by Kailin Gow
Two large slabs of stone parted to reveal an old and far from sturdy looking elevator. Eric motored in. I hid my apprehension as the doors closed and the old metal box shook to life. The walls creaked and the floor rumbled as though straining beneath our weight. We came to a bumpy and unsure stop and the doors opened once again.
Expecting more dingy and dank corridors, I gasped when the sliding doors revealed the magnificent foyer of what appeared to be an elegant home. Filled with rich woods, fine antiques and an aristocratic flair for fine art, the home was in sharp contrast to the man Eric now appeared to be.
“This doesn’t really look like the home of a biker.” I smiled as I slid off the motorcycle seat and stepped across the marble floor. “It’s beautiful, Eric. Is this where you live?”
“It’s my home, yes.”
His shoulders were stiff and his stride strong as he headed down a long and well lit hallway. He turned into another small, but warm rehearsal room. A baby grand took up the larger portion of the room, but a cello, violin and French horn also awaited a musician’s touch.
Stabbing guilt returned and I felt extremely flustered. “Eric, I can’t begin to thank you enough for what you’ve done for me.”
His silence was hard and cold.
“I’m sorry I didn’t let you know right away. I was swept away and…”
“Being abandoned and set aside is nothing new.”
“I wanted to wish you a happy birthday.” The statement was lame and far too late in coming.
“The day of my birth was as such. A day to be ignored by those who should most desire to care for me.”
He turned to me and I could see his pained soul reaching out for my love. “Did your mother never celebrate your birthday with you?”
“What mother?” he spat.
My guilt increased. I was no different than the woman who’d apparently let him down.
“She chose to find a new life for herself. One that didn’t include the crying fits of a child.” He ran his hand across the smooth, glossy finish of the piano and seemed miles away. “I could thank her for my love of music. Perhaps the day she set me on the steps of the Paris Opera House was the luckiest day of my life.”
He chuckled, but it held no amusement, just bitterness.
“I was selfish, Eric.” I reached for his hand and expected him to tear it away from my touch, but he remained still and allowed me to thread my fingers through his. I squeezed my fingers tight and he responded by pulling me closer. “I owe everything to you.”
“I simply polished what you already had. The talent already resided in you. Don’t forget that.”
Our eyes met; his with a touch of pride despite the pain; mine with regret and tears.
“The time for tears has passed,” he said as he dragged a finger across my cheek. “Now is the time to sing and triumph.”
He untangled our fingers, and moved away to sit at the piano. Fierce and almost angry, his fingers pounded the keys and I joined in, singing the passion I knew the song deserved. He moved to the music, to the rhythm, his hair flying into his face with every note.
The song came to a blazing end and while the last notes still echoed in the air, he rose, swept me off my feet and carried me out and up the grand staircase. Every step held purpose and anticipation. He turned into a bedchamber.
I should have been shocked. I should have been horrified. But my heart filled with the desire to share this room with him; to share his bed. For weeks the excruciating pain of being so close to him had worn away at my self-control. I wanted him.
A quick flash of my recent moments spent with Chace sped through my mind, but I shoved it away. Chace was a friend.
Eric was…I gasped as I realized Eric was the one who truly consumed my thoughts.
My hand reached for his cheek. I couldn’t believe I could be so brazen, but the passion of the song still clung to me and I felt a desperate need to share it with him. A light bristle of stubble scratched my skin as I slipped my fingers under his mask. He turned his face away and quickly set me down. Before he could turn away, I grasped his hands to keep him close.
“Let me in, Eric.” I stepped up onto my toes, raked my fingers through his thick hair and pulled him close to kiss him. “Let me in.”
His lips were soft and warm, and I leaned closer when he pulled away. He yielded for a brief moment and allowed my tongue to sweep in to taste his. But his fingers quickly dug into the flesh of my arms to push me away.
With his back to me, I stood and stared at him. “Why did you bring me here if it’s not to get closer to me?” I shouted.
“I brought you here to save you from men intent on hurting you.” He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it to the bed. The fabric of his shirt was pulled tight across the width of his shoulders and his arms revealed the power they had to hurt.
“Liar.” My heart pounded in my ears and I couldn’t believe I was shouting at him.
“Perhaps it was wrong to bring you here.” He turned to face me and my heart fell to the floor. His mouth was set into a grim line and his eyes stared through me.
“Am I not beautiful enough for you?” I barely choked the words out and felt all the more retched for asking such a thing. Tears sprang to my eyes before I could muster the strength to turn away from him.
“Annette.” His voice softened as did his stance as he came to me. “You’re beyond beautiful. You’re exquisite.”
He palmed my cheek and I closed my eyes, pained by his proximity and his lack of desire for me. He kissed my forehead, much as a parent would a child. Not wanting to lose the warmth of his hand, I grasped his fingers and pressed his hand to remain at my cheek.
“Annette,” he groaned.
I turned my lips to his palm and kissed the rough skin.
“You don’t know what you’re doing.” His voice was hoarse, almost grating.
“Why don’t you want me?”
He pulled me into his arms and pressed my face to his chest.
“You don’t want me to want you, Annette.”
“I do,” I cried into his shoulder.
“I’m not the man you think I am.”
I looked up at him, at the pain that seemed to be drowning him. If I didn’t know the real man he was, I wanted to find out. “Show me who you are.” I reached for his mask.
Shaking his head, he stilled my hands with his and kept his face out of my reach.
“How will you know how I feel about the real man you are if you don’t let me see him?”
“I don’t want to frighten you.”
“You can’t, Eric. If you’d had the capacity to frighten me, I would have been scared to death the very first moment I saw you.”
He bit his lip and all the doubt he felt played on his face. His gaze held mine then shifted away in contemplation.
I reached up and slipped my fingers under the mask, ready to pull it off. He didn’t fight or struggle and he didn’t make a move to stop me. He simply closed his eyes and awaited my reaction.
With shaky fingers, I pulled the mask away and noticed the tightening of his jaw. Other than that, his face remained motionless. I couldn’t understand his fear. His jaw was strong and defiant, his nose straight and masculine, and his lips, as sensual and tempting as they’d always been. I ran my hand over his brow, down his temple and lay my fingers on his cheek.
He opened his eyes with a start and a ton of suspicion. I held his gaze, unsure what he’d expected me to see.
“My face,” he muttered to himself. He took my fingers in his hand and ran them along his cheek as though disbelieving I could touch him. “My face.”
He turned away and went to a nearby mirror. He stared at himself, fingering his cheek, his forehead and the side of his nose. “The scars.”
“What scars?” I asked gently. My steps were slow and tentative as I approached and stopped a few paces behind him.
“Scars I’ve had all my life. Scars that have kept me hidden from the world. Scars that left
people shrieking away in fear. And now…” His voice broke.
His reflection was tortured despite the obvious beauty of his features.
“All those years.” He brought his hands to cover his face.
“Eric.”
“Please go, Annette,” he ordered.
“Don’t send me away now. I want to be here, Eric. More than ever.”
All the emotions he held bottled up came forth and shook his shoulders. I wanted to erase all the pain and make him realize what a beautiful man he was. With my arms wrapped around his waist, I leaned into his back. “Please let me stay with you. Just tonight.”
In the silence that followed, he gripped my hands and unraveled them from around him. My heart sank with the fear he’d push me away. When he finally turned to face me, red-eyed and distraught, I knew I’d been right to stay.
I wanted to be with him. Needed to stay close. And for the first time, I realized just how much he needed me. And I wanted to be there to get him through this painful time.
“Just tonight,” he agreed.
I melted into his arms as he scooped me up and carried me to a chaise in the far corner.
Warm and secure in each other’s arms, we slept through the night.
Chapter 9
1881, Paris, France
Through the depths of sleep, Eric found himself in the past that had so scarred him, physically and emotionally.
He watched a young man, seated on the edge of a bed bathed in silken red sheets. Beautiful in his youth, yet hiding in shame behind a mask, he pulled a beautiful young woman into his arms.
Kristine smiled and was instantly beguiling. Elegant with her upswept hair, yet wild with her desire for him, she clung to him with passion that bordered on desperation.
His bare and sweaty chest met with the thin, sheer fabric of her shift while their lips locked in an intense embrace.
“I love you, Eric. You have to know how I love you.” She kissed her way to his chest and raked her fingernails along his arms. “I love your strength. I love your kisses. I want to be with you, Eric.”
Breathing heavily under the weight of all his desire, Eric drove his fingers into her thick mass of dark locks and pulled her lips up to his. Her kisses were sweet, though hard with passion.
“Do you want to be with me?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“Always?”
He grunted, captured her in a tight embrace, and threw her onto her back. Kneeling over her, he gazed at her loveliness. Her hair was now free and it framed her face in the most haunting manner. She was irresistible. He lowered himself over her and prepared to devour her.
His lips found her cheek instead of her lips as she turned away. “Eric, I want to know…I need to know that you want to be with me forever.”
“I do, Kristine. You know I do.”
She shifted out from under him and propped herself up on an elbow. “I’m serious, Eric. This isn’t child’s play. Are you really in this with me?”
“I’m in,” he mumbled into her neck.
“Rupert can’t get enough of me.”
Eric pulled away. “Is this really a time to speak of Rupert?”
“Before we go any further, I need to know you understand.”
“Rupert Aragon is a fool.”
“He’s a rich fool, Eric, and I shall marry him.”
At this Eric sat up and crossed his arms. “If you want to be with me forever, why would you marry such a louse?”
“I shall marry him, gain his fortune and spend the rest of my life in bliss with you, my dear Eric. We’ll find ourselves a marvelous chateau in the south of France. We’ll drink fine wine, dress in the finest fashions and have a well-staffed home filled with an enviable art collection.”
“Do we really need all that?”
“Of course we do. Eric, you know better than anyone what it is to do without; what it’s like to go hungry, to be cold and to be spit on.” She cupped his cheeks and brought his face close to hers. “Aren’t you tired of being spit on? Aren’t you tired of this mask? Imagine, Eric, the Aragon fortune could pay for the finest doctors in the country. You could be freed of your scars, freed from constantly hiding, freed from the darkness. Don’t you think you deserve that? Don’t you think you deserve to have fine things, a full belly and a beautiful woman on your arm?”
“I’d be happy simply with the beautiful woman.” Though the thought of ridding himself of his scars pleased him, he was unhappy with the thought of Kristine in the arms of that pompous and petty man. Rupert was selfish and knew not how to love anyone but his own reflection.
Kristine frowned and Eric knew he’d do anything she pleased.
“But if that beautiful woman wants a fine chateau, tasty wine and pretty gowns, then I’ll follow her to the farthest countryside in all of France.”
Kristine pulled Eric into his arms and smiled. Though her arms were warm and clung to him with love and passion, the smile on her lips was curled with deceit.
Filled with love, Eric smiled and nuzzled her neck. Visions of his future with her filled his head and heightened his need to get closer to her. “How long would you remain married?”
“Not long.”
“And how will you get your hands on his fortune?”
“With your help.”
At this, Eric released her and backed away to look at her. “My help?”
“Of course, silly. I can’t do everything on my own. Just like I wasn’t able to get the lead role in the opera on my own. Had you not become the Phantom of the Opera and scared everyone silly, I might not have gotten the role. You’re very convincing when you want, Eric, and when you let it be known that the Phantom wanted Kristine for the lead, well, Kristine got the lead.” She giggled, though it was not the giggle of a young carefree girl, but rather that of a deviant.
“What do you have in mind?”
“Once I’m married to Rupert, we need to get rid of him.”
Eric gaped at her, but remained silent.
“I think I should remain with him for two or three months. I’ll use that time to make my love for him quite evident to his family. I’ll be as sweet as I can be and they’ll love me. My time at the Opera has shown me how to be very convincing when I desire to be. Isabelle, my sister-in-law to be is a real brat, but I shall befriend her. We’ll spend our mornings with our needlepoint and tea, and will chat about men, love and of course, money.
“I’ll invite the Aragon family to marvelous feasts every Sunday and show them the elegant mistress of the household I can be. The day of my birth is two weeks after the wedding date. No doubt I shall be showered with family jewels and priceless gifts that are worth a fortune. I’ll slip them to you so that you can taste the sweet life we’ll soon have.”
She pulled him into her arms and her eyes darkened as they stared far into the distance. “Rupert enjoys long morning rides atop his favored stallion. After our wedding I’ll mark out the path he takes. A long stretch of that ride is through a rather dense forest. He has bored me with this ride several times. Little did I know those dreary mornings would actually come to have such value.”
Silence lingered for a moment and Eric pulled free to look at her. Her lips were curled into a sweet smile and her eyes sparkled with joy and contentment. While he wanted to share her enthusiasm, he was filled with doubt. “And what do you want me to do?”
She brought her cunning gaze to him. “Rupert will simply not come home one day. I’ll be sitting in the foyer with Isabelle. We’ll gossip, berate the help and enjoy fine pastries. Half an hour past Rupert’s usual time of arrival, I’ll mention my concern. We’ll move to the gardens outside, have tea and take in some fresh air as we look in the distance for signs of his return. As the hour passes, I’ll pace and become overwrought with worry. Isabelle will no doubt console me and remind me of Rupert’s excellent horsemanship and innate knowledge of the land.
“Rupert’s stallion will appear on the horizon and I will scream my torm
ent. When I realize Rupert is not atop him. Or perhaps I should faint. I’ll see when the time comes. The important thing is for me to convey my utter horror.
“My faint, or hysterics, will last for close to ten minutes to give you ample time to get away. Then stable boys, groomsmen and anyone else at the household will be sent out in search of my dear husband.” She clapped her hands with glee. “By the time they get back, Rupert’s family will have gotten word and they will have come to assist in the search and attempt to console the inconsolable new bride.”
She paused a moment and her face broke out into a bright smile. “Me!”
“And what will have happen to Rupert?” Eric was reluctant to hear the answer.
“At the far end of the forest, there is an old and enormous dead tree. Rupert has often mentioned to me and to his family how his horse is apt to get spooked by that old tree. You will wait for him there, Eric.”
He grew hot and uncomfortable.
“He’ll question your presence on his property and will step down to confront you. You’ll be concerned by the sight of a man you’d just seen in the dense bushes. You’ll point to the distance and tell him the man had run that way. As he looks away, you’ll take the large stone you’ve found and kept nearby, and you will smash it over his head.”
Eric’s brow furrowed and his lips parted to protest. As detestable as he found Rupert, as repulsive and vile as he might be, taking a man’s life…it left him cold.
“When he falls to the ground, his head leaking out his life’s blood, you’ll settle the stone down, then place him so as to have his head pillowed on the very stone that cracked that spoiled little head of his.”
“Kristine, I don’t know if …”
“The terrain is rocky, so there will be little need to waste time erasing any trace of your footsteps. Hang onto his horse for a while, just to make it look more unnerving from my end. Then, the moment you slap his rump and send him on his way, get yourself as far away from there as you can.”
“That’s murder and…”
