Chapter 42 #2
I’d overlooked things—so very many things—convinced of his genius, astounded by his talent.
But how often did genius and madness go together?
If not wholly hand in hand, then at least strolling alongside one another, assured and comfortable in the other’s presence.
Caravaggio, Mozart, Goya, Handel, the list went on and on, men of skill and acclaim who sought perfection at every turn, heedless of their own destruction, ready to pay for greatness with everything, including their own sanity.
My eyes darted around the room, taking in the immensity of everything he’d created. Music, machines, art, and architecture. There was no limit to the heights his mind could soar. Nor a low to the depravity his impulses could sink.
“I won’t,” I finally said. “You can make me wear this dress and you can make me your prisoner here, but I won’t truly ever be married to you. I will never be your wife.”
He frowned. “Don’t you see? We are meant to…We’re supposed to…We are one, you and I, Christine. Our hearts beat for the same reason. Our desires are in accord. Can’t you see that? Together we will—”
He cut himself off, tilting his head to the back corner, where the walls ended and an enormous portcullis began.
I couldn’t begin to guess what had seized Erik’s attention, and began to step toward the metal gate to see, but he darted forward with his catlike speed, clamping his fingers round my wrist.
“Wait,” he said, cocking his head, listening. A sardonic smile spread across his face. “I think, my dear, we have a guest!”
I strained my ears to make out what he’d heard, and thought that, maybe, there was splashing in the water. But it could have also been the slap of waves against the dock.
But then—
“Christine!”
I felt the air knock from my lungs. That was Raoul’s voice, calling for me. He’d come! He’d found me! I wasn’t alone in this.
Suddenly, he was there, wading through the waist-deep water, up to the iron portcullis. His tuxedo jacket and cravat had been lost somewhere, and he was soaked to the skin.
“Raoul!” I screamed. I couldn’t help it. I tried running to him, but Erik blocked the way.
Raoul’s eyes blazed with fury. They raced over me, taking in everything. “Are you all right? Christine, has he hurt you?”
I shook my head. “No. No, I’m fine. I’m—”
“Sir,” Erik said, stepping between us. He addressed Raoul as if this were merely a social gathering, as if he’d invited him for tea.
He even gave a gracious bow. “In my wildest dreams, I never thought you’d be resourceful enough to find your way here.
But you have! This is…this is…” He turned from me, crossing to the throne with a delighted laugh, sat down, and folded his arms over his chest as if preparing to judge a performance.
“Such a treat! You have truly made my night!”
I used the reprieve to race to Raoul and embrace him through the gaps in the cold metal bars. He pressed kisses to my hair as his hands smoothed over me, checking for injury, searching for harm.
“You’re hurt,” I said, gently holding his cheek. An angry-looking cut slashed across his temple.
“It doesn’t matter. Nothing does, now that I’ve found you.
I’m sorry I made you sing. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.
I will get us out of this, Christine. I swear it.
” He bumped his forehead to mine, drawing comfort to sustain him in the fight ahead.
“What are you wearing?” he said, only now noticing the giant white gown.
I saw the moment he recognized what the dress was, what it represented.
“I’m going to kill him,” he growled under his breath.
Keeping one hand at my shoulder, he looked around me, searching for Erik in the gloom.
“I’ll do anything you like, but you must free her! ”
“Must I?” Erik called out, sounding entertained. “Go on and tell me more about what I must do.”
“Free her!” Raoul shouted, rattling the gate without much effect.
“Your lover makes a most passionate plea,” Erik observed dryly, his gaze now on me.
I turned from his glare and grabbed Raoul’s face, trying to lock eyes, trying to still the feral panic I felt rising in him. “Raoul, don’t goad him. It’s useless.”
“I love her!” he went on, even louder now. “Does that mean nothing?”
“Love is never nothing, but it seems as if we are at an impasse, Monsieur le Vicomte,” Erik said, his spread fingers rising and falling over the end of the throne’s arms like spiders about to spring to action. “You see, I love her as well.”
“But she’s mine!” Raoul cried, slamming his fist against the iron bars. I knew it had to be excruciating, but he balled up his hand and struck it again.
“I truly doubt that,” Erik said, watching with amusement.
“I wonder, Vicomte, is this the first time in your life you’ve not been given something you wanted?
” His head rolled back as he pondered the cavernous void above us.
“How different the world today might be if someone had taught you the simple lesson of denial. Leave us,” he hissed.
“She doesn’t love you. Show some compassion!”
Erik bolted to his feet, his play at civility over as he snarled. “Compassion? Compassion? The world showed no compassion to me!”
“Raoul, stop,” I urged him, pawing at his arms, trying to break the mania Erik had kindled within him. He left me, wading deeper into the lake to better taunt Erik.
“Is this how you think you’ll win? Gates and bars? Hidden tunnels? She may be with you now, but it’s only an illusion. You’ve made her nothing more than a bird in a cage. She’d fly straight to me if you let her!”
Erik considered this, tilting his head with overwrought theatricality. “Do you truly think so, Vicomte?”
“See for yourself. Give her the freedom to choose!”
Erik’s sudden smile was dazzling and cruel. “Perhaps you’re right.”
He flicked his wrist toward the portcullis, and, as if by magic, the massive grate began to rise. It moved easily, without lumbering mechanisms, squeals of rusted metal, or grinding joints.
A lump of fear wedged in the hollow of my throat.
I’d assumed the gate was a broken-down behemoth, a relic from the last war when the Prussian army had taken over the opera as a warehouse and field hospital.
I’d thought it neglected and uncared for, but Erik had clearly brought it back to life, tinkering with it, rigging it to shift upon unseen commands.
What other traps had he hidden here? I was in a den of vipers. One wrong step could be my last.
Raoul watched the portcullis rise, mouth slack at this feat of engineering. When it reached its zenith, the ends of the bars hung down in pointed spikes as if we were about to be devoured by a terrible beast.
Erik had watched the marvel with cool dispassion.
Perhaps we were.
Raoul struggled to pull himself up onto land. Once he was from the water, I could see how exhausted he was. His journey here had been far more perilous than mine. Should this inevitable duel come to physical blows, I did not know how long he’d last.
“Welcome, welcome, monsieur,” Erik said in greeting, returning to his role of courteous host. “As I said before, we were not expecting visitors tonight, but now that you’re here, we must make you feel at home.”
“Stop the game,” Raoul ordered, but it sounded more like a gasp than a command. “Your fight is with me, not her. Just let her go.”
“My fight,” Erik mused, and a calculating flicker lit his eyes. “You are correct there, Vicomte. I should never have made Christine pay for the sins which are yours.”
In a gesture made so fast I could not entirely understand what I saw, Erik cast something too dark to make out toward Raoul. It flew through the air, but then Raoul jerked, straightening tall with a spine-cracking rigidity as he pawed at his neck.
“The Punjab Lasso,” I gasped in horror, remembering Madame Giry’s story of the carnival barker’s death, remembering that all the lurid tales of the Opera Ghost told by stagehands ended with warnings to keep your hand at the level of your eyes.
The length of rope circled Raoul’s neck before shooting up straight into the air, like a noose, but it wasn’t connected to anything. It simply hung in empty space, defying logic and gravity. More of Erik’s impossible tricks.
But Raoul’s torments were not an illusion. He swayed back and forth, his feet barely touching ground as he thrashed against the lasso.
“Erik, stop! Don’t hurt him, please!”
He crossed to Raoul, climbing up a short series of steps to inspect the damage. Raoul lashed out at Erik as best he could, but he had to keep his fingers wedged between his throat and the ever-tightening rope.
“Aren’t you going to save yourself, Vicomte?
Fight me. Fight me as you would any other man!
Throw money at the problem! Buy my silence.
Buy my exile,” he ranted, shouting directly into Raoul’s face.
“Go on and ‘order your fine horses’!” Erik was mimicking me now, sneering out the words I’d spoken months before atop the opera’s roof.
He cackled. “None of your tricks will save you. Only Christine.”
He whipped round, taking the steps to me two at a time. He almost looked jaunty, clearly enjoying the miserable mess he’d made.
“You can save him, Christine. You can save us all.”
“How?” I cried. Tears of helpless rage streamed down my face. I’d never guessed our situation could turn so dark or perilous.
“You can buy his freedom with your love. Love me. Leave here with me. We can start a new life together,” Erik said, sweeping my hands into his.
I wanted to jerk them away but didn’t dare move, terrified to anger him and cause Raoul more suffering.
“You only need choose me. Choose us.” His grip tightened.
“Refuse me and you send that boy to his death. This is the choice,” he explained. “This is the point of no return!”