“Your redemption will be your death,” the shah snapped, “and now that I’ve found the right tie to sever, it will be soon. Realize, Erik, I am doing your Christine a favor. She doesn’t want you to return. How could she? When there are so many real men in the world with faces? She has likely found something that equals perfection while you have been stuck in this cell. Have you pondered that, my friend? She has probably moved on and forgotten a monster was ever after her.”
My fears stated from the one person I hated to my core, and the façade I fought to keep bore fractures.
The shah laughed again. “The little whore has probably had her share of men with perfect faces in her bed while you’ve only had a memory to feast on. She should owe me a turn for taking you out of her life!”
I felt anger fester and boil in my belly. The mighty Opera Ghost lived and breathed and would never be a victim. No, Christine wanted me, loved me, was waiting for me. I had to remember it and get back to her.
With a savage growl, I lunged at my haughty captor. One perfect grip, and I knew I could win. But I never had the chance. I’d barely grazed his arm before his guards were in the cell with us. If it had been only the shah and I, he would have been dead at my feet.
“Strip him!” the shah shouted, and without pause, the guards tore the tattered shirt I wore away and revealed the damage from the last beating. So much of my once white skin was covered in welts and blisters, tracks where a whip had struck before, burns that had taken the top layers and exposed the juicy center beneath. All of this was on its way to scarring. I would now not only have a horror for a face, but every bit of me was becoming an artist’s distortion, a canvas of dementedness. I felt like a true freak show brought to life.
Fire burned in the shah’s dark eyes as without warning, he gave the first strike. It was brutal and stung to the depth of my soul, but I didn’t make a single sound. Strike after strike, and when he got tired of the already mutated flesh of my chest, he had me turned and held on the ground as he worked the same brutality on my equally damaged back.
Never a tear, never a sound, but as the shah grunted and worked, he spoke and put Christine’s name on his lips. I felt the reverberation of its syllables rattle my bones. Usually in the midst of torture, I fell into my head and heard her voice singing in my inner ear. A happy place and retreat out of my crumbling body. This time with her name present in the air, I had nowhere to go as if she loomed in the cell with us, and I couldn’t leave her. I stayed aware and present and had to endure the full pain in every violent act.
I didn’t know how long it went on. At some point, the shah tired and left, but my body was so abused that the incessant throbbing and burn convinced me that he was still mid-attack. I knew no peace until at some point unconsciousness came and swept like a comforting blanket over me, bringing heavy blackness and temporary reprieve.
I dreamt of her. Didn’t I always dream of her? Subconscious had abducted that secret and gave me away in bitter betrayal, but I no longer cared. Let me speak her name in my sleep and at least have it as mine once more. Dream felt so real. I saw her smile and adore me in the deep manner she always gave when I played for her. She loves me. The tip of her finger caressed my bottom lip. A blush painted her cheeks. She said my name, …called me ange. Oh, Christine…
Was this penance enough to prove my heart? Would she now accept my sins and love me through them? If I returned to her now, it would be as a mass of scars inside and out.
No, not if I returned! When I returned! Was hope already dwindling that when’s became if’s so quickly in the twilight of semi-awareness? No, when I returned, and this time, I would not be the pathetic monster kneeling at her feet, asking tolerance and permission to love her. I was through with that role. This time, no matter what it took, she would love me. I wouldn’t accept refusal or doubt. Not when she was the only reason I wanted to live.
Her image kept me company, and though I couldn’t feel her touch, I resigned myself with a portrait and the reality that I’d kissed her once, that her cells had coated my lips in that intimacy and soaked into my skin. Somewhere within the canals of my bloodstream, she existed in microscopic molecules, always with me, mine forever.
Christine… And when a hand touched my bare shoulder, for half a second, I believed it was she.
“Erik, wake up.”
A voice I didn’t recognize, and I forced consciousness to return. Pain came with it, and a moan left my lips in lieu of questions as my eyes fluttered open and observed an unfamiliar, foreign face hovering over me.
“Come on. We have to move quickly before the other guards return.”
His words were gibberish to my jellied mind. All I reasoned was the pain, and as my companion, dressed like another of the shah’s regime, slid an arm about my damaged torso to help me up, I tried to shrink away when contact seared as if another strike.
“I know it hurts, but if we don’t move fast, there will be more pain for both of us. Come on, Erik. This is your one chance for freedom. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Christine,” I gasped out as the only thing I wanted.
“Well, here is your means to go to her. Fight through the pain and let’s go.” The man beside me was still attempting to lift me to my feet, and with his promise in mind, I suddenly found the compulsion to help, sliding my bare heels on the hard stone floor and seeking a stable stance.
Freedom. Christine. Such promises prevailed over every weakness in my being, and clasping my saving companion with arms that shook in their effort, I cringed my agony but stumbled out of the prison with him.
I did not recall our actual escape. Pain was so great that I had to concentrate on every step just to keep in motion. Obviously, the shah had been merciless this time, for I could recall no other beatings this debilitating. I didn’t have time to know shame for my damaged body or the fact that I needed aid even to move; I simply clung to my companion and told my body to work with images of Christine on my inner lids.
My next memory was waking on a cot in a room I’d never seen before. Sunlight poured in from a high-set window, and I squinted to endure its brightness. Three hundred and ninety-four days without natural light. Of course I’d had small bouts when beneath the opera house cut off from the sun and moon, but to have suffered without choice and denied such natural gifts made everything feel different. I truly felt changed.
I was a free man, and even as I contemplated how and why, I took a deep breath as if I hadn’t inhaled in over a year and let go of constricted muscles, sagging into the soft mattress and promising my body for the first time that it would never suffer such pains again. It throbbed and burned everywhere, but without the threat looming that more would come at the shah’s whim, pain was strangely enjoyable. Because it would end.
“Ah, you’re awake.”
I knew that voice, and lifting my sore body to sit, I squinted and narrowed a glare on my grinning companion. “Daroga,” I greeted stiffly, “you are supposed to be out of the country.”
“As if I could leave you to rot in the shah’s dungeon a second time!”
He shook his dark head doubtfully, and though I did not say it, I was so grateful to see him that I fought tears. Hundreds of days without kind emotion, without a pleasant expression, with nothing but pain, and the daroga was the greatest reality I could fathom in the midst of rescue.
“So…this was your plan?” I posed and noted the daroga’s unhidden compassion as the wounds on my chest shrieked in vibrant colors. I hated bright hues, and to be covered in their smears and blatancy felt like too much attention.
“Erik, …dear God he was ruthless with you! This is…horrible.”
“Oh, that’s just my face, daroga. One would think the shock had worn off,” I teased, and to hear him chuckle at my resolved sense of humor calmed us both despite the damage I could not deny. “Aren’t you pleased to see I am still alive?”
“It is my greatest joy,” he promised. “And you have no idea how wonderful it is t
o know you will stay that way. After all I’ve done these past months to have this moment with you, it truly is a blessing.”
The daroga took a seat beside my bed and offered the meal waiting on the nearby table. In all my relief to be free, I’d forgotten about eating. When the past year had boasted only scraps, I was determined food would be another gift never taken for granted. As I chewed on a piece of bread, I motioned for him to speak, discontented with the way he still observed my beaten torso with self-blame. It wasn’t his fault, and I saw no reason for guilt.
“Did you really believe I’d left Persia?” he asked, and I nodded matter-of-factly. “Of course not! I sent my wife and baby away somewhere safe, but I never left. My God, Erik, what you sacrificed for me, for my family! How could I leave you! But…it took longer than planned to get you out. The shah is being diligent to track every new guard he employs. So though I could get someone inside the palace, it took ages to feign loyalty and make an opportunity. I had three separate accomplices for the task; all are already out of the country. They knew the risks involved. And now once you are well, we will follow and leave this God-forsaken place.”
I nodded thoughtfully as I chewed and concluded, “I need a mask.”
But he shrugged as if my deformity meant little. It terrified me to wonder if next to the beating my body had taken, my face was almost ordinary. Dear God, what would Christine say to all this? If my face had given her hesitation, what would she think of a distorted body to go along with it?
“I have to get back to Paris as soon as possible,” I stated and reached for something more to eat. In truth, food was tasteless at present, but I knew a lack of nutrition in the shah’s prison had taken its toll on my meager frame and left me to look like a skeleton, a skeleton covered in bloodied wounds and scars… I was disgusted with myself and knew I had to at least try to fix what I could before I made it home…to Christine.
“Paris? No, Erik, why?” the daroga pushed with an unhappy cringe. “There are so many other places in the world.”
“But there is only one place Christine will be.”
“Christine again,” he retorted with a huff. “As we traveled to Persia, did you not make it clear that she’d been less than tolerant of your face and your sins? Is it really the best idea to return and be discarded all over again? It’s been months since we left. Surely…she’s moved onward with her life.”
I narrowed eyes in a fierce glare and stated flatly, “You know, daroga, considering I came with you and sacrificed for your love, one would think you’d be a bit more encouraging for mine. This pessimism is unbecoming, and I don’t favor it.”
“And is optimism presenting your heart only to have it trampled upon again?”
“Yes, indubitably. And get your facts in order. It’s been four hundred and eighteen days since I last saw her, since the second I stepped foot on a boat and out of Paris for you. If you are not going to encourage the growth of my relationship, stay here with the shah. I give you my leave. You saved my life, and we are even. I would happily have us part ways.”
But he tutted softly and shook his head. “It would be a detriment to send you off alone after a stint of torture and exile. I think you need me yet, at least to get you safely home. A man in a mask is suspicious, and without the mask, even more so. If Paris is where you wish to go, then I won’t argue the futility of happy-ending wishes with you. I will simply send you on your way when we arrive and bless your broken heart.”
“As any decent friend would!” I concluded. “So it is settled. We return to Paris as soon as possible, and…I keep my promise.”
My heart leapt a frantic beat in my chest with my spinning thoughts; I savored its pulsation. It reminded me for the first time in over a year that I was alive. And anticipation coiled and raced my veins, enticing the smile I felt tug my misshapen lips up to heaven. I was an angel redeemed, and I was convicted that Christine would know I was now worthy of her love.
Chapter Twelve
Christine~
“Flowers for you, Mademoiselle Daaé.”
I knew that voice even as it attempted a higher pitch of disguise, but with the mountain of roses in the way as a makeshift barrier, I could not confirm identity and simply made a face back.
“Well, that was uncalled for,” the voice went on as the walking-talking flowers took small steps nearer. “You know, this arrangement is quite heavy, and I don’t catch even a whiff of gratitude.”
“How could you? You’ve got your head stuck in the center of a rose bush, Raoul. I have a distinct feeling all you’re inhaling is perfume.” My feigned perturbation cracked into giggles as Raoul’s dear face appeared through the middle of too many blooms with the dopey grin I always found so charming before it dissipated to a violent sneeze. I laughed harder and concluded, “Come on then. I suppose I’ll add yet another bouquet to my dressing room’s walls. It is beginning to look like a floral shop in there!”
The grin returned as if he’d won some exorbitant prize, and as he followed me amidst the bundle of roses down the backstage corridor, he decided, “The floral shop would be envious. You have a better selection. I’ve gotten you a little from everywhere.”
“I keep telling you to save the flowers for a performance night. You cannot shower me with bouquets after every rehearsal. You’re going to stir up even more gossip than you already have.”
“To hell with the gossip!” he enthusiastically declared and made me giggle again. “Doesn’t the prima donna deserve her accolades on a daily basis? Truly, Christine, the management should be just as generous as I choose to be and dote upon you for what you do. You are the star.” He breathed the word dramatically and arched persuasive brows as he claimed his point.
But I shook my head. “I think they feel I am still earning the title.”
“More than a year and countless shows as the diva, and they still hold a single reservation? How is that possible? You are perfection.”
His compliment encouraged my smile, but I argued, “La Carlotta had the title for over a decade. By that standard, I am still an ingénue.”
“Ridiculous!” Raoul and his rose collection followed at my heels into the confines of my dressing room. I was certain others spied us and watched as I improperly closed the door, but I didn’t care. In that regard, I chose to be the diva and have my secrets. They would whisper and talk, but not a single letter would touch me. I was impenetrable.
Raoul found a solitary spot of space to fill with his flowers amidst dozens of other bouquets, all with his name on their affectionate cards, and I spun about and let the rainbow spread of colors and wafting array of perfumes swallow me whole. It was practically my own indoor garden. I’d never asked for such a thing, but I knew without a doubt that if the request ever even passed my lips, the man standing aside watching me would have fulfilled it without a qualm. He was just that devoted.
My gaze met his strikingly handsome features and sparking turquoise eyes, and I called myself lucky for the vast amount of adoration he vividly displayed. Not every girl was so blessed, and this was not just a gentleman before me, but a Vicomte. What opera diva had a Vicomte as her endless admirer?
“Christine,” he breathed with that smile and added with a sigh, “I want you to come to supper tonight and meet my parents.”
“Dear boy, I’ve already met your parents.”
“In prescribed roles. The opera diva meeting her patrons. You’ve met them as Mademoiselle Christine Daaé, prima donna of the stage, but not as Christine, their son’s fiancée.” His eyes shown with earnestness, and though I knew how much the engagement meant to him, I still felt uncomfortable with the words and averted my attention to flowers as I idly rearranged one set of blooms with another.
“We have to tell them sometime,” he added, trying to recapture my focus. “We can’t very well wait until the wedding, you know.”
“They’re not going to like it.”
“I don’t care. I love you. Let them chastise me, curse the mus
ings of my rash heart and condemn my choice, but it won’t change anything. I swear it. Is that your worry? That they will talk me into abandoning you? Because it is far too late for them to make even a dent in my resolve. I am doubtless what I want.”
I still would not look at him, pulling a purple bloom from one spray and adding it to another to make a clashing chaos of color. It was more interesting than matching tones.
“They can’t approve,” I reminded. “You are a Vicomte. No matter what we feel, I am so far below your status. They must assume I am after your title and wealth. It is just the way of things. Did we not agree from the first point that we would not even tell them I was the same little Daaé girl you used to play with on your beach holidays? It would have seemed convenient and would only add more suspicions. And now…they’re going to think I am a fame-hungry leech, desperate to latch onto your name.”
“Let them!” Raoul was fervent as he caught my shoulders and made me cease my pointless motions and face him. “I don’t care what they say. I am marrying you. But I think it is better to spring this on them now rather than later. Let them get used to it a little before we start wedding plans.” His fingers set gently to my chin and grazed along my jaw. “Come to supper, and we’ll take the challenge together. Whatever they say, I am in this with you. If they’re upset, we’ll leave and escape. Run off, marry on a tropical beach somewhere, sail away from titles and parents and every restriction the world tries to put upon us. What do you say?”
It was a tempting offer, but with a disappointed sigh, I reminded, “The opera. I am under contract. We can’t just run away…at least not until the end of the season.” I said it because I knew it would inspire the beam of hope in his turquoise eyes. I could never tire of that optimistic look; it was something I envied him for.
“All right. Then we have an option if my parents choose an insane and irrational course,” he replied, and his flawlessly sculpted lips curved into that charming grin. “So, supper?”
Scripted in Love's Scars Page 13
