In My Darkness: La Chatte Noire

Chapter Twenty-Seven: I Have to Go Back

Chapter Twenty-Seven: I Have to Go Back

"Camillé? Bien-Aimée, where are you hiding?" Erik called as he strode into the lair.

She had been hiding from him all day long. It was becoming irritating very quickly, especially when he actually did wish to speak with her. But no, she was nowhere to be found. It was times like this that he cursed himself for having fallen in love with a woman much too similar to him. He had already checked all her favorite places in la Maison d'Opera. She wasn't in any of them. Not the roof, not his – their box, not the Prima Donna's room, not the rafters, not anywhere. It was like she had disappeared off the face of the planet. He briefly thought about her going to the docks in La Havre, but there was nothing there for her.

Then something came to mind and he scowled. No, that wasn't possible in the least. The White Camellia wasn't in port as far as he knew, and someone in the Opera House would know if it was. Ever since he had stopped by the Populaire for the first time, the ballet rats had been all but obsessed with young Captain Merrick, some to the point of it being unhealthy. He was sure that if Daniel was in Paris, they would know. So where was she? There was nowhere else in Paris she liked more than their Opera House.

Erik recalled her saying something about scouting out more priests to marry them, but he doubted that would be a fruitful endeavor. They had been searching for almost a year now (it was only a month before their second anniversary), and had revealed nothing. All of them would be unwilling, no matter what the pay, to marry the two. Whenever they asked why, the priest told them that they wouldn't marry someone who couldn't pledge themselves to the Holy Lord. That… was an issue. Erik had long since stopped believing in God, if he had ever believed, and Camillé wasn't particularly partial to Him. She had grown up believing in Him, but hadn't exactly conformed to the regular Catholic lifestyle, and so her belief had waned over the years. As a result, finding a priest to marry them had proven difficult.

He sighed and opened the curtain that held his current pride and joy. He had finally finished it. The white wedding dress was beautiful, with the lace in the front of the dress, the sleeves hanging to the sides… he could imagine Camillé in the dress and it brought a smile to his face. No matter how long he had to wait, it would be worth it to see her in this dress, to marry her. Just the thought made him grin. It was almost frightening how much he loved her. After all that had happened to him… the neglect and abuse of his mother, the near death at the hands of the Shah of Persia, and the torture of the Gypsies… he was surprised that he still had it in him to love. Perhaps he hadn't. But Camillé had taught him to love again, slowly but surely. Once he was beginning to fall, he had fallen hard and fast. He wondered if it was the same for her or if the process had been slower, faster… he suddenly wanted to know.

Erik turned around. "Bien-Aimée, may I ask you –" he didn't finish his sentence, letting it ring into silence.

Bien sur. He had forgotten that she wasn't home. It was beginning to frighten him, how long she had been out. She was almost never away from him this long, and never of her own volition. The last time she had been away so long had been the same night that they had confessed their love for each other. He smiled lightly at the thought then pushed it away. Erik was worried now… and he was going to go find her, no matter how long it took. He laced up his boots and tied his cloak about his neck, not bothering with his ascot or his dress jacket. It was the middle of August, and very warm. He was certainly not in the mood to overheat. His steps echoed as he strode across the lair to the outside exit.

She stepped out just before he reached it. He smirked and pulled her in for a kiss when he noticed that she was crying. His expression dropped and he gently led her to the organ bench, sitting her down.