As soon as Christine mouthed the fatal words to Raoul, some part of her deep subconscious mind realized that she was doomed. Why she had thought Erik would not notice her subtle "I love you" she would never know.
Erik's tall, imposing frame trembled with suppressed anger, yet his sad, forlorn eyes expressed extreme hurt. He jerked on the thin, wiry rope in his hands, making Raoul's back arch with the strain of breathing.
She saw what he was going to do, and she couldn't let him kill her precious vicomte, she just couldn't! So she began to sweet-talk Erik, hoping he would loosen his grip on the death-bringing Punjab lasso. She pasted a look of pity on her face, grateful that she was a trained actress. "Poor, unhappy Erik," she crooned.
His face snapped back to hers.
"What kind of life have you known? Please, let me—"
"You don't mean that, Christine! I saw it as clear as day: you love him! You love him! And didn't your father tell you that bigamy is a sin? A sin, Christine! A sin!" He seethed angrily. "You can't be married to two people, Christine. Your God wouldn't allow it." He chuckled sinisterly and then cackled. "Oh-ho, Christine is committing a sin!"
"Erik, --"
"No, Christine, get back!" He pushed her roughly to the ground near the bank of the lake. "I was going to consider not taking this precious vicomte's life, but you have sealed his fate, just as he thought he'd sealed mine!" Another possessed cackle. "Death for the blasted vicomte!"
"No!" Christine sobbed as she buried her head in her hands. He couldn't take Raoul away from her! He was her only tie to her father!
Erik laughed maniacally and spat, "Death, death, death, death, death! Oh yes, Erik brings death, and lovely, lovely she is, too!"
Her tears spent, Christine's back heaved with dry sobs, and for once in his life of knowing her, Erik did not pay any mind to her tears. The vicomte had to die. There was simply no other way. The ghost shrugged. The notorious O.G. could not be seen showing any mercy, now, could he? Plus, with him dead and gone, Christine would forget and love him, Erik, instead. Or so he thought.
"What, sir? No sound? Do you have any final words?" Erik cupped a hand to his ear flamboyantly. "And if I get one bit of damned 'I love you' to her then I'll kill you with her watching. Do not think that you can ever trap me!" He mocked jeeringly at Raoul's oxygen-deprived face.
A gargle came from the choking aristocrat.
"That is all, monsieur? Well, I suppose it is for the best. Would you not agree, Christine?" Erik turned to the inanimate silk heap on the floor next to his organ. A small ember of guilt and pity pushed its way into his heart, but he quickly suppressed it.
He secured the taut rope, making sure the blasted vicomte was on the brink of death but not quite there yet. Then, Erik strode out of the lake and picked up Christine's heaving form. He turned to carry her away so she did not have to watch what was surely coming, but her words stopped him in his tracks.
"Erik… please… let—hic!—him go!" Her pleading voice was interrupted with hiccups from all her wasted tears.
His voice, normally so melodious, was cold and calculating as he replied, "Why should I?"
"He loves me, Erik! If you had only known that when I said those words quietly it was because I was rejecting him, you would understand! But—hic!—now he's going to die, when I tried so—hic!—hard to keep him safe! And it's all your fault!" She turned her head away and struggled in his arms. "Put me down!"
Had he heard her right? Rejection? To the vicomte? He was unsure now, and froze.
"I was going to! But now—hic!—you're going to kill him and—hic!—I can't stop it! Oh, God, help me!" She sobbed loudly before crying out, "Raoul, please forgive me!"
This latent remark caused Erik to look over at his foe. He was still, his eyes were glassy, and his tongue was bloated and sticking out of his mouth. Erik realized that the vicomte was no more. Christine was oblivious, however, and Erik saw the profit in keeping that tiny piece of information from her. He turned abruptly and carried her grieving, keening body into the Louis-Phillipe room and laid her down on the bed softly.
She shook her head to clear it and looked about. "Raoul, save me!" She cried pitifully.
Erik was torn. Do I risk my happiness for her grief? She will be so hurt, but she could come to love Erik! Yes, that's right. Erik just wants to be a man with a normal wife who he can take out in the park on a Sunday and go for a walk. Just a man, Erik just wants to be a man! He forced those thoughts down in his mind. Only Christine mattered. After all, if I love her, her happiness is my happiness, isn't it? So it can't be real love if I am not happy for her when she is happy. Oh, God. He knew what he must do.
"He is dead, Christine."
Four words. Just four. Her eyes widened like a fish out of water and her mouth gaped. She dashed out of the room, sobbed helplessly, and her eyes rolled back in her head.
Resignedly, Erik picked her up like a rag doll and took her back upstairs, laying her down gently on a fainting couch in Madame Giry's sitting room. Dejectedly, he bent over and kissed his Angel's forehead for the last time.