"Dammit, Christine!" He whirled on her, eyes behind the mask enflamed
with raging ire. "Did you think I would not find out?"
"Erik, no!" She took a trembling, frightened step back, the tears beginning to stream down her porcelain-white face. A face, save for the tiny red splotches on each cheek, that was as white as the full face mask he wore. "It... It wasn't what you think?"
"No? Christine.... I was there!" He too two quick, angry steps towards her, but behind her was a wall and she could not step back. "I saw you! I saw you in his arms, swooning as he whispered how he would help you, keep you safe... I heard you, Christine, heard you begging him to take you away..." He turned away abruptly, the icicles of hurt, betrayed anguish shattering a heart that he had for so long hidden. If only he'd never shown it at all... "Away, Christine... Away from me!" The last word ended in a low, sad wail of desolation.
His back, slumped and etched with defeat, was to her; she could have escaped. Indeed, she took two flighty steps towards the large, oaken door that would lead out, but then she glanced back over her shoulder, and stopped. She couldn't. She couldn't just leave him like this. He was crying again, the eloquent agony sketching his shaking shoulders and trembling posture. The radiance of his pain so profound that it nearly broke her own flitting heart, and she wished, for just a moment, that Raoul had disappeared into her past for good.
"Oh, Erik..." She whispered very softly.
He didn't seem to hear, even when he turned to her. "Why, Christine? Why? I would have laid all of Paris at your feet, but for you to stay with me... but for a kind word, a touch, your love!" He fell, sobbing still.
She flinched back, and opened her mouth to say something, but he went on, cutting her off.
"Why him, Christine? Why this little chap?" He turned away suddenly, words dripping suddenly with bitterness and disgust. "Ah, but I know this, don't I? Yes... Your handsome little man, who hold a title, walk down la rue at noon, give you baubles and riches beyond your dreams... All I could give you is pittle compared to that, hmm, Christine? After all, all I could give you is love!"
"Erik!" She gasped, taken aback by his words, her cheeks flushing and chasing some of the ghostly white away. "That's not fair!"
"Fair, Christine?" He uttered a sharp bark of hoarse, humorless laughter, and she flinched again, this time from her own alliterations. "You can speak to me of fair?"
She heard, rather than saw, the mask being torn from his face and she shut her eyes-not wanting to see-as he turned to her again gain.
He grabbed her wrist, and she jumped, as startled by the deathly chill of his skin, as by the unexpected touch itself. He very rarely touched her, as though he feared that she would pull away, which she almost did. Then she winced again as she felt the spongy, cold, scarred skin of his face, wet from his tears, as he forced her hand to touch his cheek.
When he spoke again, the anger had momentarily subsided to pained self-loathing. "Yes, my beauty. My angel, who cannot bear to meet my eyes, or to view my face unmasked. I know. I know, my beloved... This face, which drove my mother to the brink of madness out of fear, and earned my father's hatred. This face which makes even me scrabble to don the one thing that has never judged me; my mask. This face which brings your loathing, and poisons our love..."
Slowly, she opened her eyes, and stopped struggling to pull her hand away. His eyes were dark, terribly sad, but not cold. They were never cold when they beheld her. Her hand on his cheek, gradually relaxed, until it cupped his injured cheek unforced by his own. "Oh, Erik..." She whispered softly. "Erik..."
His eyes, his heart, his feelings were magnetic, and she felt drawn to him, even beginning to let him pull her close.
Then Raoul made his untimely appearance.
"Free her!" He yelled at Erik, who jerked as though he had been run through.
Erik turned to him, eyes going flat in a venomous glance so chilling that Christine took a fearful step away, exceedingly grateful that the look wasn't directed at her.
"M'sieur le Vicomte." The words fell like shattering, deadly glass, and even Raoul seemed to hesitate. "So glad that you could come..."
"Do what you will, Erik, but let her go!" Raoul pressed, rather bravely, Christine thought, as he was going against a man so much swifter, stronger, smarter, and angry.
"I'm glad you came, M'sieur. I have longed for such a clash." Erik continued as though Raoul hadn't spoken, one hand flicking the switch that would allow Raoul into the room. Mockingly, he sketched Raoul a welcoming bow, then moved away as Raoul surged forward and swept Christine into his arms.
Raoul was caught up in the feeling of having Christine safe in his arms again, his again, he didn't notice Erik, who carried a thin, braided rope in his gloved hands, move behind him. He remembered Mme Giry's admonition
(("Keep your hands at the level of your eyes..."))
too late, as he felt the scratchy rope of the Punjab lasso slipped around his neck and pull tight.
Erik danced away, releasing the other end of the noose only to have it dangle, as if by magic, in the air.
Triumphantly, he roared with laughter, mocking Raoul as he put a hand to his forehead. "Raise up your hand to the level of your eyes! Nothing can save you now..." For a brief moment, Erik felt as though things were rushing too quickly for him to keep control, and he felt the impending tragedy that loomed, but he ignored it as a new idea-a way for him to keep Christine-lodged itself feverishly in his maddened brain. "Nothing... except perhaps Christine..."
He turned to her. "Yes, Christine... Stay with me, love me, do as I say.... And I will let him go... Refuse me and you send your lover to his grave!" He recalled one of the songs from his opera, "This is the choice, Christine, this is the point of no return!"
"Christine, no!" Raoul struggled to be free, and to call out to Christine at the same time. "No, my life is nothing without you!... For God's sake, Christine, tell him no!"
Christine stared at Erik, hardly hearing Raoul's please. At first, she was torn, grieving at the choice she had known, from the beginning, that she would have to make, and then an overwhelming anger-one such that she had never known before-bubbled up. He, who lied to her, spied on her, frightened her, dragged her down to this darkness by force, no strove to sever any soft feelings she could possibly have for him? Yet, she couldn't just leave Raoul to die. She had no doubt Erik would follow through with his plan, and how could she leave Raoul to that? Dear, sweet, innocent Raoul who hadn't know what he was up against, and had sought only to save her from this...
"Angel of Music, you've betrayed me..." She muttered thickly past the large lump that remained in her throat. "I gave my mind blindly..."
He turned away from her, aching under the cold hatred in her tone, but knowing it was too late to go back now. "You try my patience, Christine," he whispered, hoarsely. "Make your choice."
She hesitated a moment, studying his back, and trying to push away her own sadness and pity for him. She had to hold on to her anger, now, had to keep her feelings well contained. Yet, she couldn't prevent the escape of a small sigh, as she whispered, "oh, Erik... What has become of you? I only hope that I am enough to free you from your darkness..."
She ignored Raoul's shocked grimace, and took two decisive steps towards Erik. She forced him to turn to her, and then, ignoring his own look of surprise, pulled his face down to hers and kissed him deeply on the lips.
It was nothing like she had expected, she noted abstractedly as she deepened the kiss. Whereas the rest of his was so cold to the touch, his lips were warmer, and tasted faintly of brandy. Only the slightest returning pressure showed that he was trying-as much as he could or dared- to kiss back, and pressed closer. Amazingly, she no longer wanted to shove him away... It was as though all her anger, and anguish over the past few weeks were gone, and her heart was at peace. She knew, now, where she belonged.
Erik had never been kissed before, not even by his own mother, who had fled from the very sight of him, and the meeting of Christine's lips with his own was unlike anything he had ever dreamed. Her lips were as warm as the rest of her was, and she trembled slightly as she pressed up to him. He raised his arms, which trembled themselves with shock and emotion, desperate to touch her, to hold her close, and yet just as frightened to. Too frightened. his arms hung there, so near to pulling her close, shaking with effort in the conflict between his heart and his fear, and yet he could not do it, he could not pull her close.
At last, it was she who pulled away, staring up at him, her lips slightly swollen from the kiss. He stared back down at her for a long moment, still shocked by the kiss, and grieving by what he knew he had to do. He would release her, let her go with her little man. He could do no less. That kiss had changed everything. His heart tore with wanting of her, and knowing that, in but a few short moments, his beloved Christine would be gone from his life entirely. Life? What a laugh. There would be no life without his beautiful angel.
Slowly, he moved to where Raoul stood, noting without satisfaction the despair and anger in his rival's eyes. As he moved, he picked up a candle from one of the tables, and brought the open flame to the rope around Raoul's throat. Burned, the rope dropped, harmless, to the cold, stone floor.
Raoul, now free, rushed over to Christine. "Christine." He murmured, his own tears scratching his voice, "no... don't do this..."
Erik flinched from where he stood, but forced the word out, nonetheless. "Go." He was careful not to meet Christine's eyes. He could hear people moving in the labyrinth; they were coming from him, then. Perhaps that was for the best, but he had to see Christine safe from there first. There was no telling what they would do to her if they caught her down there with him.
Christine moved to Erik's side, thinking he spoke the word to Raoul alone. She was careful not to raise her eyes from the floor, and was surprised to feel Erik's gloved fingers lifting her chin, forcing her to look up at him. His eyes were still warm, but as unreadable as the expression of his mask.
"No, Christine." He whispered, very gently. "Go. Go with your little chap, Christine."
She stared up at him in shock, the words slowly sinking in. "Erik?" She questioned, bewildered by this sudden, unexpected change in events.
"Go, Christine. Leave me here, go with your man, and be free. He glanced to Raoul, speaking softly but with certainty. "Take the skiff, and go. Don't let them find you."
Raoul nodded once, not chancing his luck, then came forward to take Christine's arm and lead her out. Christine continued to stare at Erik for a moment more, turned mechanically, and allowed Raoul to take her away.
Erik was able to keep his facade of outward calm and strength only as long as Christine was there. As soon as the outer door closed, however, Erik crumbled, the tears streamed down his torn face, and his heart trembled and broke. His angel, his beloved angel, was gone, forever.
"Christine..." Her name came out a strangled sob. "Oh, Christine..."
He heard the door click shut and his head snapped up, startled. Had the mob come that quickly? Was Christine safe from them? His vision was slightly blurred from his wet, burning, salty anguish, and he blinked a few times to clear it.
There stood Christine, holding something in her trembling, pale, little hands.
"Christine?" This time, it was her name that was questioning.
Without speech, she moved to him, holding out her hand. In her palm, lay his ring; the gold band shimmered in the flickering candlelight, a flash of color in her pale hand. No, she wouldn't stay, but she would try to give back his ring, the one bauble that he had been able to give her?
"No, Christine." He said, gruffly, shaking his head and closing her palm gently over the ring. "Please, keep it."
She tried to protest, but he shook his head again, lifting his free hand-the one that didn't hold hers-and shaking off the glove. Then he gently grazed her cheek with his knuckles, reveling in the last feel of her satiny skin.
"For me..." He murmured, softly. "Please keep the ring, Christine, and remember me. Remember your angel..."
The desolation in his eyes and tone was heartbreaking, and she struggled with the sudden urge to declare, right then and there, her love for him. But to do that and then leave? No, she couldn't do that... Instead, she tightened her hand around the ring, and nodded. "I'll never forget you... mon Ange..." She whispered, then stood on tiptoe to kiss him once on his scarred cheek. Before he could respond, she pulled away, and hurried out, hardly noticing when the tears began to fall again.
"Erik, no!" She took a trembling, frightened step back, the tears beginning to stream down her porcelain-white face. A face, save for the tiny red splotches on each cheek, that was as white as the full face mask he wore. "It... It wasn't what you think?"
"No? Christine.... I was there!" He too two quick, angry steps towards her, but behind her was a wall and she could not step back. "I saw you! I saw you in his arms, swooning as he whispered how he would help you, keep you safe... I heard you, Christine, heard you begging him to take you away..." He turned away abruptly, the icicles of hurt, betrayed anguish shattering a heart that he had for so long hidden. If only he'd never shown it at all... "Away, Christine... Away from me!" The last word ended in a low, sad wail of desolation.
His back, slumped and etched with defeat, was to her; she could have escaped. Indeed, she took two flighty steps towards the large, oaken door that would lead out, but then she glanced back over her shoulder, and stopped. She couldn't. She couldn't just leave him like this. He was crying again, the eloquent agony sketching his shaking shoulders and trembling posture. The radiance of his pain so profound that it nearly broke her own flitting heart, and she wished, for just a moment, that Raoul had disappeared into her past for good.
"Oh, Erik..." She whispered very softly.
He didn't seem to hear, even when he turned to her. "Why, Christine? Why? I would have laid all of Paris at your feet, but for you to stay with me... but for a kind word, a touch, your love!" He fell, sobbing still.
She flinched back, and opened her mouth to say something, but he went on, cutting her off.
"Why him, Christine? Why this little chap?" He turned away suddenly, words dripping suddenly with bitterness and disgust. "Ah, but I know this, don't I? Yes... Your handsome little man, who hold a title, walk down la rue at noon, give you baubles and riches beyond your dreams... All I could give you is pittle compared to that, hmm, Christine? After all, all I could give you is love!"
"Erik!" She gasped, taken aback by his words, her cheeks flushing and chasing some of the ghostly white away. "That's not fair!"
"Fair, Christine?" He uttered a sharp bark of hoarse, humorless laughter, and she flinched again, this time from her own alliterations. "You can speak to me of fair?"
She heard, rather than saw, the mask being torn from his face and she shut her eyes-not wanting to see-as he turned to her again gain.
He grabbed her wrist, and she jumped, as startled by the deathly chill of his skin, as by the unexpected touch itself. He very rarely touched her, as though he feared that she would pull away, which she almost did. Then she winced again as she felt the spongy, cold, scarred skin of his face, wet from his tears, as he forced her hand to touch his cheek.
When he spoke again, the anger had momentarily subsided to pained self-loathing. "Yes, my beauty. My angel, who cannot bear to meet my eyes, or to view my face unmasked. I know. I know, my beloved... This face, which drove my mother to the brink of madness out of fear, and earned my father's hatred. This face which makes even me scrabble to don the one thing that has never judged me; my mask. This face which brings your loathing, and poisons our love..."
Slowly, she opened her eyes, and stopped struggling to pull her hand away. His eyes were dark, terribly sad, but not cold. They were never cold when they beheld her. Her hand on his cheek, gradually relaxed, until it cupped his injured cheek unforced by his own. "Oh, Erik..." She whispered softly. "Erik..."
His eyes, his heart, his feelings were magnetic, and she felt drawn to him, even beginning to let him pull her close.
Then Raoul made his untimely appearance.
"Free her!" He yelled at Erik, who jerked as though he had been run through.
Erik turned to him, eyes going flat in a venomous glance so chilling that Christine took a fearful step away, exceedingly grateful that the look wasn't directed at her.
"M'sieur le Vicomte." The words fell like shattering, deadly glass, and even Raoul seemed to hesitate. "So glad that you could come..."
"Do what you will, Erik, but let her go!" Raoul pressed, rather bravely, Christine thought, as he was going against a man so much swifter, stronger, smarter, and angry.
"I'm glad you came, M'sieur. I have longed for such a clash." Erik continued as though Raoul hadn't spoken, one hand flicking the switch that would allow Raoul into the room. Mockingly, he sketched Raoul a welcoming bow, then moved away as Raoul surged forward and swept Christine into his arms.
Raoul was caught up in the feeling of having Christine safe in his arms again, his again, he didn't notice Erik, who carried a thin, braided rope in his gloved hands, move behind him. He remembered Mme Giry's admonition
(("Keep your hands at the level of your eyes..."))
too late, as he felt the scratchy rope of the Punjab lasso slipped around his neck and pull tight.
Erik danced away, releasing the other end of the noose only to have it dangle, as if by magic, in the air.
Triumphantly, he roared with laughter, mocking Raoul as he put a hand to his forehead. "Raise up your hand to the level of your eyes! Nothing can save you now..." For a brief moment, Erik felt as though things were rushing too quickly for him to keep control, and he felt the impending tragedy that loomed, but he ignored it as a new idea-a way for him to keep Christine-lodged itself feverishly in his maddened brain. "Nothing... except perhaps Christine..."
He turned to her. "Yes, Christine... Stay with me, love me, do as I say.... And I will let him go... Refuse me and you send your lover to his grave!" He recalled one of the songs from his opera, "This is the choice, Christine, this is the point of no return!"
"Christine, no!" Raoul struggled to be free, and to call out to Christine at the same time. "No, my life is nothing without you!... For God's sake, Christine, tell him no!"
Christine stared at Erik, hardly hearing Raoul's please. At first, she was torn, grieving at the choice she had known, from the beginning, that she would have to make, and then an overwhelming anger-one such that she had never known before-bubbled up. He, who lied to her, spied on her, frightened her, dragged her down to this darkness by force, no strove to sever any soft feelings she could possibly have for him? Yet, she couldn't just leave Raoul to die. She had no doubt Erik would follow through with his plan, and how could she leave Raoul to that? Dear, sweet, innocent Raoul who hadn't know what he was up against, and had sought only to save her from this...
"Angel of Music, you've betrayed me..." She muttered thickly past the large lump that remained in her throat. "I gave my mind blindly..."
He turned away from her, aching under the cold hatred in her tone, but knowing it was too late to go back now. "You try my patience, Christine," he whispered, hoarsely. "Make your choice."
She hesitated a moment, studying his back, and trying to push away her own sadness and pity for him. She had to hold on to her anger, now, had to keep her feelings well contained. Yet, she couldn't prevent the escape of a small sigh, as she whispered, "oh, Erik... What has become of you? I only hope that I am enough to free you from your darkness..."
She ignored Raoul's shocked grimace, and took two decisive steps towards Erik. She forced him to turn to her, and then, ignoring his own look of surprise, pulled his face down to hers and kissed him deeply on the lips.
It was nothing like she had expected, she noted abstractedly as she deepened the kiss. Whereas the rest of his was so cold to the touch, his lips were warmer, and tasted faintly of brandy. Only the slightest returning pressure showed that he was trying-as much as he could or dared- to kiss back, and pressed closer. Amazingly, she no longer wanted to shove him away... It was as though all her anger, and anguish over the past few weeks were gone, and her heart was at peace. She knew, now, where she belonged.
Erik had never been kissed before, not even by his own mother, who had fled from the very sight of him, and the meeting of Christine's lips with his own was unlike anything he had ever dreamed. Her lips were as warm as the rest of her was, and she trembled slightly as she pressed up to him. He raised his arms, which trembled themselves with shock and emotion, desperate to touch her, to hold her close, and yet just as frightened to. Too frightened. his arms hung there, so near to pulling her close, shaking with effort in the conflict between his heart and his fear, and yet he could not do it, he could not pull her close.
At last, it was she who pulled away, staring up at him, her lips slightly swollen from the kiss. He stared back down at her for a long moment, still shocked by the kiss, and grieving by what he knew he had to do. He would release her, let her go with her little man. He could do no less. That kiss had changed everything. His heart tore with wanting of her, and knowing that, in but a few short moments, his beloved Christine would be gone from his life entirely. Life? What a laugh. There would be no life without his beautiful angel.
Slowly, he moved to where Raoul stood, noting without satisfaction the despair and anger in his rival's eyes. As he moved, he picked up a candle from one of the tables, and brought the open flame to the rope around Raoul's throat. Burned, the rope dropped, harmless, to the cold, stone floor.
Raoul, now free, rushed over to Christine. "Christine." He murmured, his own tears scratching his voice, "no... don't do this..."
Erik flinched from where he stood, but forced the word out, nonetheless. "Go." He was careful not to meet Christine's eyes. He could hear people moving in the labyrinth; they were coming from him, then. Perhaps that was for the best, but he had to see Christine safe from there first. There was no telling what they would do to her if they caught her down there with him.
Christine moved to Erik's side, thinking he spoke the word to Raoul alone. She was careful not to raise her eyes from the floor, and was surprised to feel Erik's gloved fingers lifting her chin, forcing her to look up at him. His eyes were still warm, but as unreadable as the expression of his mask.
"No, Christine." He whispered, very gently. "Go. Go with your little chap, Christine."
She stared up at him in shock, the words slowly sinking in. "Erik?" She questioned, bewildered by this sudden, unexpected change in events.
"Go, Christine. Leave me here, go with your man, and be free. He glanced to Raoul, speaking softly but with certainty. "Take the skiff, and go. Don't let them find you."
Raoul nodded once, not chancing his luck, then came forward to take Christine's arm and lead her out. Christine continued to stare at Erik for a moment more, turned mechanically, and allowed Raoul to take her away.
Erik was able to keep his facade of outward calm and strength only as long as Christine was there. As soon as the outer door closed, however, Erik crumbled, the tears streamed down his torn face, and his heart trembled and broke. His angel, his beloved angel, was gone, forever.
"Christine..." Her name came out a strangled sob. "Oh, Christine..."
He heard the door click shut and his head snapped up, startled. Had the mob come that quickly? Was Christine safe from them? His vision was slightly blurred from his wet, burning, salty anguish, and he blinked a few times to clear it.
There stood Christine, holding something in her trembling, pale, little hands.
"Christine?" This time, it was her name that was questioning.
Without speech, she moved to him, holding out her hand. In her palm, lay his ring; the gold band shimmered in the flickering candlelight, a flash of color in her pale hand. No, she wouldn't stay, but she would try to give back his ring, the one bauble that he had been able to give her?
"No, Christine." He said, gruffly, shaking his head and closing her palm gently over the ring. "Please, keep it."
She tried to protest, but he shook his head again, lifting his free hand-the one that didn't hold hers-and shaking off the glove. Then he gently grazed her cheek with his knuckles, reveling in the last feel of her satiny skin.
"For me..." He murmured, softly. "Please keep the ring, Christine, and remember me. Remember your angel..."
The desolation in his eyes and tone was heartbreaking, and she struggled with the sudden urge to declare, right then and there, her love for him. But to do that and then leave? No, she couldn't do that... Instead, she tightened her hand around the ring, and nodded. "I'll never forget you... mon Ange..." She whispered, then stood on tiptoe to kiss him once on his scarred cheek. Before he could respond, she pulled away, and hurried out, hardly noticing when the tears began to fall again.