Christine too was dreaming, far under the city of Paris, wrapped in ripped sheets her dream started with a beach, she was a child. Raoul rushed into the cool water to get her favored red scarf as the scarf turned into a blade killing him at once. She screamed in terror then longing as the scarf turned into her father reaching for her, calling her to the realm of death. A masked angel appears bearing large white wings and singing the song of god, as her father turns into flames, cursing the angel, screaming eternal damn nation. Some where in the distance played the haunted music box, the music became louder and louder the more awake Christine became. The memory of the last few hours was miles away from her as she wrapped her arms around herself for warmth, cold seemed to have taken her over. She was vaguely aware of a scent, the scent of dust and feces, the bed was not one she recognized, her eyes shot open taking in the unfamiliar. The night before came flooding back to her wave upon wave, she remembered leaving Raoul at the hospital in an unwell state, she remembered traveling through sewage and rat infested water to the labyrinth of her angel. She remembered her angel not casting her with the loving eye she had become accustom to. She stood from the bed and peaked from behind the wall in search of her companion. None to her surprise he was situated in front of the large organ, repairing the broken keys.
“Good morning.” she whispered not wanting to call to much attention to herself and anger him for ruining concentration, he did n’t answer nor move to her dismay. She stood next to him now, noting the detail in his work, he was not only fixing the organ but recreating it. He looked up at her, they had been here before, she mused recalling the first time she’d seen him without his mask. He seemed not to fear that moment this time, instead he nodded toward a small table filled with breads and cheeses. Delighted Christine ate watching him intently. Hours seemed to pass without sound or movement from the phantom, he worked on the organ, barely glancing in Christine’s direction as she moved about the labyrinth examining some passages and voyaging through the sludge.
“I will return.” broke the silence and Christine’s concentration causing her to slip on the wet floor.
“Where are you going?” she asked excited. But he did not answer, he merely put on his cape and stroll toward one of many doors. There was no backward glance, no real goodbye. “Hurry back.” she said to herself sadly.
Two days had passed before Vincent had checked to see that Christine was doing alright, each day more food was laid out and candles lit. “Do you know where he has gone?” She asked as she drank warm broth.
“No. He doesn’t usually say, he’ll return though don’t you worry.” as if on cue the door he had exited swung open and in the night, Erik stood.
“Come.” he demanded of Christine. She stood and without speaking followed him to a carriage. The windows were painted black, the silk interior was too, deep black. “Thank you Vincent.” she heard before her phantom joined her in the carriage. It jolted forward without warning pushing Christine back into the chair.
“Where are we going?” she asked timidly. But again received no answer. “Have I angered you?”
“No.”
“Then why do you not speak to me.”
“I have no answer for you.” it was plain and simple. Nothing fancy, nothing great, his answer was the truth. Christine marveled and sat in silence until the carriage stopped. The door swung open and a man helped Christine out. She stepped onto the stone and looked up, before her was a small house made of stone and molder. She had not seen a house more romantic in her life, she squinted, there was red across the door. Red that looked like it may be a sign of a house marked, when the plague had struck with force some houses had been marked so people would stay away. She walked toward the building to find there was more red, ‘monster’ and ‘evil’ had been written.
“This is your house.” she commented half to herself.
“Yes.”
“When you were a boy?”
“Yes.” he opened the door for her and as she took the first step inside she felt the warmth she’s been missing. The living room had a roaring fire, everything was neat and tidy. This is where he’d been, making her a home. A smile touched her face as she roamed from room to room, up the stairs, through the bedrooms, she turned to another set of stairs.
“Not there.” he said behind her.
“No? What’s up there?”
“Just the attic.” there was pain in his voice.
“Oh, alright.” she moved to another part of the house and once all had been seen they settled in the study with tea. “Tell me of your life dear one. I know so little.”
“You know nothing.”
“Teach me, let me learn, let me love you blindly as I already do.”
“Love you say, I know very little about love.”
“You shall teach me about music and you, I shall teach your of love.” Faintly a smile crossed Erik’s face.
“I was born in this house, my mother was an orphan and a widow. My life was a trial. I was reminded daily what a horrible mistake I had been.”
“Oh.” Christine gasped.
“My mother didn’t even want to name me, she asked the priest to do so.”
“And?”
“Erik, my name is Erik after the priest himself.”
“What a perfect name.” she smiled at him. They talked for hours, Erik told Christine about his life, and what brought him to live at the opera house. How Madam Giry had shown him the only acceptance he’d known. How he’d never known the difference of right and wrong from a mother who feared him and gave into him out of fear. How she would beat him then hold him begging her god for forgiveness.
“You do not believe?”
“In your god?”
“Yes.” Christine sounded shocked. “Surely a man of great intellect would believe in the higher power.”
He became angry at her words “What kind of god finds humor in making this?” he threw his mask to the floor, standing quickly. “He too took your beloved father Christine, don’t forget that.” Erik sat down again, replacing his mask.
“Leave it.” she said softly still taken by his outburst, he looked at her quizzicality. “The mask, don’t put it on. I would like to see your face.”
“Are you mad?” he asked half smiling.
“No, you’re face holds no demons for me. I do not fear it. It is part of you, and you are the man I have chosen.”
“You once said my soul was distorted.” Erik asked placing the mask on his lap.
“I was full of anger and fear.”
“You are no longer afraid?” his eyes held so much hope.
“Erik” the sound of his name from her mouth sent sparks through his body, sparks he’d never felt before. “ I don’t fear you, you will never harm me. This I know. For I shall never betray you.” Christine set her tea on the table and rose to stand in front of him she leaned into his face brushing her lips against his, she ran her hand to part of his face marred by birth defects. Softly she caressed it. He grabbed her hand harshly, “Don’t.” he pushed her off of him and moved as far away from her as he could get. Christine was on the floor, tears poured from her eyes.
“Why?” she asked
“I can’t explain. Please Christine, Please don’t be angry with me. Give me time.” still crying Christine stood to join him. She stroked his painful face softly before whispering “My love if time is what you need, you shall have all you require.” she took her leave then, heading up the stairs to an empty room Erik had filled with red roses, each one tied with a black ribbon. Once in the warmth of the bed Christine cried until her body gave up on her and she fell into a deep sleep.
Erik felt awful, finally he had what he’d longed for, for so long. His Christine, his angel of music, and she was giving herself to him. But nothing seemed to comfort him. He was actually scared of her, she returned his love and yet by doing so told him he was a liar and wrong about something. Erik had never known what it was to be wrong, he’d never guessed that Christine would return, he seemed to be waiting for her to leave him, realize that he was indeed a monster and head for her lover, the viscount. Sleep would not come for the phantom tonight, he sat in the small attic room he once adorned as his own. Memories of his childhood playing over in his mind. He vowed at that moment to try harder to accept that maybe Christine was indeed in love with him. He’d won.
Chapter Five
