Chapter 17 Raoul
Raoul
The Angel—or the Phantom, as I’ve decided to call him—drags me down a hallway, opens a door, and flings me inside. Lights come on as he slams the door shut—bright, searing lights whose heat stings my skin.
The room is made of mirrors, so seamlessly joined that when I turn around, I’m not sure which panel is the one with the door. I bang on one of them, but it doesn’t sound hollow. None of them do.
The room is too low for a man to stand upright and too narrow for anyone to lie down. I’ve been in a space like this many times. Except it was dark in the closet under the stairs, and this space is horrendously bright and hot. The entire ceiling panel glows so fiercely I can’t look at it.
This can’t be happening.
It’s been four years since I was last locked in the closet, and perhaps that’s why the visceral horror strikes me so suddenly. There’s no buildup, no slow endurance before I finally break down—it’s immediate. Panic vaults through my throat, acidic bile searing the back of my tongue.
“Don’t leave me in here,” I call. “Please…please, you have to let me out!”
The Phantom’s voice echoes in the room, seeming to come from every direction.
“I designed this room for the man who summoned me, in case he returns as my enemy one day. I can fill it with water, too. It’s a multipurpose prison and torture chamber—quite genius, really.
I’m rather proud of it. The heat isn’t high enough to cause you injury, only discomfort.
Take some time to ponder your choices while I speak with Christine alone. ”
“No! No, you don’t understand,” I gasp. “I’ve been confined like this many times throughout my life. You’d think I would get used to it, but I haven’t. I can’t stand it. Please, please…”
“You were confined?” His voice sounds different now. Surprised, maybe, or disturbed.
“Yes. I was imprisoned, locked away, exiled to the dark…” I crouch on the mirrored floor beneath the searing light, sweat coating my skin. My heart is racing so horribly fast that I wonder if it might actually burst this time. It seems to fill my whole chest, my brain, my mouth.
Several seconds pass…or several minutes. It’s hard to tell with my pulse screaming through my veins at the speed of terror.
He’s not coming back. He really has left me in here alone, in this unbearable box, staring at countless sweating, shaking reflections of myself under the blaze of the merciless lights.
The horror builds, pounding in my head until an agonized, roaring scream rips from my chest. I scream again, but I can’t get enough breath for a third scream because I’m panting too fast, too shallow. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
A door opens, and the Phantom drags me out into the blessed coolness and gloom of the hallway. I cling to him, sweat slick and gasping, tears oozing from my eyes. I’m breathing too fast. I can’t get enough air.
He drops to the floor, leaning against the wall, holding me while I convulse and sob. I barely understand who it is I’m grasping so tightly. I only know that I made it out of that mirrored box.
“I have been a prisoner, too,” the Phantom says, low. “I did not realize… Forgive me.”
Light, hurried footsteps sound at the end of the hall, and then Christine’s voice reaches my ears. “I heard screaming… Oh god, what did you do to him?”
“I put him in the torture room for only a minute or two,” the Phantom protests.
“You’re a menace, you know that?” she snaps at him. Then she kneels beside me. “Raoul, it’s all right. You’ll be okay.” She removes my glasses and sets them aside carefully. Her cool fingers slide into my sweaty hair.
When she touches me, the Phantom’s arms tighten around my body. “I’ve got him.”
“I can see that,” says Christine more gently. “Maybe if we all return to your living quarters and just talk like reasonable people instead of resorting to arcane methods like torture rooms…”
“He isn’t ready to walk yet,” objects the Phantom.
“Then perhaps you could carry him.”
My heart rate is slowing, and the relief that follows turns me weak. I’m not having a heart attack. I’m not going to die. More tears gush from my eyes, soaking the Phantom’s vest.
Carefully, he gets to his feet, lifting me as he does so.
It’s a fucking princess carry, but I’m trembling too much to care.
My face rocks against the swell of his bicep as he carries me along a hallway, back to the living space we just left.
He strides to the platform where his enormous bed sits, and he drapes my body on top of the covers.
Christine sets my glasses on a ledge on the headboard. “Sit up, Raoul. Just for a moment, so we can get this wet shirt off you.”
I let her peel the sweaty dress shirt off me. She removes my shoes and socks as well, and the Phantom summons a misty breeze to cool my body.
“Some water,” Christine suggests, and the Phantom brings a glass, then stands with arms folded across his broad chest, watching from beneath his mask while Christine helps me drink.
When I’ve taken a few sips, I lie back down and turn my face away from her. All my energy is gone; I’m entirely wiped out from the panic attack. I despise this weakness in myself. After all, I came down here to rescue her, and now she’s taking care of me.
“You didn’t explain how you found us,” says the Phantom.
“Is now really the time for that question?” Christine asks.
“It’s all right.” I pull myself higher on the pillows, wincing a little.
Sometimes, after an episode of my heart racing that fast, there’s a faint soreness in my chest for a while.
“I left the reception early and went to Christine’s room to check on her.
When she didn’t answer my knock, I tried the door and found it unlocked.
I didn’t plan to go in. I just looked inside to be sure she hadn’t passed out again.
Then I saw that the back wall was pushed aside, a gap big enough for someone to walk through, and I discovered the passage behind it. ”
“And you followed us? How?” the Phantom persists.
His scent was as strong in that room as hers. It was easy to follow their entwined fragrances. But I can’t bring myself to tell them I can track people by scent.
“The drops of candle wax all over the floor,” I reply.
“Ah.” He seems satisfied by that explanation. “Careless of me. I’ll have the ghosts tidy that up.”
“The ghosts?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that right now!” Christine interjects quickly. “You don’t need any more stress.”
The Phantom leaves my line of sight, presumably to “have the ghosts tidy up.” I feel the beginnings of a tension headache coiling at the back of my right eye, so I force myself to relax, and I close my eyes.
Just for a moment.
***
When I resurface to consciousness, the first thing I see is Christine curled on the bed beside me, sound asleep.
Her head is tilted against my arm, locks of brown hair swirled over the velvety black blanket.
Her cheeks glow faintly pink, and the fringes of her eyelashes are so temptingly thick, I want to run my fingertip along them.
The heavy curtains have been drawn around the bed, but we’re softly illuminated by a string of tiny lights fastened along the headboard.
Somewhere in the cavernous space beyond the drapes, a record is playing, its occasional soft crackle echoing in the subterranean night.
A distant voice hums along…faint, beautiful, and far away.
Everything is slightly blurry without my glasses. When I shift my position, I realize my pants have been removed, along with my belt, phone, and wallet. I’m in my boxers under the sheets, while Christine lies on top of the blankets.
Reluctant as I am to wake Christine, this may be my only chance to talk to her alone and find out what she wants to do—try to escape the Phantom, or stay where we are.
I stroke her soft cheek with the backs of my fingers. Her eyes open immediately, and the vicious darkness in them only softens when she sees that it’s me. For a second, she actually looked murderous, and it takes me a moment to recover my breath and remember what I was going to say.
“Do you want to leave?” I whisper. “We could sneak away. Or we could overpower him together.”
“Where would we go?” she replies softly. “If I go back to my room, he’ll only follow me.”
“I would take you home with me, but my family is…” I hesitate, struggling for words.
“Complicated?” Christine offers.
“Controlling. Demanding. Dangerous.”
She scoffs lightly. “Sounds like mine. Before they died, anyway.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“It’s been shit, not gonna lie.” She rolls over and stares up at the velvet hangings above us. “My parents always had so many expectations. So many rules. Even about who I could date or marry.”
I prop myself on one elbow. “Mine too. That’s one reason I can’t bring you home. My sister wouldn’t let you stay. In her eyes, you’re not acceptable relationship material.”
“Oh, I’m definitely not.”
She flashes a smile, her cheek dimpling, and before I know what I’m doing, I’ve leaned forward to kiss that delicious little dent.
Christine sucks in a quick breath. “Damn, you smell good.”
“That’s a relief, because I was sweating earlier and—”
“Hush, Raoul,” she whispers, her nose drifting along my cheek.
“Sure,” I say breathlessly. “I can be quiet. Except I tend to talk when I’m nervous.”
She smiles—I can feel the stretch of her lips against my throat. “Your heart is beating really fast. Are you scared? This is kind of an enclosed space. The Angel said you got claustrophobic in his torture room.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “There wasn’t even any torture, just mirrors and heat, and I fucking lost it.”
“We all lose it sometimes.” Her voice is low, melodic, a vibrating purr. “I’ve killed people, you know.”
I gulp, and she draws back, looking startled by her own confession.