Shiver
I appreciate all of the reviews. However, ladies and gentlemen, I believe this story is reaching its end. I hope I have done it justice. Stay tuned for my next works. I am doing a collaboration with potophan1010. The account is called RuinsTheSheen. Check it out.
"-Yet it would be your duty to bear it, if you could not avoid it: It is weak and silly to say you cannot bear what it is your fate to be required to bear."-Helen Burns, Jane Eyre
Christine didn't speak much, those two months in that dark hole. Or at least that is what she called it. She refused to speak with Erik, refused to eat most everything, and refused to be civil. He had only left once, about three weeks after their entombment, and she had attempted escape.
Of course that hadn't worked out as well as she had hoped. When Erik had returned, his temper riled for some damn reason, he had handcuffed her to a support beam. She had horrible flashes of memories, but he refused to unchain her. She had heard nothing but the sound of her own tears for the longest time. She had never felt more lost.
He was heartless. He refused to coddle her in her mindless tears. His past was just as bloody, and he wasn't a weeping mass of nothing. He didn't know why he loved her, why he refused to let her leave him. He didn't even know what love was.
He did know that Christine was his. She showed him with every gesture, with every jaded smirk and crude comment. She showed him how proud she could be, refusing to speak to the man who murdered her "lover". It wasn't in him to let her leave. He decided to go with his favorite way of handling things, pretend there wasn't a problem.
When he read about the conviction of Phillipe Chagny and Antoinette Giry for Christine's rape and torture, he had every intention of going out and killing them both. He had thrown the laptop across the room, listening to the sound of crunching technology.
But when he had gotten there, he realized he didn't wan to kill them. They deserved to suffer like she had suffered. Though he had only been imprisoned once, he knew the terror of a cage. Let them rot there, until the jury decided to slaughter them like the miserable cattle they were.
He hadn't expected to come back to see Christine halfway out of the secure door. She had used her hearing and her hairpins against him, apparently. He couldn't help punishing her. She deserved it. How dare she betray his trust twice? Her being with other men was disgusting, and her attempting escape damn near threw him over the edge.
He had been in a dark place that day. Instead of her tears filling him with pity, they made him smile. A smile he had not seen for years. It fed on people's suffering. He thought that phase of his life to be over. After all, he ruled death. It was as much a part of him as breathing was.
He delivered it without ceremony, and forgot about it. He had not killed in pure emotional fury until that night two months ago. She made him react that way. He thought those days were long over.
He had decided to move again. It was the time. Food was low, and a little relocation would be simple, if he did it right.
He had made her eat that day, though she didn't acknowledge his existence. He made her use the bathroom, and watched her shower. Well, watched was a strong word. More like glanced. He allowed her a razor that was damn near impossible to cut things with. But he would not leave her alone again, ever.
He had come to the difficult decision. In all his years, he had never even considered plastic surgery an option. His deathlike appearance had been his way of life, and no matter how he tried, he had never been able to summon up enough courage.
But if that was what it took to keep her, he would. He would suffer the scrutiny of the men staring at him. He had documentation and money. No man knew what he looked like under the mask. Well, no man who had lived.
He had waited till she was asleep, unwrapping the sterile needle. He injected her quickly, making sure to use enough to keep her in deep slumber overnight at least. He would be in intense pain when he returned. But he would bear it. Handcuffing her to the support beam, he took his leave.
(The next morning, after intense surgery)
Erik was glad for the wrappings covering his face. The doctors assured him there was little to no scarring, and that he was doing just fine. He felt like someone had shot him though. Christine had still been sleeping, not even feeling him remove the cuffs.
He knew the deformity was still there. Maybe not on the surface, but it was still lurking, haunting him. It always would. For his soul was just as twisted, just as wrong. He had hurt this girl, killed for her, and loved her the whole time. She didn't want to love him, any more then he wanted to love her.
It seemed the two didn't have a choice in the matter. He had explained that to her a long time ago, when they had been first here, in this dank hole. All he needed was to heal. Then she would be his, his forever.
Raoul was filled with a sense of loss he didn't know how to get rid of. His brother was gone now. Christine Daae had managed to strip away the last of his family from his side. What was it about the girl that made her wreak havoc? He didn't care whether she lived or not. He hoped Bathory tore her limb from limb!
So, when Raoul went to pick up a mutual friend from the plastic surgery centre, he hadn't expected to find Bathory. He heard the doctor tell the man that a surgery was routine. Oh, the possibilities...
Raoul had followed the man, with the aid of an undercover police officer, to his little den. They waited until nightfall, busting in the door and capturing the couple. Erik had struggled fiercely, yelling for Christine, who seemed to be quite groggy. She had only heard the soft murmur of his deep voice upon the wind.
She had awakened to Carlotta's voice. How she wished she could be here again, so many times. The place where all the madness had started. The police questioned her about Erik. She had told them nothing of Nadir; she didn't want the man to be punished for something she had wanted.
"Miss Daae, did Mr. Bathory kill Reza Khan that night?"
She had flinched at the question. She had screamed and raged over Reza's death for such a long time, she had to go back, look at the details. She decided then, decided what she would do. This was the point it all came down to.
"No. Mr. Anders. I killed Reza."
They had asked her to elaborate, and she told them of the involvement she had with the boy. Told them that she hadn't known he had cancer, that when he told her, she had gotten angry. After all, she loved him. She was always alone.
She told them she had accidentally pushed the boy down the stairs. They believed her, and soon afterward, she went to trial. Erik was charged with accessory to murder. She was charged with murder in the second degree. She HAD killed Reza. Her love, she had given it to him, and sent him to his death.
At least prison was cozy. They kept her confined, her blindness making her the perfect inmate for a second rate ladies facility. After all, how would she escape? She was left alone, even the guards disliking her soulless eyes.
She had realized, sitting in the cold cell, that she would always belong to Erik Bathory. This man who she would save, just because he had saved her. He would be confined to a minimum security prison for two years, while she would be there ten. It didn't matter though.
He was always watching her, always there in her mind. Even though she could never say she had lain with him in a bed, or embraced him unless under duress, she would still love him. The love she hadn't shared with Nadir, or Reza, a love that was deeper the flesh, and deeper then hatred.
She had not received mail, in the five years she had been imprisoned so far. After all, she couldn't read anything unless the guards would oblige her. So when she received a letter, that day on the twenty first of March, she opened it. She felt the hard pressed Braille, and tried to remember all of the word formations.
Going slowly, she read. It was short, but the promise in it left her reeling. She fingered the hair, the hair she had promised her father she would never cut. The hair that he had adored. She had been devastated when it was shorn off by Giry. She had known happiness that day, but this was more then she felt she needed.
This left her heart a little less heavy. It was signed simply "Bathory."
She reread it for the four years she had left of her term, the parole board granting her freedom in her tenth. She had stood there, fingering what looked to be yellowed computer paper.
When she was released, she dropped it on the gravel walking out. An older guard, who had watched the girl for years now, picked it up. Curious as to what had kept the little brunette going for so long. He read the lines of what seemed to be a song.
'Thought it was too good to be true
I found somebody who understands me.
Someone who would help me to get through
And fill an emptiness I had inside me.
But you kept inside and I just denied
Some things that we should have both said.
I knew it was too good to be true
Cause I'm the only one who understands me.
But I need you
You know me like I know my face.
You see the cold and embrace the dark.'
Bathory.
letthedreamdescend: Thank you for the review. Your answer is in the chapter.
Erik'DarkLullaby: I hope you like my ending. I have no idea what happened after she left the prison that day. I hope she found him, though.
The Century Child: I am glad you liked the Phillipe twist. I hate that guy.
potophan1010: Thank you with the song help, and all the editing you help me with. I added a little bit to the song though, I hope you don't mind.
Dove of Night: I am glad you like the Darius thing, lol! I was hoping to incorporate him somehow. Thank you for the great reviews.
phantomann: Nah, you weren't on the flame list, lol. I don't really mind about them anymore, I actually laughed at a few today. I am glad you enjoy my writings. I already have another lined up.
Thank you all for reading this through to the end. I am hoping you realize the meaning of the story. That the definitions of redeption are all different, that some stories don't end happily. That some things are up to fate.