ve been formally introduced to Erik,” Christine’s voice was annoyed, not angry, but Adèle’s shocked look didn’t necessarily calm Erik’s frayed nerves. At least he had his mask.
“Good evening, Madame. I hope you will forgive me for dropping in,” Erik intoned, inclining his head politely. He did still have manners. “I was anxious to find Christine. We were... separated unexpectedly.”
“Was it that unexpected?” Christine grumbled.
“You’re welcome any time,” Adèle replied, clearly trying to keep her calm. “But I do have a door.”
“My apologies again,” Erik muttered.
“I had no idea Christine’s paramour was so... famous.” Adèle looked Erik up and down, and he fought the urge to squirm. “Wonders never cease, I guess.”
“I think it’s best if we go,” Christine cut in, taking Erik’s hand. “Through the front door if you don’t mind? Goodbye, Adèle. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Madame.” Erik followed without protest as Christine pulled him down the stairs. They were half out the door, into the open street, when she pulled him to her and, to his utter shock, kissed him.
He had never kissed her in the open like this. The closest they had come was the Bois, before their disastrous discovery by the boy, but this was different. This was like coming home. It was comfort and need, on both their parts. It was a deep kiss, soft and longing, and Erik wished dearly that he could remove his mask and fully enjoy it.
Christine’s eyes were an ocean when she drew away, full of feeling and unshed tears glittering in the gaslight.
“Did you find him?” she asked. “Did you see?”
“I saw enough,” Erik answered, chest tightening once more. “It is –heis...” He shook his head.
“He’s not your father. He’s awful, but he’s not evil.”
Erik wanted to say so much. He wanted to confess that his evil was even greater than Christine knew, and that he recognized the monstrousness in Antoine de Martiniac like looking in a mirror. Christine would only say that was his paranoia and pain speaking. He couldn’t tell her the rest. Not yet.
“Let’s go home. You can tell me what you and Adèle were gossiping about,” Erik offered weakly.
“I’d rather not. It’s foolish anyway.” Christine looked away, and Erik saw in her the same hesitance he felt. If he was going to hide tonight, he’d let her do the same.
“Come.” He took her arm and bent his head so that the brim of his hat shadowed his mask. It terrified him to walk about in the world he had forsaken. But the woman he loved was walking with him. Through their gloves, he could feel the ring she wore.
