Chapter
Six : A Crime Committed
"Meg? Dear, are you feeling well?" Jammes
asked as Meg again refused to do anything more than play with her meal.
"No,
Jammes... I'm afraid I don't feel good at all." Meg rubbed her temples
with the tips of her fingers and closed her eyes, feigning a bad headache as
best she could. "My head hurts
something dreadful and my stomach feels all queasy."
Delacroix
frowned into his wine glass... this was not a condition of the drug, which she
hadn't taken a sip of anyway... the little chit! Infernal women and their inexplicable maladies! Now he'd have to bide his time and waste
more money to take her out again if he wanted to have her.
Well...
perhaps not...
"Dear, if you're not feeling
well, perhaps I should take you home." he offered with practiced concern.
"Yes...
I think that's a good idea, monsieur Delacroix... I think I need some
sleep. You know... so that I'm well
enough to dance tomorrow." Meg nodded a tad too quickly for someone with a
headache, Delacroix decided.
Hmm...
@>------,--------'----------
Erik was waiting for the threesome
when they emerged from the brightly lit restaurant into the dark, rainy
streets. He had hoped that Delacroix
would merely let Jammes take Meg home... no matter... this way, he could keep
an eye on both this scheming Delacroix and his beloved Meg at the same
time. As they boarded their carriage,
Erik coaxed Hades out onto the cobblestones behind them and prepared to follow
them as closely as possible. If that
deceiving dancer did anything to hurt his precious Meg... he would have hell to
pay!
@>------,-------'-------------
Inside
the carriage, Meg was concentrating on looking ill by keeping her eyes closed
and feigning an expression of what she hoped looked like mild pain. Every time the carriage jostled heavily from
a deep rut or bump in the road, she gave a small cry of discomfort. She could feel Delacroix's gaze on her the
entire time and harbored an extreme panic that he didn't buy one word of this
"malady". God help her if her
fears held any ground!
Slowly,
they came to a halt and Meg managed to look outside the window. Again an urgent panic came over her that she
succeeded in downplaying.
"Here
you are, Mademoiselle Jammes... this is your street I believe, yes?"
Delacroix's driver called in from outside.
"Yes,
it is... thank for a lovely evening, monsieur Delacroix... I hope to do it
again sometime." Jammes smiled a little too boldly.
"Indeed...
I look forward to it, sweet." Delacroix smiled, kissing Jammes' hand with a grand flourish that almost made Meg
vomit in reality.
She
looked after Jammes as she quickly tripped across the street to her boarding
house, her brightly colored skirts a gleaming contrast against the dark
pavement. Why did Meg feel as though
she'd just been betrayed?
"Driver...
onward!" Delacroix barked, making Meg wince at the sudden gruffness in his
voice.
Her
fears were realized when she found herself suddenly pinned against her door,
her wrists restrained next to her head by Delacroix's hands. "What are you doing?!" she
protested, struggling to free her arms from Delacroix's bruising grip. "Get your hands off of me!"
"You
think you can fool me with that pathetic excuse for an illness?" Delacroix
asked, his brandy-scented breath all but overwhelming Meg. "You know as well as I do that you're
not sick... and I don't like little, lying ballet rats who tempt me and then
play hard-to-get."
Before
she could even get a word out to defend herself, he lowered his mouth over hers
with savage strength, using brute force to keep her from escaping him. Meg, tried to turn her head away, but she
couldn't move a muscle beneath Delacroix's power. As he finally released her mouth, she took a deep breath and prepared
to scream for all she was worth.
Delacroix broke off her ear-splitting cry with a swift slap across her
face; the force knocked the poor ballerina off of the cushioned seat onto the
floor of the carriage.
Dazed,
it took Meg several seconds to realize what had happened, her hand
instinctively covering the quickly reddening imprint on her burning cheek. Delacroix took advantage of her precious
seconds of shock to slide down onto the floor, pinning Meg beneath him, and
hiking her abundant skirts up past her knees.
"Stop
it!" Meg managed to cry shakily, her tears of terror and hurt snaking
their way down her stinging face. She
tried vainly to push her skirts back to their proper place, but that was
impossible... Delacroix had already positioned himself between her legs, his
very body preventing her skirts from being replaced.
Suddenly
it became very clear to Meg what was about to happen. It was not the forced kisses and caresses she had feared... it
was worse.
Much,
much worse!
@>-------,----------'--------------
Erik frowned as he watched Jammes
skip up the steps of the boarding house where she lived. Hadn't he told Meg to avoid being alone with
Delacroix at all costs? He shrugged and
urged Hades into a trot to keep up with the rapidly departing carriage...
perhaps he was being to paranoid.
As
they continued down the streets, Erik began to notice that the bulk of the
carriage was swaying unnaturally on the cobblestones... as if a struggle were
taking place inside. Again, he wondered
if he were letting his imagination run away with him.
All
such thought disappeared as he clearly heard Meg scream from the interior of
the vehicle. It sounded cut-off,
artificially silenced... and for a brief moment, Erik truly believed that
Delacroix had killed his beloved Meg!
Without a thought for his own safety or the chances of being caught,
Erik charged Hades up beside the coach and jumped into driver's seat with the
deftness of a jungle predator.
"What
the-?" the driver exclaimed before Erik swiftly knocked the man
unconscious with the silver handle of his walking stick. With a giant heave, Erik tossed the still
man onto the street, far enough that he was clear of the carriage, and
proceeded to grab the reins and halt the startled and frightened horses.
Delacroix
looked up from his task of ripping open Meg's blouse, a difficult task with her
interfering hands in the way. Why on earth had the carriage stopped? "Genou! What's the matter with you, man?
Keep driving!" he yelled impatiently.
"I'm
afraid that Monsieur Genou is indisposed at the moment." an unfamiliar
voice drawled with barely concealed anger.
Delacroix jerked his head up in alarm to see a gigantic shadow looming
outside the doorway of the carriage.
Dressed all in black, this interference's face couldn't be seen and
Delacroix lost all patience.
"Just
who do you think you are, monsieur?!" he demanded. "Do you know who I am?!"
"A
dead man." the voice said softly.
Without further warning, the door of the carriage was ripped away, it's
hinges hanging like the entrails of a slaughtered animal. Dumbfounded, Delacroix couldn't fight make
or even move as the shadow's heavy, leather-clad hands grabbed him by the
throat and lifted him off of Meg as though he were a child rather than a full-grown
man! Meg reflexively curled up into a
ball, aware only that she was being spared and not immediately caring by whom.
"You
have displeased the Opera Ghost, monsieur Delacroix, and you will find
that most people don't care to annoy me." Erik shoved the confused dancer
against the wall outside the carriage, knocking the wind from him. "However, you won't live to regret
it."
@>-------,-------'---------------
Meg
came out of her stupor long enough to recognize Erik's voice, its angelic tones
twisted by rage. Slowly, she turned
herself around so that she was half-sitting up on the floor of the carriage,
looking outside. What she saw made her
physically sick to her stomach. There
stood Erik holding Delacroix against the wall; the dancer's neck was broken and
his head hung lifelessly at an unnatural angle, his eyes staring sightlessly
into nothing. It was a scene from a
horror novella come to life... a nightmare vision that was never expected
during waking hours... but it was soon to be completed.
Apparently
deciding that he'd done his duty, Erik abruptly let the dead dancer drop
gracelessly to the pavement, then turned.
Meg thought her heart would stop dead in her chest... his face! Dear God!
How could anything alive look so horrible? It was as if a man dead and buried had suddenly been re-animated
after years of being eaten at by worms and maggots! His face was thin, a pale yellowish-gray in color, and sunken,
his cheekbones standing out further than any bones had a right to. His eyes flashed yellow from deep sockets
like flaming balls of hellfire and his lips were curled into a cruel grimace,
his breath ragged and heavy. Worst of
all was his nose... or rather, the lack thereof! There was merely a great black hole where his nose should have
been, completing the effect of a corpse come to life!
Blackness
swirled in and all that Meg could see was that hellish face with it's eyes
blazing with hatred. But soon, she was
spared even that sight as the darkness consumed her and she knew no more.
@>-------,-------‘-----------------
Erik caught Meg before
she hit the ground, cradling her head with renewed tenderness. Poor thing... she must be in shock, he
decided, unaware that his mask had been torn off during Delacroix's
struggles.
"Meg...
Meg, sweet, wake up." he gently shifted her in his grasp, hoping that the
movement would revive her. She moaned
softly, but didn't open her eyes and Erik concluded that he'd better get her
out of the freezing night rain before she caught pneumonia and worry about her
consciousness later. Holding her tight
against his chest, with the wings of his cloak shielding her from the cold,
Erik made his way to Hades' side.
Somehow, Erik managed to get both himself and Meg up onto Hades' broad
back and headed for the Giry home, sticking to the shadows and alleys.
Once
at the front door, with Meg in his arms, Erik pounded on it fiercely and was
not at all surprised that it opened almost immediately.
"Dear
God!" she exclaimed, one hand flying to her throat. "Erik? Is that you?"
"Of
course, Madame Giry! I'm afraid Meg had
a rather stressful night." he shouldered his way into the small home,
impatient to get Meg into a warm bed.
"What? What happened? Last I saw was her and Jammes heading off to supper with that Jean-Paul
fellow." Madame Giry asked, quickly closing the door. "And what happened to you mask?"
Erik
froze in the act of spreading his cloak over Meg's still form. "What did you say?"
"Your
mask, monsieur..." Giry repeated softly, intensely aware of Erik's tense
posture. "It's... gone."
Erik's
eyes widened as he gazed at Meg's unconscious face. So, that's why she had fainted!
She must have seen him glaring at Delacroix's dead body with his death's
head! Oh, God... not again! He stood up abruptly, almost running
from Meg's room.
"I
must leave!" he exclaimed, heading for the door.
"Monsieur,
wait!" Madame Giry called, actually grasping his arm to stop him from
leaving. "What's the matter?"
"You
want to stare at the freak, too, Madame?!" Erik turned on her furiously,
his eyes blazing. "Go ahead and
look!"
"No,
that's not it!" Giry fired back with her own temper of the Irish
persuasion. "I want to know what
happened!"
"I'll
tell you... your precious new dancer tried to rape Meg! If it hadn't been for me, she would've been
returned to you in a far worse state than a mere coma! If at all!" Erik yelled. "But monsters aren't allowed to be
noble are they?! No! In that case, I'll happily slink off into
the night with the other blood-suckers, if you don't mind!"
"I
do mind!" Giry's eyes narrowed like a cat's.
"Well,
I'm afraid, I'm going to have to be exceedingly rude, then. Goodnight, Madame Giry." Erik seethed,
forcing his way out the door, back into the cold night.
"Wait! What shall I tell Meg when she comes
around?" Giry called after him, squinting to see the black shape that
stalked off.
"Tell
her that the choice is up to her."