Christine goes into the empty bedroom at the end of the dark hall.
She says, Good night, Raoul, and he says, Good night, Christine. She shuts her door, smiling, a wicked gleam in her eye. She goes to the dresser, and takes her silvery friend in her hand, running her thumb over the shiny, smooth surface, and tucks it between her bodice and her corset, because tonight is her night, and no other's.
I'm coming, Erik, she says, and in the darkness she knows she hears him say I'll be waiting, Christine.
The fall from the window wounds Christine, for her ankle snaps upon impact, but Christine no longer feels pain, because feeling left her long ago. She hobbles down the Paris streets, not really seeing, not really caring, her body without a soul and her mind without a thought. The Opera house looms into view, black and locked up, like an old forgotten house on the edge of town that no one is brave enough to enter, and Christine's mind is telling her to turn around and go back home, screaming and awake after sleeping dormant for so long, but Christine ignores it, because tonight is her night, and no other's.
She travels without light to the little house by the lake, her breath hitching and catching because of her ruined ankle, but still she keeps going. The door is open and she goes inside, into the room where her Angel sleeps in his coffin.
Hello, Erik.
Hello, Christine. I've been waiting for you.
But Erik hasn't really been waiting for her. But Christine does not realise this, because a mind without thought has nothing to realise, so she proceeds to undress and lie in the coffin next to the man whose own clothing has been discarded weeks ago. She rubs her hands all over his body, which is covered in dried blood from the last time she had come to him.
Do you love me, Erik?
I love you, Christine.
Am I beautiful, Erik?
You are beautiful, Christine.
Will we always be together, Erik?
There is only one way, Christine.
Christine, Christine, there is only one way, so Christine takes herself and forces Erik completely inside, thrusting her hips and making no sound of the farce that is her satisfaction. She doesn't feel, she doesn't care, and there is nothing inside, her heart is completely devoid of love. When she is finished, she goes to retrieve her silver little friend, then goes back to the Angel, who lies naked in the coffin, brown from old blood. Christine takes her silver friend and drags him along her arm, her eyes widening in joy from the line of red trailing after it. She makes another line, another, another, another, another, until her arms run red.
Is this good, Erik?
Very good, Christine.
She takes her sliver friend and places it on her chest, making a long cut from one shoulder to the other. She breaks through the skin on her stomach and legs, and cuts her forehead and jaw. Her body is scarlet, for tonight is her night, and no other's.
Do you like this, Erik?
I like it, Christine.
Will we always be together, Erik?
There is only one way, Christine.
Christine straddles the Angel, her thighs gripping his hips, and she presses her bleeding body to his, covering his chest and stomach in fresh ruby red. Erik does not move, for dead men do not move, but to Christine this is but a minor inconvenience. Her blood flows onto him and Christine whispers into his unhearing ears.
Everything is perfect, Erik. The world is perfect. Suddenly...my life doesn't seem like it was wasted.
The Angel's silent lips say into Christine's mind, There is only one way, Christine.
Christine knows the way, and she leaves the room, body rushing with adrenaline, and she leaves the house, and runs as quickly as possible from underneath the abandoned, lonely opera. To the roof, the roof, where we will be safe, where he will not see, and no one will see. And no one will ever know. To the roof, the roof, leave behind the scarlet trail, go to your fate which lies ahead, ready for you to take. Christine stands on the edge, toes curling over the side, as she prepares to take her final breath.
Like this, Erik?
Perfect, Christine.
Her body unable to withstand any more, she takes her silver friend and presses it to her own throat, dragging the blade over the thinly protected vein, as she utters her final words.
We will always be together, Erik.
Closing her eyes, Christine steps over the edge, arms spread as if she were a bird about to fly home, because tonight is her night, and no other's. Gracefully, she flies.
Down...
Down...
Down...
...goes the lady in red.