Rehearsal
Christine knew this was not right. It was one of the few things about which she was still absolutely certain. She didn't know how to move out of the strange limbo that she, Raoul, and he seemed to hang in, while the opera house went about it's preparations for his maddening opera, but she knew it wasn't through Raoul's whispered plans with the managers, or through the police chief's assurances that guns would be at the ready, that taking such a dangerous man alive might prove impossible. When Christine tried to imagine her future she was stopped short against a blank wall of fear, but the image of her wicked angel, falling down bloody as she watched impassively from center stage was a darkness she refused to allow, one she knew she would never recover from if it became a reality.
So she went to her mirror one night, because Raoul wouldn't listen, because he was trying so hard to save her from herself and she knew she should let him. But she couldn't, and as she regarded her wide eyes and pale, drawn face in the mirror, her first thought was that she couldn't do the part of Aminta justice, the part that was so clearly written for her voice alone, without rehearsing with its composer. Her second thought was that perhaps she truly was going mad. But her fingers found the right gilded edge, and the mirror slid aside, so soft, so smooth, the way it had that first night, so at least that had been real. The passage beyond was cold and so very dark, without a ghostly hand and a lantern pulling her forward, with only the light of the flickering torch that made her arm look too small, but she forced her feet to move, one in front of the other. She had prayed for strength at her Papa's grave (though it hadn't mattered, once his voice had been there she'd gone weaker than anything), but perhaps now she had found a little, because she didn't cry, as the tunnel branched and then forked again, and she chose a path at random and knew she was lost, possibly forever. If she died down here, the opera most likely would not go on. It's ghost would make himself disappear, Raoul would find a way to move on in the light, and no one would ever be hurt because of her again. And your soul will rest with him at last. Christine tried to shake such thoughts away, but it was hard to think of anything besides death, in his world.
"What on earth has brought you here, Mademoiselle Daaé?" Christine dropped the torch with a jolt and it rolled away, casting erratic shadows until it met a puddle and went out with a hiss. His soft voice had come from everywhere. Sometimes Christine even feared it came from inside her. And it had been coldly, unendingly angry. She tried to remember the last time it wasn't.
"I-I" She stammered, unsure what she meant to say. Oh whyhad she come?
"Yes, it is evident that you brought yourself here. Perhaps I should speak more plainly. Why are you here, where you do not belong?" That stung in unexpected ways. Not so very long ago he had needed her here, had made it plain she was the only person who did belong in his strange world.
"I came to warn you." And it was the truth. He needed to flee, just as she did and just as she had tried to make Raoul see as well. But she suddenly knew that it was futile, that they were all pulled to the same place, unable to leave until it had all been played out. Still, she had to try. "The managers, and Raoul" she could feel his anger grow stronger as she pronounced her fiancé's name, "are planning to capture you on the opening night of Don Juan. They're calling in police and everything. You mustn't attend, or you mustn't be seen if you do."
"And you honestly believe I did not know this, that I don't hear every word uttered in my opera house?" Christine felt foolish. She'd been so distressed by the plans, she'd never even considered that Erik would already know. "Or perhaps this is some further trick, thought up by that fool of a boy that would call himself your fiancé."
"It is not!" Christine said hotly. Perhaps Erik found her simple and amusing, but she had risked much by coming here tonight, had completely betrayed Raoul's trust and her own better judgment.
"No, of course not. The boy would never willingly send you, whatever the reason. He wouldn't want you close to me." She felt his breath in her ear, his words a soft, sultry hiss. "Come child, why are you really here?"
"I did not want anything awful to happen to you." She said, feeling that somehow there was not enough air in this tunnel she could no longer see. There was a long, aching silence, and Christine was just beginning to panic, to think that Erik had abandoned her in the dark when she heard
"You truly came all this way to warn me?" He was no longer the confident predator, circling in on her in the dark. Now he sounded small and broken, which meant Christine was in infinitely more danger of doing anything she could to make him happy.
"Yes." She said.
"You should wish me dead." It was said flatly, as one would deliver a mere statement of fact. "Everyone always does, eventually."
"I could never." She gasped. "Oh you've frightened me so much. You've done terrible things." She flashed on the image of Joseph Buquet dropping, his feet twitching in a mad dance while the ballet girls screamed, and Christine, watching from backstage as they bundled her into a new costume, felt her throat fill with a terrible silence. "But I could never hate you…even if perhaps I should. More than anything, I wish you could find happiness." Christine closed her mouth abruptly, thinking that the dark had never made her brave before. But somehow it was easier to say what she meant, without it getting all tangled up and confused, when there were no accusing, pleading eyes on her. It was almost like being on stage, staring into a sea of nothing, and having only herself to rely on.
"Oh, Christine." It was so soft she would have missed it if she hadn't been straining her ears for a response.
"Please say you won't do anything rash on opening night. I couldn't bear it." Was she really here, standing in her slippers and giving orders to the opera ghost? She wouldn't be surprised to wake up at any moment. After all, he had lingered in her dreams, long after contact between them ended. So much of this man was still a mystery to her, but she thought she understood a little of how his mind worked. He would see the opening of his opera as his last chance to lure her back before she was free of all ties to him and the opera house, not to mention that it would seem a very fitting and dramatic moment to carry out whatever plan he had. A long, unearthly sigh echoed around her, containing more agony than Christine knew was possible in such a simple sound.
"I will keep to my shadows, during the performance. I will even let you go off with that boy of yours afterward, and die a quiet death down here that you will not have to watch. But you must do something for me first."
"And what is that?" Her voice was shaking badly, and she thought abstractly that he had taught her a technique to prevent that from happening. She knew she shouldn't believe his promises, that they were most likely a means to whatever end he was about to ask for, but oh how she wanted to.
"Let me prepare you for this part the way it was meant to be played. I can die happy, with you performing my Don Juan as it should be. Let me be your angel of music again, for a very short time."
"Not in my dressing room." She said quickly, thinking that she really had gone mad if this wasn't a dream, and she was actually agreeing to his demands without a second thought. "Raoul, or Meg, or someone will hear. They're always watching me lately, as though I'm about to do something-" well, something exactly like this. "Anyway, I'll have to come down here, after everyone is asleep."
"Indeed, it seems you already have. No better time than the present, my dear." A cold hand landed on her wrist, gently urging her forward, and Christine breathed a sigh of relief, not to be lost in the dark anymore.
He was hesitant with her that first night, warming her up slowly and letting her start with the easiest parts of the score. She supposed she was hesitant too, so weary of breaking the strange, shaky truce they'd formed. But she forgot all about being angry or frightened or appeasing the moment he sang Don Juan's part to set her up for an entrance. She felt foolish for not realizing it before, but the part had been written for his voice just as surely as Aminta had been written for her, and it seemed a travesty for it to be performed by anyone else. She came in much stronger on her part after hearing his, truly letting herself feel the music for the first time that night, and when she was done he nodded and said "Yes, exactly," and she felt herself glow the way she used to when a voice in the wall praised her. Time didn't seem to matter as she floated away on his music that was unnerving and dissonant, but strangely beautiful in the same way he was. She finally came back to herself enough to say
"I should return. If I don't they'll come looking." Anger passed over the visible side of his face for the first time that she could see that night, and for a moment she was convinced she wasn't going back, ever. But then he seemed to master himself, and led her to her dressing room in a tense silence. The dawn light was just streaming in through her little window as she stepped through the mirror, and she watched it roll back into place, sensing that he was still watching her long after it had shut. She could feel this man's presence in a visceral way, he had seen pieces of her soul she'd never shown to anyone, yet she didn't even know how to think of him any more. Angel was most definitely wrong after all she'd seen, and phantom didn't nearly encompass the entirety of his being. "What is your name?" She blurted, deciding that the worst he could do was refuse to answer. There was a long pause, but she was becoming used to those by now.
"Erik." It was said brusquely, with distaste.
"Erik." She repeated, testing it on her tongue. It fit him somehow, elegant, a little strange, leaving much up to the imagination. "Erik what?" She didn't receive a response, and soon knew that he was truly gone. She climbed into bed, hoping for an hour or two of sleep before she was called to rehearsals, and found that she was not tired in the least.
She and Erik settled into a strange routine, meeting behind her mirror each night and descending to the house on the lake. He always treated her with the height of politeness, but some nights he was very quiet, and she sensed a rippling anger and hurt under all of their interactions. Other times he looked at her reverently and tenderly, and his hands would flutter around her as they sang or spoke but would never quite touch. Those nights the singing was the best, because Christine's fear was not closing her throat and Erik was encouraging and far more helpful, but they also saw her weeping as she returned to her dressing room more often than not. Feeling defensive and returning his anger was far easier than becoming unbearably remorseful and confused in the face of his soft, adoring gaze.
"The boy still doesn't know you come here, does he?" Erik asked one night, the black waters of the lake lapping softly against the gondola as he steered.
"No." Christine said, and the acid guilt that filled her stomach had become so customary that it hardly even registered. "He would be furious, and make sure I stopped."
"When will you tell him?" She shrugged, not bothering to be elegant as she drew her knees up under her chin. He had seen her at her most pathetic and childish, there seemed little point in illusion now.
"Never, I expect. If I told him later I think it would only hurt him."
"Later." He growled. "When I have long since been forgotten, rotting away down here." Christine shivered, curling up tighter.
"As if I could ever forget you." She said, sneaking a glance at him over her shoulder. The visible side of his face softened for a moment, before becoming a harsh sneer.
"Yes, I will always live on as a shameful secret, the lie your marriage was founded on. How truly inspiring."
"You don't need to be so awful to me. I'm doing this for you."
"Please Christine. Lie to your young man and lie to me as much as you wish, but do not lie to yourself. You are doing this because you need to." Christine turned back around, frustrated because she feared he was right. Conquering the demanding part of Aminta was the most satisfying thing she had ever done, and she knew it would not have felt right or been as rewarding without Erik's tutelage. And he was also right to show contempt for her lies, she supposed. She did feel awful deceiving Raoul, especially when he was so good to her. He showed up faithfully at her dressing room door each day after rehearsals, and would take her for a stroll in the light or play cards with her at her little table and attempt to lift her spirits in any way he could.
"You're not sleeping, dearest." He said to her one day, sliding a thumb along her cheekbone and eyeing her worriedly. She couldn't meet his eyes, afraid he would see the truth.
"I'm just nervous, I suppose." That much was true, at least. She felt that something about this tenuous balance would come crashing down soon. "I've been having fitful dreams."
"Oh love, it will be all right." He said, taking her in his arms. It would be so easy, to melt in his embrace and believe that everything was as simple as he said, and for a moment she allowed herself to do just that. "Everything will be over and behind us soon, and we shall be happy, just the two of us. You just have to be brave a little while longer." But it was hard to miss the way his voice fell flat and unsure for a moment, and she leaned up for a kiss that did not distract her quite as well as she had hoped.
Everything was beginning to grate at her, from sitting through rehearsals with Piangi grinding out lyrics he would never understand and strutting about without a trace of the grace Erik had when he practiced blocking with her, to the whispers of chorus members eyeing her as she passed bleary eyed in the narrow hallways, and even the way Raoul lingered in her dressing room each evening when she might have been stealing sleep, all smiles and kind support, but with a cautious manner of peering into her face, as though he was searching for cracks in a fine marble statue. Meg had taken to trailing her and asking if she was feeling all right, pressing a hand to her cheek and telling her she looked pale, and Carlotta could be heard at all corners of the opera house, crowing that Christine would never make it to opening night. She did not need everyone in her life telling her that she was falling apart. She was already quite aware.
Even Erik noticed her spectacular yawn during warm ups one night, and he gestured imperiously, saying, "Bed. Now." She shook her head quickly.
"We're running out of time and there's still so much of the second act left to do. I'm fine."
"You are not." He said. "A tired singer will not be at the peak of her performance. I will not let you damage your voice through negligence." His tone brooked no argument, and she thought it was just as well that she descended in her nightclothes and dressing gown each night.
"All right." She said, approaching his ornate, richly decorated bed hesitantly. She climbed in and found the sheets were just as smooth, the velvet bedding just as lush as she remembered, and she let out a soft sigh as her head hit the pillow.
"Wake me in time for house rehearsals, will you?" He scoffed.
"Certainly you can miss one of those insipid affairs." Christine sat up, panicked at the thought.
"They'll search for me in my room. Everyone will think I've disappeared again. Carlotta will say I've gone mad and fled. Raoul will be scared out of his mind. And everyone will say that Daaé girl, of course she couldn't do it." She realized she now sounded quite hysterical, and tears she'd been holding back for weeks were threatening to spill over.
"I am sorry." He said without a trace of mockery or sarcasm.
"What?" She had never heard Erik apologize for anything.
"I have been working you too hard, in addition to everything else that is expected of you. Just rest tonight, and I promise you will be back in time for rehearsals tomorrow." He sounded so kind and hesitant, and she found herself weeping in earnest, his attempts at comfort touching her deeply. His hands shot towards her for a moment, making to stroke her back, but he stopped short and smoothed his coat down nervously instead. "Please don't cry Christine, I'll do anything." He seemed truly desperate at the sight of her tears. But now that the floodgates had opened she found she couldn't stop. She was just so tired. Finally, he began to sing, a soft, lilting lullaby, and she stopped crying almost immediately, her need to hear his voice exceeding everything else. She felt her muscles begin to loosen, her taught limbs going lax, and her last waking thought was that her angel had returned to her, for just one night.
She woke to a pounding on her door, and Meg calling "Rehearsal in five minutes Christine, come on!" Christine sat up and looked around, and found she was disappointed to be back in her dressing room. Everything had been so warm and safe and easy in Erik's bed with his voice surrounding her, and she thought it might be pleasant, to wake up there one more time. She shook her head. There was definitely something wrong with her.
"I'll be out in a moment!" She called, leaving her bed with a sigh and slipping out of her nightclothes and into a simple dress. She wondered how she had gotten back here, because it certainly hadn't been under her own steam. She knew Erik was stronger than he looked, but the image of him carrying her across the lake and up all those stairs without waking her once seemed nigh on impossible. He was such an odd man, full of contradictions. He'd take her to task for slacking, yet devote a whole night of their lessons to her sleep. Then there was the night when they'd been working on the scene in which Passarino invites Aminta to dinner, and Erik had growled
"Don't just stand there woman, flirt with me." When she'd proceeded to do just that, fluttering her eyelashes and pursing her lips between phrases, he'd gone all flustered and missed Passarino's entrance completely. She was still picturing that moment when she emerged to meet Meg, and the petite blonde said
"You look happy." With some amount of surprise. "Thinking of your handsome suitor, no doubt." Christine flushed guiltily. Sometimes Christine though Meg was more excited about her prospects with Raoul than she was.
"Something like that." She said, hurrying down the hallway. "Do you know which part we're running today?"
"The duet towards the end. You know, the really steamy one?" Yes, Christine knew exactly which duet Meg was referring to. It was the mot provocative, sensual part of Erik's very provocative and sensual score, and she and him had both been avoiding it studiously in their lessons. "I still don't know how you do that with Piangi, look at him like he's not fat and balding and sing to him like he really is Don Juan." Christine shrugged. To her it was easy, to show feelings she didn't really have. Acting was simple and clean and contained. She suspected Erik was avoiding the duet for similar reasons as her, for a fear that the two of them singing that together would hardly resemble acting at all. Christine had to admit she was drawn to him, in a dark way that had nothing in common with the pleasant butterflies she felt when she kissed Raoul, but then she remembered the awful things Erik had done, the chandelier hurtling towards her, and became scared of herself more than anything else. What kind of woman could be tempted, even for a moment, by a man like that?
"I suppose I just get swept away by the music." Christine said, which was true in a way. Erik was his music.
"It is good isn't it? Even if it is his." Christine was surprised. Most of the company complained that Don Juan was too jarring and strange. She hadn't expected Meg to be able to see the beauty in it. "I may not be a singer Christine, but I'm not deaf." She paused, giving Christine a stern look that reminded her forcefully of Madame Giry for a moment. "I'm not a complete fool either. Whatever it is you aren't telling me, just promise you'll be careful, all right?" Christine snatched her friend in an impulsive hug.
"I promise." She said, knowing Meg was right. The trouble was Christine seemed incapable of being careful. She knew Erik was a dangerous man, but it had been easier to forget, to focus only on the music and the kinder parts of him. But Meg's worried look had his crimes firmly fixed in her mind again, and at the end of her next lesson the words, "Why did you drop the chandelier?" spilled out of her once the mirror had slid back into place. She wondered if she would ever be able to ask him anything important to his face.
"The managers did not follow my instructions. I promised them a disaster beyond imagination, and I'm a man who keeps his word." His voice was silky and sinister, but that didn't make the words true.
"I know this isn't about boxes or performances Erik. There must have been something else."
"Something else." There was that deadly hiss again, the calm that was so much worse than shouting. "Perhaps there was, now that you mention it. Perhaps there was a very foolish couple on the roof of my opera house. Perhaps there was a very ungrateful girlwho spilled all of my secrets to the first man who asked, after I gave her everything. Then she spoke of love as if she understood it and kissed him-" He choked on the words, stopping abruptly, and Christine whispered
"You were there." A pit of ice descended into her stomach.
"And the worst part," he continued, ignoring her. "The worst part Christine, is that I cannot even hate you, no matter how hard I try. And believe me, I have tried, I have put as much work into hating you as I have into my Don Juan, but it simply will not come. Do you know how much it burns, not to be able to wish ill on the person that has ruined your entire life?" Christine sank to her knees at his words, knowing they were true. She'd known for many months that she had completely ruined things for Erik and herself and most likely Raoul as well. But something about the way Erik spoke still rankled, even amidst her endless sea of guilt. Because she hadn't done it alone, had she?
"Yes I do know." She said, laying a hand flat on the mirror. "Because I can't hate you either. And I can't stop being sorry for hurting you, even though you've hurt me too. It wasn't supposed to be like this, I never wanted-" She shook her head. "What was I supposed to do? You had just killed someone, and I was so scared." The accusation hung there between them, thicker than the mirror. He did not try to deny it or explain it. It was a cold fact, seeping into her. Joseph Buquet was dead by Erik's hand, and might not have been if she had somehow acted differently. "Was that my fault as well?" She closed her eyes, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.
"Buquet?" She nodded, knowing he was watching her. "No Christine." He sounded endlessly tired. "That was-a mistake. A warning taken too far. Put it out of your mind." As if she could do that.
"Do you regret it?" Christine didn't know why his answer mattered, killing was a grievous sin no matter what, but somehow it did.
"I regret a great many things, but I suppose that was one of them." He supposed. Christine pressed her cheek against the cool glass, wondering how that looked from the other side.
"Why did you do it?" Why was she still asking questions she didn't want to know the answer to? And why wasn't he screaming at her or leaving?
"No one in that damned opera house was listening, until I did it. I learned a very long time ago that asking nicely gains me nothing. A monster has no choice but to take what he wants, in whatever way he can." She shivered, and suddenly knew with a dreadful certainty that Erik wasn't simply going to let her walk away with Raoul, no matter what he had promised.
"You're better than that, Erik." She said in a small voice.
"Evidently I am not."
"You could be." She insisted, and she suddenly had a vision of him as a normal man, attending concerts dedicated to his works with a contented smile and a faceless lady on his arm. It made her want to cry.
"It wouldn't matter, would it?" He snapped. "I could be the picture of goodwill, and still find you on the arm of a man who doesn't look like Hell warmed over. So save your naïveté for him, if you please." He was gone then. She could feel it, and couldn't quite say she was sorry, because she did not have a good response. She knew things would be different between her and Erik if Joseph Buquet was still alive, but she could not say exactly how. A rap on her dressing room door startled her, and she opened it to reveal Raoul, where she had expected Meg. Her first emotion was panic. What if he had heard her talking to her mirror? But she quickly forced a smile on her face and said
"Good morning, darling."
"Good morning." He replied, kissing her on the cheek. "I've brought breakfast, I hope you have time." And indeed, he carried a basket of pastries on his arm.
"Of course I do, come in." She said, stepping aside and trying to look less shaken than she felt. "This is very sweet, but you didn't have to."
"If I can't make you sleep, I can at least ensure you don't starve." She grinned at him in earnest, and said
"What did I do to deserve you?" Nothing. Her guilty conscience whispered. You certainly haven't been honest and true.
"Don't be silly, Christine. You are wonderful and deserve all the pastries in the world." He smiled back. She blushed, took a croissant, and promptly had nothing to say to him. She did not want to broach the subject of Erik in any form, and her life was full of nothing but rehearsing for his opera.
"I've been looking at churches." Raoul said brightly.
"Churches?"
"For our wedding. I assume you want a traditional ceremony, and it will be somewhat large once my extended family is involved."
"Don't talk about that here." She whispered. She was fairly certain Erik was gone, but didn't want to imagine the look in his eyes if he was still listening. Raoul sighed, looking annoyed.
"Why, because that-thing might hear us? Well let him hear. Christine Daaé I'm going to marry you, and there's not a thing anyone can do about it."
"That doesn't mean we should force him to hear our wedding plans." Christine said, face burning. "He's a person Raoul. He has a heart just like anyone else."
"I see." Raoul said stiffly. "I must have missed that while he was abducting and terrorizing the woman I love." Now Christine was angry and ashamed all at once. She didn't know how she would classify the time she had spent in Erik's house before removing his mask, but it certainly hadn't been an abduction. She shook her head. Having that conversation with Raoul was not going to lead to anywhere good.
"Can we please just talk about something else?" He regarded her intently, and for a moment she was sure he would argue or ask questions she didn't want to answer, but finally he sighed and said
"Of course, love." There was a heavy pause, and then he said "You know I think Madame Giry is starting to warm up to me. She almost forgot to glare at me this morning." She laughed, relieved and said
"She hates anyone courting 'her girls' on principle, or at least she wants them to think she does." Raoul asked for tales of others who had braved the Madame to flirt with ballet rats, Christine obliged, and wondered if her smiles were doing as bad a job of reaching her eyes as his were.
Christine was still dwelling on her conversation with Raoul when she saw Erik next. She couldn't move past the fact that her fiancé had called Erik a thing, and she wondered if he would speak so callously of the musical genius if he knew him the way Christine did. She thought that he probably would, that Raoul would always hate Erik no matter what. Raoul's life had been happy and uncomplicated, and he still saw everything in black and white, good and evil. He would never understand feeling lost and desperate, and he would never see why hatred was far too simple of an emotion with which to regard Erik. But why should Raoul's hatred for someone who had indeed wronged him disturb her more than Erik's blatant admission of murder? How could she feel so fiercely protective of a man that everyone was trying to protect her from?
"I am wholly unconvinced you are happy."
"What?" Christine looked up from where she had been toying with the fabric of her dressing gown as Erik turned pages. "I'm as happy as I can be, given the circumstances." Erik peered at her.
"I meant as Aminta. She is supposed to be innocent and carefree before Don Juan meddles with her, but you look preoccupied."
"I can't imagine what I should have to be preoccupied about" she muttered, and was met with a stern look from Erik.
"You may have a heavy conscious, but your character does not." He sighed. "I want you to think of the happiest, purest memory you have, then sing that phrase again." She nodded and wracked her brain, finally settling on a memory and singing. It took a few more tries before Erik was satisfied, and he paused and asked
"What memory did you use to effect such a change?"
"Singing with my Papa." She said, wrapping her arms around herself. "No one specific time really, just the way it felt when he would play his violin late in the day, and I would join in and he would adjust to my tempo without saying a word." She found herself smiling now. She tilted her head and looked at Erik. "What memory would you use?" He scoffed.
"I am not singing Aminta."
"Yes, but if you were. I'm just curious." The visible side of his face went stony and serious as he thought, as though she had asked him to answer a great mystery of the world.
"The first time I heard you sing." He said, then promptly shook his head and said, "No, the first time you heard me sing, and your face lit up as though I was the answer to all of your prayers. It had been so long since anyone heard me, and even longer since it made them smile."
"Erik." She said softly, unsure how to continue.
"I only ever wanted to make you smile. But now I fear I've made you cry far more." His eyes bore into her, looking truly troubled.
"You helped me at the worst time of my life. You taught me more than anyone ever has, and I will always be grateful to you, regardless of what has happened since." He nodded.
"And I will always be grateful to you for listening." She nodded and it felt as if they were saying goodbye, or at least acknowledging that peaceful times between them had become so rare, that they needed to make them count. There was less than a week left until opening night now.
When Christine next saw Raoul he seemed more distracted than ever, and he looked around at her in the middle of their trivial conversation and said "Perhaps we should just leave now, while no one expects it." She felt the color drain from her face.
"I couldn't do that. Not when I've promised-everyone that I'll sing."
"You did not even want to sing this part." He said with a frown. "You flat out refused until I convinced you it was the only choice we had." She bit her lip and avoided his eyes.
"I supposed you convinced me well, then. I've made a commitment. I cannot just abandon the opera now."
"And you're sure that's all this is about? There's not anything you've been keeping from me, no other reason to stay?" She met his eyes and shook her head, with the full knowledge that she was the worst person she knew. But it would all be worth it, wouldn't it? To finish her deal with Erik smoothly without Raoul's interference, without anyone else being hurt?
"You know suddenly I find myself quite tired." She said in a small voice, anxious to escape Raoul's kind eyes before she broke down and told him the truth.
"Of course." He stood, took her hand in his and kissed it, his gaze lingering on her face for a long moment. "Goodnight, Christine."
"Goodnight." She murmured. She watched him leave, and her dressing room door had barely shut before she heard a smooth
"Good evening." From behind her. She turned, but knew she would only find her own troubled face staring back at her. Erik had never actually entered her dressing room, seeming to think it was some breach of her privacy or propriety, which was really quite silly seeing as she spent every night of late alone with him in his home. She had even slept in his bed on more than one occasion. She found herself blushing as she approached the mirror.
"Good evening." She replied, feeling nervous, suddenly. If she didn't know better, she would have thought that he was nervous too, the way he held his arm out stiffly for her and jumped when she took it. She thought she knew why, when they finally arrived and she saw what page his dreadful red score was opened to. It was the duet towards the end, the only piece of the opera they hadn't practiced yet. Christine felt faint as she regarded the lyrics and the messily scrawled stage directions. "I assume you already have the words memorized." Erik said, sounding as uncertain as she felt. She nodded, wide eyed. She still remembered reading them for the first time, realizing that they came at least in part from feelings Erik had for her, and knew those words would always be burned into her.
But there was no fire between them that night. Erik began the duet, and it was as though he knew every dark thought that had ever crossed Christine's mind and made her blush and chide herself, every sinful piece of her heart and soul that she tried so hard to pretend did not exist. And she felt herself freeze up. With a great force of will she refused to be carried away on Erik's voice as he sat at his organ and played and sang, refused to give in to the seduction he was so blatantly weaving for her. When she came in she was technically perfect, hitting all the notes and holding them to just the right moment. She'd rehearsed this enough above ground to be sure of her success. But there was no heat there, not even the amount she could muster opposite Piangi. And no matter how much Erik scolded or cajoled or even snapped at her as the night wore on, it wouldn't come. She had a terrible fear that if it ever did, she would cease being Christine, and become instead a thing entirely of Erik's creation and control. Finally he sighed and said, "Perhaps tonight is not the night. You will do better tomorrow."
"Yes." She said woodenly, though she didn't see how tomorrow night would be any different.
She couldn't eat the rest of the next day. She was a shaking, distracted mess in rehearsals, and she had trouble attending when Raoul spoke to her that night as well. He seemed to sense her mood, and left rather earlier than usual. As he was about to close the door, he turned back and looked her straight in the eye.
"I love you, Christine." He said solemnly, and for a moment she felt as though he was looking right through her. She nodded.
"I love you too." And it was true, she knew it was, but somehow the words still felt strange as they left her, though she'd said them countless times before.
As she descended to Erik's home that night, it didn't feel at all like a dream. She heard every drip in the tunnels and every scurry of vermin just outside of their small pool of light. Felt every twitch and curl of Erik's fingers and wrist as he pulled her along (she supposed she could follow him and his lantern without touching him well enough, but it made her feel less likely to go mad in the dark if she was holding onto his hand).
"Will you be there, on opening night?" She blurted suddenly. "I know you cannot be seen, and there will be police, but do you think you can find somewhere safe to hide?" She couldn't imagine going through with Don Juan without him.
"Of course I'll be there. Nothing on earth could keep me away." His grip on her hand tightened suddenly, stopping just short of painful. "You cannot flee before opening night Christine. Please. I wouldn't survive." She wondered if he had heard her conversation with Raoul about the subject, or if it just seemed like the likely thing to do.
"I won't Erik, I've already promised."
"You've promised many things." He said darkly.
"So have you." She said under her breath. She knew he heard by the way his hand loosened all at once, but he made no reply.
When they finally arrived he took a seat at his organ and gave her an expectant look, and she knew with a pit of dread in her stomach that she was going to fail again. She'd barely gotten a line past her entrance before he stopped playing and growled "No. Again." But nothing improved no matter how many times Christine tried, and as anger clearly gathered in Erik's voice Christine found her own building with it. Finally he slammed his hands on the keys and ground out
"Just stop. You ignorant, stubborn child." She crossed her arms and said
"You act as though I am doing badly on purpose. I cannot perform perfectly every time."
"Of course you can perform this part. It was created for you. You are simply withholding, for what Christine? One last punishment for my crimes against you? Another reminder that I am unworthy of you in every way?"
"I'm frightened." She was yelling now, and she wasn't quite sure why. "What you're asking for, in there" She gestured violently at the score of Don Juan, "is very-personal and, and vulnerable." She could feel herself go red. "I could have done it, in front of my angel, but that's not who you are anymore. That was all a lie. How am I supposed to trust you again?"
"You seemed to trust Piangi well enough in rehearsals."
"I don't care what Pinagi or Monsieur Reyer or any of them think of me. And that was just acting. This is-" He looked at her sharply as she paused, as though he was seeing her for the first time, and she could do nothing but shake her head. "I lose control when I sing with you. You know that."
"Christine, I know there is an-intensity in this score which you are not accustomed to, but I will guide you. And if you lose yourself in the music I will bring you back, I promise." She knew then that it was Erik, the man speaking to her, without artifice or deceit.
"What if you do not like what comes out of me, when I let myself go? What if after all this, I am a disappointment or an embarrassment?" What if he saw her shameful desire for what it was, and laughed, or pulled her closer?
"I could never think ill of you. Especially not for this." He caressed the pages of Don Juan as he would a lover, and she shivered. Suddenly she knew what was missing.
"Do the blocking with me then."
"What?" He looked frightened at her suggestion, and somehow that made her feel bolder.
"It's what was missing, I think. It's hard to find the right emotions for this song without truly acting everything out." He stood, his long legs seeming to unfold at an achingly slow pace.
"Who will play the accompaniment, then?" He asked softly.
"I know the music well enough." She declared, lifting her chin. He circled the organ and came to stand before her, and fear and excitement coiled so tightly inside her she thought she might burst. She saw him flex his pale hands against the dark fabric of his trousers, and then he began to sing. His voice wrapped around her, seeped inside of her until she was falling, deep and dark. And it was those hands that caught her, arresting her wrists as she strolled around him and toyed with the apple he'd provided. She felt as though the only part of her that was truly alive were the parts he was touching, and she had a breathless vision of him sliding his hands up her arms before he did just that, timid at first, but gaining confidence from whatever he saw in her face. Christine could hardly imagine what she looked like, only knew that something awful would happen if they stopped touching or he stopped singing. She spun away from him but knew that he would follow as she settled onto the bench in front of his organ, hooking a foot behind each leg of the bench and feeling more wanton than she ever had, even in her dreams. He was behind her in a flash, she could feel that without looking, and she didn't know if he pulled her hands up or if she pulled his down, but they were linked suddenly, over her head, and she knew no fear or shame as she brought them lower to ghost over her body, only gleeful anticipation. It was sweet agony as his hands, now trembling, urged hers to feel the smooth front of her own nightgown, and she stood without warning, feeling warm and restless, her hands slipping out of his and grasping at air for a moment. Then it was her turn to sing and she used her voice to call to him, and he took his place on the bench as though he had been ordered there. And perhaps he had, because Christine felt more powerful in this one moment than she ever had before, but the heated look he gave her as he passed told her that Erik did not mind in the slightest. Then it was her hands kneading his, raking over his body, her face pressed so close to his as she leaned down from behind him that she could feel his warm, shortened breath float across her parched lips, again and again. Then he was standing and they were singing together, practically shouting in their urgency but it sounded perfect. And as they neared the end, as they both agreed that "the bridge is crossed, so stand, and watch it burn." Christine knew that she truly was on fire, and she stepped forward, tangled her hands in his hair and kissed him for all she was worth.
He froze, when her lips first touched his. And if Christine had been in full control of her senses she might have stopped then and there. But she was drunk on his voice, his feel, his smell and she continued, urging him on until he complied, moving his lips in a clumsy imitation of her own attempts. His hands were everywhere and nowhere, stretching and curling behind her but never quite touching, and it was not enough. She pushed off his mask and wig in one impatient movement, and he gasped and moved to cover himself but she was faster, her hand coming to cup the ruined side of his face without a thought save that now she was finally closer to him. And then he kissed her in earnest, in sweet, startled desperation as his hands clutched at her back then caught in her hair and brushed along each and every feature of her face, as though he had been permitted the use of a rare, fine instrument, and he could not decide which part to play first. They were no longer Don Juan and Aminta then, and perhaps they never had been, because there was something dark in Christine and something pure in Erik, and it only seemed to make sense when they were tangled together like this. If someone had told Christine that kiss had lasted forever she would have believed them, but at some point it did end, the two of them left gasping, their thumbs on each other's mouths and tears filling Erik's eyes. She waited for him while he gasped and stared at her in disbelieving awe, because she had no words, no actions left. The only thought running through Christine's head was the final line they had never sung, we've passed the point of no return.
"I should take you back to your young man." Erik finally whispered, his eyes locked on her with such sadness she felt her own tears begin to form.
"What do you mean?" She asked dazedly. She could hardly remember her own name for a moment, but Erik produced her engagement ring from seemingly nowhere. The last time she had seen it a red apparition with a death's head had yanked it from the chain around her neck, but now Erik carefully slid it onto her ring finger. The large stones seemed to overshadow her small, pale hand.
"I have to take you back and let you leave together now, before I lose my nerve." She thought he tried to smile then, but it was a shaky, heartbreaking thing that didn't meet his eyes. "I couldn't keep you Christine, not after that."
"What if I want to be kept?" She asked softly. His eyes shown with fervent hope for a moment before he shook his head.
"You can't mean that. You are still confused from the music, or-"
"Erik." She cut him off, grasping his arm and looking up into his face. She found the twisted flesh did not frighten her anymore, now that she knew how it felt under her fingers and mouth. "Do I look confused to you?" She hoped he could see the clarity she suddenly had now, after months of feeling muddled and wrong.
"No." His eyes flicked from her face to the hand on his arm, then back to her eyes. "You look happy." He sounded bewildered.
"I am happy, here with you." And that was the simple, illogical, unavoidable truth of it. The way she felt when she was with Erik was the only way she wanted to feel. "I think I could be forever, if you'll have me."
"If I'll have you." He said faintly. "You know I will. I love you." She supposed she had known it for some time, but hearing the words made her shiver in a decidedly wonderful way.
"And I love you." She said, expecting it to feel like a terrible admission, but instead wanting to laugh with the freedom of it. She had to stand up on tiptoe to link her arms behind his neck. He looked frightened for a moment before a trembling, uncertain smile began to form and he touched her face lightly with his fingertips, seeming to make sure she was really there.
"Christine, I-this is" Something behind her caught his eye, and his look of cautious joy crumbled into one of abject misery.
"This is a trick." He said. "And a good one, at that."
"What?" She whipped around and felt all the color drain out of her.
"Raoul." She gasped. Her fiancé was in the lake, looking through the grate that separated Erik's home from the rest of the world.
"Oh please, do not pretend to be surprised." Erik spat, tossing a violent gesture at the grate, which instantly began to rise. "I have seen enough evidence of your acting tonight to be quite impressed already, my dear."
"Christine, are you all right?" Raoul asked, rushing forward. "What has he done to you?"
"Nothing you have not planned for Monsieur." Erik said, his tone a horrible mockery of good humor. "Really Vicomte, I did not think you had it in you. Dangling your fiancée so very close to the jaws of the beast."
"How dare you?" Raoul said. There were only feet between him and Erik now, and Christine hurried to place herself between them.
"How dare I?" Erik said in a deathly whisper, stalking closer.
"I'm fine." Christine exclaimed, almost colliding with Raoul in her haste to block Erik's path. "Everything's allright. Really, nothing's happened." She was babbling now, saying anything she could to calm the situation, and fearing such a thing was impossible.
"Nothing." Erik repeated hollowly, his eyes blazing. He turned his back to them and seemed to wilt where he was. "Leave. Now."
"Come on." Raoul whispered, wrapping an arm around her waist. But she stood where she was, removing herself from his hold as gently as she could. "Christine?"
Erik whipped around and roared, "Get out!" his beautiful voice going hoarse at the end. "Now!"
"No." Christine said, feeling firm for once in her life. "I am not leaving. Ever." There was a long, long moment of silence, and she felt somehow separate from herself, as she listened to the lake water lap at the shore.
"Christine." Raoul's voice was strained, confused. "You don't know what you're saying."
"Yes I do." She removed his ring and held it out towards him. "I'm sorry, dearest." He stared at her, dumbfounded, so she pressed the ring into his unresisting hand. Erik watched the exchange silently, with sharp eyes.
"I should have known." Raoul said finally, looking between the two of them. "The way you looked at him in the graveyard, I've never seen anything like it. Certainly not when you looked at me, but I thought-" He shook his head. "Have you forgotten everything he's done? How scared you were?"
"No." She replied. "But I am not scared anymore." She looked Erik straight in the eye. "And he will stop doing such things if he wants me to stay."
"And if I don't?" Erik ground out. "If I refuse to submit to your pathetic ruse again?"
"You can't really think I was faking." She said, aching for herself and for him. She looked him in the eyes, saw fear and hostility and only the faintest flicker of tenderness. "I could not have acted like that no matter how I tried, if it weren't true. You know that Erik." Slowly, slowly, his terrible face went soft with longing.
"But then, then you really-"
"Yes. I do."
"You really mean it." Raoul sounded horrified. "You truly care for this-"
"Stop." Christine pleaded. "Please, let me have a perfect memory of you, even if you must always despise me."
"I couldn't." He shook his head and looked at Erik, only flinching slightly at what he saw. "You'll take care of her?" He asked quietly, but with determination.
"Make sure she's happy, and if she wants to leave-"
"When Christine comes to her senses, I'll point her straight in your direction, if that is what she wishes. And I will devote myself to her happiness until then." Raoul nodded heavily, and Christine thought he had aged years in his moments under the opera. "But do not come looking for her here. It would be fruitless at any rate." Christine gave Erik a meaningful glance. "You may take the boat." He added grudgingly. She watched Raoul leave with a look of true regret and words of love dying on his lips, and didn't feel any pull towards her handsome fiancé. She was positively rooted to the spot beside Erik, felt that the tenuous thread which had always connected them was suddenly iron clad. She reached over and grasped his hand, which was icy to the touch. His fingers, which just recently had raked over her body and the keys of his organ with equal dexterity, trembled slightly as they twined with hers, but then, ever so slowly, his thumb stroked the empty space on her finger where a ring might go.
Carlotta and Piangi's performance of Don Juan Triumphant was met with mixed, largely unenthusiastic reviews. Anyone involved with the Opera Populaire knew that the real drama had occurred three nights before, when the Vicomte had emerged ashen faced from the cellars and announced that the Opera Ghost had disappeared with Christine Daaé, and the managers threw up their hands and declared they would no longer be involved in such matters, while some of the ballet rats whispered that the girl had gone a bit funny by the end, and perhaps she'd wanted to be stolen away. But if it was madness that made the true star of Don Juan pledge herself to its composer, than it was one from which she never recovered her whole life through. And Christine and even Erik after a long while were inclined to believe that she suffered from nothing more than the regular sort of insanity one experienced when succumbing to a deep and inexplicable love. At the very least Meg seemed perfectly convinced that Christine was of sound mind once she wrote a letter explaining herself, and the two continued to keep up a faithful correspondence. Years later, when Meg had taken over her mother's post, she reported that whispers of "Don't even speak of the opera ghost or you'll end up like Christine"could still be heard echoing in the dusty hallways backstage. Christine did not realize that said opera ghost was reading over her shoulder until he let out a rather unkind chuckle and said,
"So glad I left behind an inspiring legacy for the benefit of nitwits in generations to come." She elbowed him in the ribs, which persisted in being too prominent despite her best efforts at fattening him up.
"I was once one of those nitwits." She reminded him, pulling the bedclothes tighter around herself against the early morning chill. His arms came about her from behind, which did little to help her physical temperature but warmed her in an entirely different way.
"You were never a nitwit." He said softly. "You were the most talented person to ever grace that stage. If they whisper your name it should be in reverence."
"I think you whisper my name in reverence enough for everyone." She mused, then blushed when she realized she'd spoken aloud. His arms loosened a bit.
"I suppose it must become tiresome for you." He said, always so uncertain no matter how she assured him.
"No." She cried, turning to face him. "I love the way you say my name. It makes me feel like-" She couldn't find words for it, for the way her entire being melted every time he pronounced her name like it was a revelation. So she kissed him instead, and when he murmured
"Christine." It was the same way he used to say it through her walls, through her soul before she'd ever even seen him, but it was different now, because she could whisper back
"Erik." With just as much clarity and appreciation, just as much certainty as he'd always felt for her. And she could tell from the lopsided smile that had become so dear to her that he heard it too. She moved the letter to the bed stand so it would not become crumpled between them, and thought that ballet girls really did worry about the silliest things.