A wonderful house, a beautiful wife, four healthy children; everything a man could ask for, I have. That beast let Christine and I escape the Opera House, and I am in his debt for that. He let me keep my life, and as a reward, I am letting him keep his. However, I am making every waking second miserable for him. Being the Viscount de Chagny I get special privileges. I am currently working with the police to hunt down the Phantom of the Opera. I have him jumping from place to place. The police anticipate his every move. He is my pawn; I can move him as I please.
Erik is a slippery fellow though. He has escaped from the web of police that I have spun, several times. He has never gotten far. I always have an eye on him. Watching him. You could say that I am a God, but a demon like that does not even deserve a god as human as I.
Christine does not know how closely I have been trailing Erik. She knows I have been, let's say, 'lurking in the shadows', like he used to. Keeping him out of danger. The average human would scream in disgust at such a hideous rat. He stays in the dark, under the city, running from the populace, due to me. I keep him from humiliation. Christine begs me to let her see Erik. She cries about him, claims there is always gold somewhere in even the evilest hearts. She understands I know his location, but does not understand why I will not let her see her "dear friend" as she put it.
The reason I do not want her to see it is because I don't want those ugly claws touching her. Caressing her. If she wanted him, then she should have chosen his love thirteen years ago instead of my own. He is an animal, meant to be hunted down. It is fun to play with it for a while, but in the end it too must die. When I tire of playing with this toy, I shall dispose of it. Humanely, for Christine's sake, but I will still see to it that Erik dies. He would have seen to it that I had died if he did not care for Christine as he does. I need the peace of mind that I am the only living soul that has claim on Christine.
SHE IS MY WIFE! SHE IS MINE!
Christine is a weak, softhearted fool. Swept up in the waves of love. She views me as a harsh monster for not letting her be on her own. She does not see the forest through the trees. If I let her return to Erik, he would kidnap her. I can not stand that type of pain. The children, Helene, Grace, Samuel, and Louis still need a mother. They are too young to understand why their mother left them for a strange, forbidding, creature.
~R~
I closed my journal, silently, sliding it back into the drawer from whence it came. Christine came into my study, quietly, crying after another one of our arguments. It's always the same story. We fight about Erik, I write in my journal, often the same thing each time, with a variation on the words, Christine comes in sobbing, begging me to forgive her. I took my love in my arms, holding her tightly.
"Christine, darling, don't you understand why you're love for him can never be?" I whispered.
She shook her head, brown ringlets swaying. "I don't. He's not just a monster Raoul. He's a man. All men can seek redemption. You can help him. I can help him. He needs someone to care for him."
I smirked. Silly girl. Cannot she see I am already helping that forlorn creature? Keeping him away from the sunlight, away from decent people, is the best thing I can do for him. Of course, I did not speak these words out loud. Don't want to set Christine off in one of her moods again. "Sweet, you are blinded by love. Love which never existed. He tricked you, made you his own. Like modeling clay. He sculpted you into the Christine he wanted, but in the end he crushed you. Please stop these nonsense dreams of helping him see the light. It will never work out."
Christine buried her head in my chest. "Letting go is hard to do." she whispered.
I knew how she felt. Letting go of my urge to kill that hellion was hard to do. Letting go of love, that should be easy. I learned to let go of love while that freak was going to kill me. It was easy. All I had to do was think of seeing God. Knowing he was with me allowed me to let go of all I loved and except death. Christine should understand how I felt then. That thing tried take me from her; now I'm taking her from it. All is fair in love and war.
"Christine," I sighed, pulling her off of me, "The children need their mother. Go tend to them." She kissed me gently on the cheek then walked off.
That afternoon, when the mail courier came, I was surprised with a package addressed to Christine. She had no friends; after we wed, I made her leave all of her dancing twit friend. We lost contact with Madame Giry and the young, newly wed, Meg Renard. Who would be sending my wife a package? Hurriedly, I undid the strings that held the plain, brown package together. The paper gracefully fell from around its contents, slowly. Mortified, I held up a single red rose with a black ribbon rapped around its stem. A scrap of dingy newspaper lay at the bottom of the package. Holding it up, I read the fancy, calligraphy swoops.
Come back, and listen to the music of the night!
Furious, I crumpled up the piece of paper, shouting to the horrid creature that was not there to hear my cries "SO, IT IS TO BE WAR BETWEEN US! BUT THIS TIME, CLEVER FRIEND, THE DISASTER, WILL MOST DEFINITELY BE YOURS!"