Scripted in Love's Scars

by Rodriguez, Michelle

  Perhaps we would have made it out without consequence, but the door suddenly opened again. I felt the air knocked out of my lungs to see the shah’s guards drag into the chamber an enraged Erik and his stumbling Persian friend, the daroga.

  “Monsieur Vicomte!” Erik snapped before even regarding the shah’s presence. “How fortunate to cross paths with you again!”

  “I came for my fiancée,” Raoul shouted back and tightened his hold on my hand. “She will not be the one to pay for your sins! Damn you, ugly fiend! Does it make no impression on you that Christine was kidnapped because of your involvement in her life?”

  That was a brutal blow, and though I longed to give assurances to Erik, I cast him no more than an emotionless glance and stayed against Raoul’s side.

  “Does it truly make a difference when she has you to play her hero?” Erik sneered, and his stare was bitter when it hit me. It roamed my frame and glowed in contempt and animosity, but I knew beneath the façade he was checking for injury in unending concern. Yes, I knew the man I loved, and I knew the Opera Ghost. He might act the role flawlessly, but I would still know his heart.

  “Erik,” the shah finally intruded, passing attention between the two rivals in skepticism. “How good of you to join us!”

  “I was invited,” Erik stated, cold and biting. “Her or me? Weren’t those your terms? Of course, I couldn’t have realized she’d already have a champion on her side, ready to fight to the death for her.” His focus went from me to Raoul as he prodded, “Would you, Vicomte? To the death? Because I presented such endearments only to have them trampled by her callousness. Be wary of her fickle heart, Monsieur Vicomte. Pain, torture, and the imminence of death. I faced it all with her name on my lips only to have hope crushed in her wake. Damn you, Christine. I may be your casualty, but my opera will not be. You are under contract, and now you’ve ruined opening night!”

  “Oh, all this grumbling of hearts and love and opera!” the shah exclaimed with a grunt. “I am at my wit’s end! Such drama and for what? You fight over one woman in a world of millions! It’s futile!” Lifting his stare to the Vicomte with only a glance at my silent observation, he commanded, “Get out, Monsieur…Vicomte,” he made a disgusted face over the title. “I already have what I came for anyway.”

  Raoul did not wait to be told twice, and tucking me to his side, he guided us toward the door. I had nothing but one quick, pleading stare with Erik before it was stolen, and he granted me nothing in reply but apathy. Oh God, I prayed he knew what he was doing.

  Raoul quickened our pace once we were in the hotel corridor, clutching me as if we were lovers who belonged in such an affluent hotel. He did, and that made our escape easy.

  “Hurry. Let’s get out of here,” Raoul muttered as we emerged into the fading glow of evening, and I gulped fresh air.

  “That was planned? But what is Erik doing? How does he intend to get himself out?”

  “I don’t know. I was only given my part in the ploy, and that was to get you as far from this place as possible.”

  “But the opening-”

  “Erik cancelled the opening,” Raoul reported and ushered me toward an awaiting carriage.

  The revelation struck me straight to the heart. “Then…he doesn’t plan on getting free.” I spoke my desperate thoughts without feeling words on my lips, numb and only continuing to walk with the Vicomte’s urging.

  “You don’t know that.”

  But I felt hysteria grow and choke my throat as I shouted, “The shah gave him a choice: him or me, and he obviously made it! An ultimatum, and sending me off with you means I stay safe!”

  “Christine-”

  “We have to go back!” I concluded and sought to twist free of his grip, planting my heels on the pavement and refusing to move onward. But he was stronger and tugged against me.

  “No, I promised to take care of you!”

  “I’m not going to let him return to that torture chamber and die at the shah’s hands! Raoul, let go!”

  “No! You need to trust Erik. Whatever he’s doing, he is doing it for you. Whether it’s sacrificing himself or simply getting you free and clear before he poses battle. Trust him, Christine, and stop this insanity!”

  I would have continued, but he lifted me up, unceremonious and awkward. As bystanders stared and whispered on the street corners, he hauled me into his carriage, tapping the driver to go.

  Silence extended, and behind my somber stare, my mind created every explanation and fantasized their details. Erik with a plan underway to get free… Erik without a plan and intending to be the shah’s prisoner again… None felt settled or correct when I had no proof or whispered encouragement. He’d given me nothing but that final, apathetic stare. What did it mean?

  “Erik said you’d be safest back at the opera house,” Raoul reported as he attempted uncomfortable conversation. “He said you knew the way below.”

  I nodded, but shadows seemed like cold strangers when Erik was beyond my reach. Instead of dwelling and obsessing more scenarios, I shook my head and dared to push, “You hate Erik. You made that clear that last night we saw each other. Why did you concede to help him?”

  The Vicomte shifted his gaze about the tight quarters before finally replying, “He said you were in trouble, and I didn’t hesitate. …I know I’m not the one you chose to love, but that doesn’t mean everything between us was a lie. My heart was real, and…the very thought of you at that shah’s mercy…” He shook a somber head. “I’d have done anything to get you free. I’d imagine your Erik feels the same or he wouldn’t have shown up on my doorstep.”

  It was true, but I didn’t agree aloud as the carriage veered forward and brought us to the opera house.

  It was deserted, which was so odd when I recalled the earlier chaos and jitters of opening night. This wasn’t the same as an empty opera house after rehearsal; it was as if I could feel the shattered hopes and dreams hovering invisible in the air. So much hard work, anticipation, exhilaration, and all for naught.

  “There will be other opening nights, Christine,” the Vicomte said as if reading my agitated thoughts.

  “Were you planning to attend tonight?” I asked in lieu of heartbroken renderings for lost music and the love of my life.

  “Of course! I had to show my support, and if I didn’t… Well, that would have made me pathetic to every person aware that you broke my heart. A Vicomte needs a better reputation than that. However else would I find your substitute?”

  He meant it as a light joke, and I would have laughed if my heart weren’t so heavily weighed down with ominous dread. But as it was, I managed only a weak smile and led the way to one of the hidden entrances below.

  It was odd to show such secrets to Raoul, but when I pondered all he’d done for me this night, I concluded I owed him my confidence. I could interpret the discomfort he tried not to show as we wandered the dark passages, but also a level of amazement to witness this product of Erik’s genius, a morbid fascination that kept him peeking ahead to glimpse what we’d encounter next.

  “A place like this would have been treasured when we were children,” he softly said, jumping when even whispers reverberated the stone walls and back around again. He lowered his voice even more and hissed, “Imagine, Christine. Playing our games through these passages. It might have been fun to pretend ghosts and wail our way through the dark corridors.”

  “Yes, if the corridors weren’t equipped with deadly traps for intruders who don’t know the way.”

  The Vicomte silenced with that information, and a glance over my shoulder showed me his wide-eyed surveillance of the stone openings in random directions. And the amazement wore off.

  It was a strange evening to be sure. I didn’t know what was happening with Erik and the shah, and desperate to distract me, the Vicomte told stories he made up on the spot, some ridiculous and some laden in joked humor. He sat in Erik’s chair and kept me company as I curled on the couch with anxiety tight in my bell
y. And every time he saw me look blankly at the door, he halted whatever story he was telling and started anew to recapture my attention.

  It was the most unorthodox opening night I’d ever endured as instead of playing a part to an audience, I played a part to Raoul and never let him see how my heart ached on the inside. No, he didn’t need to know that.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Erik~

  Jealousy was a blazing fire in my gut that was not extinguished even well after Christine left with the Vicomte. It was my plan, and yet I was sick with every consideration of my Christine pressed to the Vicomte’s side. It haunted me even as the shah’s ignorant guards tied my hands behind my back and made me a prisoner again.

  “Are you sure about this?” the daroga muttered beside me, equally captive with genuine fear in his eyes.

  “Quite. Don’t doubt me, daroga. You should know better than that.”

  “Usually, I do, but we are currently restrained. Can you untie those knots?”

  “I can, but I won’t need to,” I spoke with a confidence that exceeded fake Opera Ghost roles. “You worry only about how I’m going to get rid of the Vicomte’s infuriating presence now that I’ve let him into our lives, and I will take care of everything else.”

  “Erik,” the shah called as he stalked before us and tilted a haughty head. “What a relief to have you back where you belong! You really should know better than to make attempts at a normal existence. You aren’t built for it! Your dalliance with the little opera diva should be proof. Trying to force your love? That is a further abomination on your soul.” He chuckled and concluded, “I like you evil and malevolent. Why did you ever leave my employment to begin with? You could have been one of the most highly regarded assassins in the world.”

  “Exactly!” I snapped. “But I figured out there was more to life than killing.”

  “Yes,” he agreed with another laugh, “forcing love on a young, innocent girl. So how far did this little scheme of yours go? Did you force her to your bed as well?”

  That one stung when I had the truth in fragments of confined memories. Forced… When I pondered it, it sickened my stomach. Imagine! Forcing such things of Christine and cheapening what had been freely given! It would have been empty lust.

  “I do not rape the undeserving,” I spat back at him. “It may be a shock for you to hear that love runs deeper than desire.”

  “And you knew she’d be disgusted with the very concept,” the shah pushed onward. “Sharing the bed of a man scarred from the inside out… Well, that is a repulsive scene to be sure.”

  “Ignore him,” the daroga spoke up, and I gave him credit considering how frightened I knew he was. “You speak to a man who uses desire as a weapon and punishment. He doesn’t know what love means.”

  “Ah, daroga,” the shah crooned, coming to stand but inches away, “you are going to boast greater scars than your friend here before I’m through with you. I will have you begging for death.”

  The threats shook the daroga’s collected bravery, but he sought a poised posture and replied, “Maybe, but through it all, I’ll know I’m loved, and that is something you cannot take from me.”

  “Spoken by a man full of fear,” the shah retorted. “And what of you, Erik? Eager to return to the dungeons and inevitable death? I am not sensing the same break in you that I did that last night I tortured you. I suppose we’ll have to find it again.”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” I declared without waver, and I wasn’t. Not anymore. I wasn’t even escaping my bindings when I could have because I had already won with intelligence as my sword this time. I even smirked at the shah as I concluded, “I’m not going back to your Persian torture chamber and neither is the daroga.”

  “Oh?” he scoffed. “You are outnumbered and restrained, but go ahead and attempt a struggle if you wish. Perhaps we’ll start your torture here.”

  A chuckle left my lips as I fixed him in my stare and stated, plain and blunt, “You are a pompous, arrogant bastard with a falling regime. Violence is not the way to people’s hearts, and making them your victims is a sin that God will judge you for when you lose it all and end upon his doorstep. You will see. The tides will turn, and you will be the victim.”

  I spoke from concrete knowledge of the subject, and glaring at the shah, I noted that that could have been me if I’d continued on a murderous path of cruelty. A heartless, merciless monster in nuances that exceeded ugliness and scars. Thank God for Christine! She was my salvation. As she said, God works in mysterious ways…

  The shah was about to launch into a tirade, perhaps attack in his aggression, but a fierce knock at the door had him darting his stare to its threshold. “Who is it now?”

  “That will be the Paris gendarme,” I stated, resolved and without emotion. “You see, my friend, the Vicomte reminded me that cancelling opening night was going to upset our many wealthy patrons who already paid for their tickets with heavy donations. And it did! I was hauled in as manger and questioned if I’d stolen funds to which I had to report that we couldn’t hold our opening because my star soprano had been kidnapped by a foreign ambassador to sing for him in his private suite. You can imagine the reaction I received to such news! The gendarme were eager to investigate, and…well, if they figure out you are the shah of Persia, God knows what they will do to you.”

  “Ingenious,” the daroga commented beside me with a glowing grin as the shah backed toward the windows in a fear I was pleased to cause. Yes, a violent ruler of a foreign land known for the blood on his hands would not be well-regarded in this country, especially with two victims tied in his room.

  The gendarme pounded against the door. It would be mere moments until it broke apart, and as the shah and his guards climbed out the window, he yelled back, “This isn’t over!”

  “Yes, it is. Come back, and you’ll be dead the next time we cross paths.” My threat followed him out the window, and when the door finally gave, it was the first place I pointed the uniformed policemen with a tilted head.

  All I could think about was returning home to Christine, but we had questions to answer first. More half-truths: I’d come to rescue my soprano, and the foreign ambassadors were angry they did not get their private concert and took it out upon me as manager. The lies flowed just as smooth as honesty as I dubbed the daroga my chauffeur and met his glare with a blameless smile. We were about to be free men; might as well take advantage and add some jest to the mix.

  When we were finally allowed to leave, I abandoned the daroga with fire beneath my feet, rushing through the now dark city streets back to the opera. Oh, I did not doubt I still bore danger upon my shoulders. The shah was a powerful enemy to have, but for now, I’d take my victory for what it was, knowing the gendarme would pursue and woe to him if he were caught!

  Faster, and I harbored an irrational fear I’d find an empty house and Christine off with the Vicomte, as if the hero truly earned the spoils, and I would have nothing. The idea made me rush at a ferocious pace and travel the dark corridors like a shadow demon, floating and flying with feet that barely touched the ground. I didn’t stop until I burst through my front door, and gasping shallow breaths, I frantically surveyed the scene.

  Christine…curled on my couch asleep. It was a dream come to life.

  “She tried to wait up for you,” the Vicomte softly reported as he rose from my chair. “But…we didn’t know when you’d return, and she fell asleep. I kept her safe…for you.”

  I could tell it hurt him to say it, but he gave a solemn nod at my presence.

  “I’m glad you aren’t dead,” he insisted, half-hearted, but as he cast a glance at Christine’s peaceful shape, his expression softened. “It would have tormented her if you were gone…again. She may have believed that all the time we were together I didn’t know some part of her was missing, but…she wasn’t as good at hiding it as she thought. I knew, and…it tortures me that it was you. She suffered because her heart was yours. No matter what I did
to try and earn it, I never could come close. I just hope you realize what a gift you have.”

  But I did, and I adored her one more instant in my stare, trailing the fine porcelain sculpt of her features and savoring the knowledge that they were mine.

  “Come on,” I suddenly bid to the Vicomte, who was also adoring her in his stare, “I’ll take you up. I don’t trust you to walk the path alone and not get yourself killed, and…though I cannot condone your attachment to Christine, I do owe you my gratitude for what you did tonight. Your death wouldn’t be polite compensation. …Thank you.”

  I hoped he realized how hard it was for me to utter those words. They stiffened my tongue and did not want to come loose without effort. But he took them with another nod and glance at Christine before he followed me out of the underground.

  This part was just as torturous as awaiting the gendarme’s questions. I wanted to be back with Christine, but first I had to rid us of the Vicomte and lock up securely, patrolling the entire building in my paranoia before finally, I could return to her.

  She was still asleep on the couch, such a beautiful portrait, and with a contented sigh, I knelt on the carpet and set my cheek on the cushion beside hers, studying her so close that her every breath tickled my skin. Oh, to feel it uninhibited! I had the thought and ripped my mask away in my eagerness, knowing when her eyes opened and she saw my scarred face, she would be elated and not horrified that a monster watched her sleep.

  Desperate for that exact look, I gently bid, “Christine, love, wake up.” My hand cupped her cheek and brushed fingertips along her hairline, encouraging a ripple-less return to consciousness and dreams that carried over with her.

  Blue eyes fluttered, and as they found mine, a soul-deep sigh left her lips. “Erik…”

  “Yes, love, I’m here and real and yours.” Anyone else would have blanched to see a corpse’s head with bloated lips speaking such vows, but my Christine beamed a brilliant smile and lifted her hand to imitate my pose and caress my disfigurement as if it was all she longed for.