Two Hearts Divided

Christine still clutched Erik's mask. He was pacing the room, now. She looked down at it, then across the room at him. She had, by this time, stopped crying. In fact, now that she had gotten used to the sight of Erik's face, she suddenly wondered what had upset her to such an extreme. She had been in a trance. The music called to her, it drew her to his side as he played the organ. He was unaware of her actions and she couldn't help herself, she had to snatch the mask away and see her angel for herself. Seeing his face for the first time was so shocking she screamed. "What a fool I've made of myself," she thought.

Just as she was about to express these thoughts to him, Erik strode very purposefully in her direction. She handed him his mask which he slipped back in place and then he reached down and took her wrist, pulling her to her feet from where she had sunk to the floor weeping, only moments ago.

"Come. I'm taking you back" he started to tug her along, and she stumbled after him. "Wait, Angel. Um…I mean, Erik."But he took no heed and trying to keep pace with his long legs she followed along in the dark. All the time knowing she'd broken his heart. How could she live with herself?

Erik led Christine down to the embankment where the black lacquered boat awaited. She tried to speak to him, but once he had taken her wrist he did not reply and said nothing. He did not even want to take her hand, she thought, mournfully. He guided her into the sleek vessel, then, stepping lightly to the rear, he reached for the pole, and began to propel them across the dark water.

Not once did he glance at her, but stayed focused on his task. Once they reached the opposite shore he leapt catlike from his position, tied the boat up, then, turning once more to her, stood, silently, and without the solicitousness he had shown previously, leaving her to scramble ungracefully from her seat. Smoothing down her rumpled dress she stood once more before him. She was glad it was dark, and even though he could see in the dark, he could not see her red and tear stained face.

Turning away, he reached for the lantern and brought it to life. Then grasping her wrist once more, pulled her along beside him. The lantern swinging from his other hand cast ghostly shadows on the tunnel walls as they passed, one long shadow and one smaller one, flickering, growing and shrinking in turn.

Before she knew it, they were at the back side of the mirror. He let go of her wrist, disengaging from even that small intimacy, as he felt for the lever that pivoted the mirror open into her dressing room.

"There. Home, safe and sound." He said coldly. "I rather expect that fool, Raoul, is still waiting for you. Good luck to him. Good luck to you both." Christine paled at his harsh words, and before she could throw herself at his feet and beg his forgiveness, before she could say how she didn't think she could live without him in her life. Before she could say anything at all … he had slipped back into the darkness and all she saw was her own wretched reflection staring back at her.

Once beyond the mirror and alone in the darkness, Erik leaned against the stone wall to recover. Never in all his years of travel, of bondage and torture, of murder and escape. Of magic and music. Never, of all the things he'd ever experienced or felt, had he felt so hurt and so betrayed. Christine was his beating heart. She had given him the desire to care, to open himself to the child she had been, weeping for her father. He had comforted her. Had seen her potential. He had trained her voice so that the whole world was beginning to take notice of the little former ballet dancer. The orphan girl all of Paris was taking to its heart. He had set her on that stage. Had made her visible to Raoul.

Yes, Raoul had known her first. Maybe even loved her in his own weak way. But his simple affection was nothing, nothing compared to the grand passion Erik felt for Christine. He could put the world at her feet. She had only to ask and anything, anything she wanted, he would have done for her.

He felt too drained to even move. So he paused there, his head tilted back, eyes closed, one booted foot against the wall behind him. "Fool," he muttered. He wasn't speaking of Raoul. "I flew too close to that damned sun. I saw what life could have been… with her at my side." he thought to himself.

He heard something that caused him to stand up straight and open his eyes, peering through the mirror against his will.

It was Christine. She was pressed up against the mirror, her head encircled by her arms, weeping. Her tears ran down the glass. It was everything he could do not to trace their path.

"Oh Erik, my Angel. Please, please forgive me" she sobbed.

And for a moment he was tempted. Tempted to throw open the mirror and take her in his arms and carry her away, back to the depths of the cellars, back to the Opera Ghost's kingdom.

But the hurt was too deep. How could he ever believe her or trust her ever again. So, instead, he bent to retrieve the lantern, opened the small glass door and blew out the flame plunging all into the blackest of blacks and the shadow that had once stood gazing into the light retreated now into the depths of that eternal night that was the Paris Opera House's fifth cellar.