It all sounded so good in my head. So romantic and daring. She would be captivated and overwhelmed by my power and strength and would swoon in my arms. It wasn’t to be like this, an injured and deformed man not only unable to whisk her away but unable to stand on his own without wrenching with pain. And she was supposed to swoon, not faint out of fear. You stupid fool, I was beginning to think. Why didn’t you wait until a better time?
I stayed by Christine’s head, holding her in place on César’s back, while we headed for a small bubbling well off the main corridor in the third cellar, hoping I could wake her there. Remarkably, with only my words guiding César, he took us there, and then I slid Christine down into my arms.
After a few agonizing steps, we were by the well and I set her down. Then, pulling my cloak from my shoulders, I laid it down and then laid her over it as gently as if she were a fragile porcelain doll. We were away from the lamps in the passageway, and it was extremely dark again, even for me. I didn’t want her to wake to complete darkness, so I lit a lantern that was close by. I’d just pulled my handkerchief from my pocket when I sensed we weren’t alone, so I quickly doused the lantern, putting us back in total darkness.
Within a split second, my mind went through several modes. I reached for a lasso, which I couldn’t get because it was under Christine in my cloak. Then, wanting to prevent any knives or bullets from harming her, I was on my feet and running toward a pillar. I held my breath, listening. Then, within moments, I heard someone breathing from behind the next pillar. Hoping I was right about the location, I laced my fingers together, making one double fist, and stormed toward the breaths, swinging my fists repeatedly.
With the second swing, I connected but I kept swinging, connecting one more time before I heard his body hit the ground. I lit a match and looked down at our stalker. Oded, you stupid fool, I sighed. Hadn’t I told you just hours earlier to leave me alone? I checked him over closely to make sure I hadn’t caused him serious harm, and then I grumbled, something else going wrong. Was nothing going to go right that night?
I couldn’t allow him to hamper my plans any more than they already had been. I knew then that I had to work fast before he woke up, so I went back to Christine and lit the lantern before I lifted her head to my knee. I wet my handkerchief and ran it across her forehead several times.
At first there was no response, and I gazed at her flawless face in the dim lantern light. I watched her chest rise and fall, and I desperately wanted to raise her up into my arms and hold her close to me. That could be the only chance I’d have to hold her. Once she realized what I’d done, she may never forgive me for taking her away like that, and she could hate me forever for destroying her angel.
I shared my glances between her face and the pillar where Oded lay, while telling her to wake up. César started pestering me, creating an additional challenge by trying to nuzzle her face. But then, maybe that’s what she needed, because she started to come around. I wet my handkerchief one more time and again wiped her face, while pushing my mighty steed out of the way at the same time.
She opened her eyes momentarily and then turned her face from me and whispered, “Where’s the voice . . . Angel?”
I instantly felt horrible for what I was doing, and an ache flooded through my chest as I sighed.
What was happening was real. No more fantasies of what the evening would be like; no more prince and princess on a white stallion heading for a bright castle on a hill. It was me—a deformed man who’d just kidnapped a beautiful woman who was young enough to be his daughter, and then dragged her to the dark depths of his domain far below the streets of Paris. This was real, and the princess was about to wake, and I feared she would wake with fright and screaming.
I was about to explode as I waited for her to turn back to me. I wanted to speak to her and tell her not to be frightened, but I seemed to have lost what it took to speak to a beautiful woman without a plate of glass separating us, so I waited silently.
I put my fingers on her cheek and turned her face toward me, and she looked up into my eyes almost as if I wasn’t there. I put my hand behind her and lifted her into a sitting position, and then I got to my feet. I offered her my hand, and, surprisingly, she took it, and I lifted her to her feet. When she shivered, I picked up my cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders, clasping it there. Then gently, and with my hand behind her waist, I walked her to César.
She was wobbly, and I feared she was going to pass out again, but she didn’t. Clenching my teeth, balancing my weight on my good leg, and trying not to let out any sounds of pain, I lifted her up onto César’s back again. Without having to think about it, I knew I hadn’t the strength or the agility to jump up behind her, so I needed to find the strength to walk the rest of the way down to the lake.
Christine’s eyes were open, but she still didn’t present herself as being fully awake, and even began reeling. I was afraid to let go of her; afraid she would topple; therefore, I again had to walk beside her, holding onto her belt to steady her. Once more, César followed my verbal commands as I walked beside Christine. At last, we were at the lake, and, grasping her by the waist, I pulled her down.
The only thing she’d said since her scream was to ask where the voice was. I wanted to reassure her that everything was all right, but I never found the words or the courage to answer her. I steadied her on her feet and then took César’s bosal off and sent him back to the stable. I then walked her down to the wharf with my arm still around her waist and directed her down into my boat. I didn’t know what to think about her condition. Because of the way she was responding to my unspoken directions, I would have thought she’d been drugged, if I hadn’t known better.
I moved across the lake as quickly as I could, since she was still unstable and I feared she would faint again and fall into the water. That night I didn’t watch the mist parting before my boat as it had on so many occasions, for my sight was on the beauty before me. Perhaps she was feeling what I was feeling; perhaps that’s why she wasn’t saying anything.
I felt as if I was dreaming. It was all so unreal, and yet my rational mind told me it was very real. But something, somewhere within me, was afraid it wasn’t. I feared, if I made any noise or sudden movements, the bubble would burst and I would wake out of the dream I was in. As I watched her eyes, which were watching me, I wondered if she felt the same.
We reached the end of the labyrinth and I stepped out of my boat, then I held out my hand to her. She looked up at my face and took my hand, but, as she stepped out, she nearly went down again. I instantly wrapped my arm around her waist, and then her knees went out from under her. I lifted her up in my arms, and, with her head on my shoulder, I carried her up the steps to my door, moved the spring, and waited for the door to open.
When it did, we were flooded with bright light, color, and warmth, and both of us turned our faces from it. After stepping inside, I stood her up, holding her shoulders steady against the wall. Then I waited until she was stable before I moved the spring to close the door. I removed my cloak from her shoulders and backed away, watching her closely as she also watched me.
While we studied each other, I tossed my cloak over a chair and then felt extremely awkward, not having anything to do for the first time that day. I felt my arms and hands were strange appendages just hanging from my shoulders, and I needed to do something with them, so I crossed them in front of my chest.
I told myself to speak to her, but for some unknown reason I hadn’t a thought in my head, except for the beautiful woman who was finally standing right there in my drawing room. Neither of us spoke for what seemed like an eternity. Then, as I watched her, her breaths started coming closer together, and then, finally, the silence broke with her whisper.
“Where am I? Who are you?”
Her words made my own breaths come quickly. Then, in the room filled with warmth, light, and color, I somehow found my voice.
“My name is Erik.”
Twenty-Two
“The voice? You’re the voice?” she questioned in an undertone.
She wavered on her feet and reached for the wall; then, with one hand on her forehead, she gazed at the floor. I wanted to go to her and steady her, but she was already frightened, and I feared those actions would only make matters worse, so I refrained and waited for her senses to catch up. Finally, she looked back into my eyes, and her brow wrinkled.
“The voice? My angel?” she questioned again.
I watched her closely as she began gazing around the room and as my heart began beating rapidly. She was so beautiful, even if she wore little boy’s clothing and not the lovely dress I’d prepared for that occasion. I watched her eyes as they went from confusion to fear, from anger to betrayal, and then back again in rapid succession. Her breaths came quickly, and she released her hold on the wall and stood up straight. Then her eyes filled with indignation and landed firmly back on me. After taking a step toward me, it began.
“What are you doing? Why am I here?” she questioned with renewed strength.
Thinking, here we go, I unfolded my arms and spoke softly and with control. “Don’t be frightened, Christine. I mean you no harm and you’re in no danger.”
Frowning more, she asked, “If you mean me no harm, then why the secrecy and why the mask?”
I lowered my eyes, and then raised them again to meet hers, speaking softly. “We all wear masks, Christine, you included. The only difference is that mine you see first and not last. Everyone protects their true feelings at first by wearing a mask over their hearts. You’re wearing one right now.
“It usually takes time before we let our true selves come to the fore, remove the masks, and bare our souls. But everyone wears a mask to begin with. I’m not wearing a mask on my heart right now, Christine. I’ve stripped myself of all protection, and I now lay my heart naked and unprotected at your feet. I ask that you please be gentle with it and not trample upon it.”
She was still frowning and searching my eyes. Then, in an instant, she stormed up to me and reached for my mask. I grasped both her wrists firmly and looked down at her, shaking my head.
“You can’t see what’s behind my mask—not yet. A pretty face can distract a woman’s eye and prevent her from seeing what’s in the heart. I wear the mask so you won’t be distracted by my appearance. I want you to come to know what’s in my heart before you see what’s behind my mask. What lies there doesn’t represent the man I am.”
I slowly released her wrists and walked past her toward the center of the drawing room and then turned to face her. By then she’d returned to her original place by the invisible door.
“I’m the one you’ve come to know in your dressing room—the voice that filled the air around you. Remember our conversations and our laughter? That’s who I am, Christine, not the face behind the mask. You can see my lips speak words to you now and you can see in my eyes that they speak nothing but truth to you. That’s all that’s needed at this time. Once your heart can speak to mine with honesty, then, if you wish, you can see my face.”
She was obviously confused, and she had every right to be. “But how can you be the same, both the voice and my Angel of Music? And yet be a man who’s standing here before me in this place?”
“You can see I’m not an angel, not a ghost, not a phantom, and not only a voice. I’m none of those things.” I spread my hands out from my sides and made one complete turn. “I’m just a man, not a composer, not a scientist, not an inventor, not a teacher. I’m only a man right now, a man in love with a beautiful woman—you, Christine.”
Her hand went to her throat and she backed up, so I tried to relieve her fears. “Don’t be frightened. I mean you no harm. I’ll not hurt you in any way. I won’t even touch you. I’ve spared no expense to make your stay here in my home a pleasant one.”
“My stay? What do you mean—my stay?” she shrieked, perhaps fearing the worst.
“I love you, Christine, with a love that I don’t believe anyone can understand. I would do anything for you. Anything you ask of me, I’ll do for you.”
“Then let me go,” she demanded, as she looked around, obviously for the door. “Let me go!”
“I will. I promise I will. All I ask is that you spend four days here with me.”
She backed against the wall again, and panic filled her eyes.
“Don’t fear me, Christine. I promise I won’t hurt you. You have your own room, and I’ll respect your privacy. I won’t even enter your room unless invited. You have no need to fear me.”
“What do you want from me?” she asked after relaxing a bit.
“I want you to stay here with me for four days. I want you to talk with me and sing with me, that’s all. Just like in your dressing room. Nothing more.”
She looked around at all the flowers and the fire and then asked, “Why?”
“Because, if in four days you haven’t fallen in love with me, I’ll let you go.”
Her eyes flashed quickly back in my direction. “Fall in love with you? Are you crazy? I don’t even know you!”
“Yes, you do,” I responded softly. “We’ve spent much time together, talking in your dressing room. Have you forgotten all those conversations? Have you forgotten how your heart soared when we sang together? Have you forgotten me?”
She shook her head. “But that was with my angel.”
Again, I spread my arms out from my sides. “One in the same, my dear.”
She looked so confused, frightened, hurt, disappointed, and a host of other negative emotions, and I truly felt bad. I wanted to take her in my arms and comfort her, but I knew that wasn’t an option.
“You can’t keep me here in bondage,” she said with her returning courage.
“You’ll be free to leave in four days while I remain here in bondage.”
She frowned, “Bondage? I haven’t seen any bars or guards. You’re not in bondage.”
“There are many forms of bondage, my dear. I prefer the bondage of bars and mortal men guarding me; from them I can flee. But my bondage is an invisible one. Just as yours is.”
“You’re crazy, and you talk crazy.”
“Do I? Are you not still held back from freedom of heart by the death of your father and your loneliness?” She only looked at me without a response, so I continued. “We’re all held captive in some form. You’ve made great strides in your music to become free, but you must take the next step now to free yourself completely so your music can continue to grow. You’ve been held in bondage by lies told by the one person you loved the most—your father.”
“My father never lied to me,” she replied indignantly.
“No? Then why did you believe so easily that I was your Angel of Music?”
“You deceived me.”
“Did I? Did I give myself that label—or did you? I believe it was you, Christine, who believed me to be your angel. I merely used it to teach you. Now, I set you free from that falsehood. I’m only a man who saw a beautiful woman with the potential for greatness, if she could be released from her bonds. I want to continue helping you just as I have been.”
I took a step toward her but she backed against the door.
“Don’t fear me, Christine. You know me, and you know I’ve never hurt you. I was the one who encouraged you and taught you all those weeks. If I wanted to hurt you in some way, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to do so, but I haven’t, because I mean you no harm. I only want your happiness and the chance for you to come to know me for who I am.
“Sit down, please,” I requested, as I moved aside and motioned toward the divan. She only stared at me without moving until I gestured again, and then she moved slowly toward the divan and cautiously sat down.
“Would you like something to drink or eat? I have a vintage wine, hot tea, or cool water, and I have aged cheese, fresh bread, and apples.”
Again, I only got that look of suspicion and a shake of her head. The poor thing was probably thinking I wanted to
drug her so I could have my way with her, so I didn’t force the issue. Hoping that giving her distance from me might make her feel more comfortable, I stood behind my chair, facing her. Then I tried again to reason with her.
“Christine, how do you feel when you sing now as compared to the way you sang three months ago?”
“There’s no comparison,” she answered without hesitation. “When I sing now, I feel alive and . . .” She stopped and narrowed her eyes at me. “There aren’t words.”
“Three months ago,” I continued, “would you have expected to feel this way about your voice?” She shook her head, and I went on. “If someone had told you then that you would sing center stage at a special gala in the largest opera house in the world, would you have believed them?”
She shook her head again, and I took a deep breath. “I gave you your voice, Christine, a voice you never thought possible, a voice you wouldn’t have if it weren’t for me. Give me four days and I’ll make your heart soar as your song does and in a way that you can’t even imagine right now. Give me four days and I’ll give you the world. Give me four days and there won’t be words for what you feel inside. Please, just give me four honest days. That’s all I ask, and I promise you all this.”
She looked around the room. “That’s a great deal to promise—the entire world.”
“I’m a man of considerable means, although you may not think it, considering what you see around you. I’m forced to live down here not because of a lack of funds on my part but because of a lack of human compassion on the world’s part. I beg you, Christine, don’t throw yourself in with their lot. Don’t become part of an uncaring world and ignore the man I am inside just because of this,” I said as I laid my fingers against the side of my mask.
I looked at the floor and rubbed my fingers against the back of my neck, wondering if I should take the conversation in the direction my thoughts were going. When I looked back at her, I decided to take a chance.
Through Phantom Eyes: Volume Five - Christine Page 30
