Christine moved with difficulty through the crowd. She felt ashamed of every inch of her body.

How could she have cast that baby out?

She had proved she was not a good Christian. Christine had gone against every gut feeling she had.

She just wanted to stop and cry. But she was Raoul de Chagny's fiancée. She had to keep going. She had to smile at everyone at this ridiculous military ball, and pretend she was the good, patient sweetheart very glad to see her soldier back.

Raoul had returned from a stint with the army. They had not known that would happen. It had interfered with their plans.

No, they had not married beforehand. But not just because of his leaving. There had been another reason.

Raoul approached her. He had been cold and distant all day. But now, it seemed he wanted to talk.

"My Christine."

She felt a warm tide of relief. Maybe he forgave her after all.

They moved among the crowd, arms linked. The event was packed. They were at the home of the illustrious Colonel Laing. All the soldiers were there with their women. Some were lewd. Some were romantic.

After a while she realized why he was escorting her. There were people to catch up with. If she had not been on his arm, it would have looked very unusual indeed.

There was still a distance between them.

Christine parroted to the nobles. She was too ashamed to say much about herself. She was sore in a very private area. She felt fragile. Distressed. Scared.

They walked past the softly lit candles. A waltz was being played on a lone violin. Christine was very surprised that Raoul had now taken her into the private rooms. This was where lovers had assignations.

Raoul looked around him absent-mindedly. "Ah... stay in here for a moment Christine. I just have to speak to the host. I'm not happy with him. He... he..."

Christine wondered why Colonel Laing had gotten under his skin. But then, Raoul was easy to offend. He fluttered out of the room.

She was in a tiny boudoir. There was an ornate mirror propped against the wall. In the corner was a pale gold satin chaise lounge.

Christine sat down upon it. And then she became aware of the presence. The man Raoul blamed everything on. Her other suitor.

He came up very softly. He had been hiding behind the mirror. Christine had no fight left in her after the terrible events of the past six months.

She gazed at him in amazement.

"Erik?"

He was solemn and black-clad in a beautiful linen suit. He wore a smart hat and his black silk mask. It blended gorgeously with his clothes. He could have merged into the shadows if he had wanted to.

"My Christine," he said tenderly. He approached her earnestly.

Christine laid a hand to her heart. It was the first time, this night, that someone had been sincere. Everyone else had had just a few moments for her. Then they had brushed her off quickly.

But Erik always gave her his full attention.

Erik drew breath. "Christine," he said. "Erik saw you walk past, hand in hand, with Raoul. Do you always have to break his heart?"

Christine felt like she could swim in his strange, golden eyes. And then she began to cry.

Why did he have to care?

He sidled up next to her. He reached out and leaned his arm casually on the coffee table. That way he was, gently, blocking her from approaching the door.

"Erik decided to see you one last time."

"Oh, Erik." She looked tenderly into his eyes. She smiled joyfully.

His features seemed to lift beneath his mask.

"Are you pleased to see Erik, Christine? Truly?" He sounded like a child seeking approval from a much-loved adult.

Christine gazed at him.

"I am. Believe me. Now tell me. How are you?"

His face fell. And she felt so guilty. She knew he would never be well if he wasn't with her.

She clasped her hands. She knew that wouldn't change. But how could she have married a madman and a murderer? Whose deformed face, which he now hid, was so foul that it sickened her to gaze upon it?

Yes, she knew they had been happy. They had had true love. But she could not clasp that foul body to her own.

She had gone off with the handsome Raoul. There was no way, in logic's name, that she could have married this strange, repulsive, ageing man.

But was she still in love with him? She realized, most dolorously, that she was.

"Don't worry about Erik," he said gently. "Erik is not important. I am worried about you, Christine."

Christine bowed her head. Did he know she was in anguish?

And so she told him the tale.

Lieutenant Dury had cornered her. Dury. Much-admired. A good friend of Raoul.

He had restrained her at his chateau. With guests in the hall, he had schemed to corner her in an upstairs chamber. He had bound her. And then insinuatingly made love to her.

And the shameful part. She had enjoyed it. It had been an ecstasy she had never known.

She could not cope with seeing Dury. And she had to see him tonight. He would be there somewhere in the seething crowd. She could not avoid him.

He had gotten her with child! And she had had to tell Raoul, and he had arranged a termination. She had to rely on Raoul now. Her surrogate mother, Madame Valerius, had died. Mamma had not been there to tell. Christine had borne the cross of grief.

Erik moved slightly. It was hard to tell what he was thinking or feeling. Hard to tell with the mask, anyway. He was holding in his grief for her sake.

"Oh, Christine. Erik will snap this man's neck."

She put her hands helplessly in her lap.

"The termination... it was this week, Erik. I feel so sore. My breasts are full of milk." Tears began to slide down her cheeks. "The baby was coming. And now I will burn in the fires of hell."

He placed a hand on her lap. And then he grasped her hand and held it fast, like he was clinging to a mast in a storm.

She sighed. She squeezed his.

"Oh, my dear teacher."

Erik was kneeling next to her. He came closer. He laid his head, devoutly, against her knee.

They did what they had before. Although it had only happened once, it seemed the natural thing to do.

Christine's hand crept out.

She scratched his head. She ran her fingers through his sparse locks. He nuzzled her lap, as if he was hoping this moment would last forever.

She pulled him close. Erik sighed. She nursed him, holding his head against her breast.

"Christine," he said tenderly. "Erik will help you. Erik will do what he can. He does not want his darling Christine to live in shame."

"I'm fed up with Raoul," she said vehemently. "You're kinder than him." She then heard Raoul's voice nearby.

Christine leapt to her feet.

"Christine..." Erik whispered. "Can't Christine stay with Erik a little bit longer?"

"If only I could," she said. "Thank you for being good to me."

She gently let him down. Briefly, she trailed her hand down his spine.

"I have to go."

Erik would get in trouble if Raoul saw him. Christine went to the door in one smooth movement. She could trust Erik to merge back into the shadows. She always could.

Later that night, Christine stood outside.

She could not stand this much longer. Raoul was taunting her. And seeing Erik had confused her.

For one thing, she had been surprised to see him alive. She had thought he would be out like a light. Dead because of grief.

Erik was intoxicating her. Had he had to sing, so shortly after she had left him? And thrown his voice, with his maddening ventriloquist skills, so she could hear it in that corridor? Where Raoul had left her all alone.

His plaintive and tender voice had bedazzled her.

He was seeping through her veins. He was curling around her, like that Punjab lasso with which he strangled people. And she was not even near him.

How could she marry a madman? So tender, so kind. She could not forget what he had done.

She inhaled the cool scent of the begonias. She had come here, onto the porch, to have some relief.

Then she realized she was not alone.

"Miss Daaé."

This was a much greater danger than Erik.

Dury stood there. Christine shrank. She bowed with humiliation.

She heard him snicker.

"Let's do it again."

She felt his hand reach for her. She had the impulse to kick, to fight. But before she knew it she was enclasped.

She was sheepish. Dury had taken her virginity. In a way he possessed her. When he was done he had called her a child.

He had told her this was all her fault.

She had seduced him. He had said so. Why had she been so delicious?

And he had told her to grow up. To not cry so much like a child. Every time she had seen Dury, he talked as if she was an impudent child who had some growing up to do. Of course, she had to improve. He said so. Then these terrible things would not keep happening to her.

A dreadful despair overwhelmed her as his body wrapped around hers. One sob ripped from her. "Ooooh!"

But then, all of a sudden, he jerked against her. And then he wept limp.

Christine started. Dury was soft. Everything was very, very peaceful.

Dury sank to her feet as if he had never existed.

Christine drew in a breath of amazement. She could just feel the cool night air.

Erik sidled towards her. And then, she understood.

A rope extended from Dury's neck to Erik's hand. Like a ribbon of blood.

The only sound was the wind. Erik easily looped the rope back in his hand.

Christine felt concern for Erik. But she also felt a huge sensation of relief. All the stress lifted from her.

She gazed at Erik in admiration.

"Oh, my darling."

She did it. Because she might not have the inclination to do it again. She stood before him. And then she placed her hands on his shoulders. She gently lifted his mask up so it exposed his lips.

Erik reeled. And then he felt Christine's lips on his.

He swooned.

This was all his dreams before him. As she stood there, he boldly placed his hands on her hips.

"Oh, Christine. Christine."

"How can I ever thank you?" Her voice was earnest. Erik treasured this moment, because it probably would not last long.

"My Erik," she said, "I..."

And then, the footmen burst out.

Erik leapt in astonishment.

But they already had him cornered. One of them grabbed him in a headlock. Another wrenched Erik's arm behind his back.

Christine was furious. "Leave him alone!"

Then a man went for her.

"Oh, Miss Daaé..."

The man took the chance to grope her. Christine kicked him, soundly, in the balls. She flailed like a madwoman. And then he grabbed her.

Christine drew breath in amazement. Before she knew it, her hands were tied behind her back.

"I thought this guest committed the great theft tonight. All the money that was stolen off Monsieur Lefevre," said one footman disapprovingly. "And even if it turns out he does not have the money... look at this. A body on the floor. What is happening?"

"And as for the woman, she is undoubtedly his accomplice. That opera slut who de Chagny was going to marry for some reason."

"They said she was with child by that strange man in the sewers."

"That opera ghost."

"He wears a mask."

"It is him!"

Christine and Erik were dragged to the lock-up. Christine was sure Erik had no hope. As for her... would Raoul come and get her? No.

He had not been there in her hour of need.

She had one friend. And it was this loving, murdering madman whose fate hers was linked with.

They were in a dark cell that had an overpowering smell of urine.

"Erik can get us out of this," he whispered. "Erik has gotten out of jail before. He would sacrifice himself for Christine."

"No, Erik."

"Nobody understands Erik's genius. Nobody wants to look down the backs of his thighs. He has a spare Punjab lasso sewn into his trousers."

Erik would kill a guard. He would deprive parents, wives and children. All for her.

Christine groaned.

She laid a hand on his shoulder.

"It is all Erik's fault. Erik hurt Christine. Erik will make it better."

"Erik, it wasn't your fault."

She stroked his arm.

The door clicked. Each released a breath. No, it was not anything good.

The turnkey was not alone. If he was, Erik might have had a chance to kill him. Christine was actually hoping that would happen.

He stood in the room before them. Christine squinted. She could only see him through those horrible bars.

"Miss Daaé." He bowed. "There is someone here to see you."

A whole entourage arrived in the room. It was Raoul and about five servants.

"Officer," said Raoul sternly. "I would like you to get the murderer out of the way."

"Comte, my apologies. There is only one cell."

Christine saw Raoul come to the bars. And then she knew her fate.

Raoul was angrier with Erik than he was with her. But Raoul said what she had been expecting all along.

"You got my fiancée with child," he said to Erik in a low, insinuating voice.

Christine shivered. She knew there was no way in the world they could convince Raoul otherwise.

"And as for the child..." He leaned close to Christine. "You could at least have given it a chance."

Hadn't he been the one who told her to abort it?

Christine squirmed.

"I will try to get you out of here, Lotte," Raoul sighed. "But you cannot depend upon me to provide for your future. I think you have a natural husband... right here."

He pointed a furious finger at Erik.

Christine gasped. Erik did not say anything. He just sat there motionless.

"Now... I will not soil my hands with this any longer. I am sorry things have turned out the way they have. I will send my solicitor in the morning. And if he does free you... I will arrange for you to go back to your job at the opera house. There will be another diva singing. Don't expect to reclaim your former exalted position."

He poised, and looked at her darkly.

"And when your lover goes to the rope... and he will, as he's committed murder... don't expect sympathy from me."

He widened his eyes. Christine gazed at his gently flicked blonde hair, his fair moustache. And she began to weep.

Erik grasped her hand.

As Raoul left all she could do was weep in Erik's arms. She was not conscious of time or space anymore.

All she knew was that she was soaking the lapel of Erik's coat. And he was rocking her back and forth. He was speaking soothing words of love. And she did not care about anything.

Neither did Erik. Except that his love was in his arms.

The shadows became long and silky. Christine was very, very glad for the moonlight coming in through the tiny window. She knew Erik had yet to move.

When the guard walked in with a tray Christine held her breath. She knew what Erik was going to do. The guard opened the door to give them their supper.

From the start, Christine knew the guard didn't have a chance. Erik's moves were so exquisitely feline. He was at the man's back like a cat.

Why hadn't they had the sense to handcuff Erik? He had behaved so well they had been convinced they didn't have to.

Erik strangled the guard deftly. He did it so easily. As if he was just breathing.

He led her through the back door. Christine couldn't believe how quick they did it. The lock-up was a tiny establishment. Just an add-on to the commisariat.

Wearing the guard's uniform, Erik jumped over a few fences as if he was a graceful shadow. He helped her over every one.

Finally they stood in the stables of a neighbouring establishment. Erik gently untied a horse.

He had already extracted a wad of bank notes from the back of his trousers. They seemed to have been sewn into different, separate places all over his arse.

Christine was helped up onto the horse. And then he got in front of her. She barely registered that they were riding... bareback.

The sensual feeling of the horse between her legs.

The fact that her legs were spread apart. And her poor breasts, still full and useless with milk, were pressing against this man's back.

It was all horrifying.

But Erik sped fluidly through the night. And in no time they were at the docks. He had long discarded the uniform and the horse.

They snuck through a crowd lining up for a ship.

Erik helped her onto the pier. In a businesslike manner he booked passage for them. He called her his wife.

It was a third class room. Erik was reticent to spend more money than that. And yes, they entered it together.

He could have sent her off with the single women. He could have pretended she was his daughter. She would have passed for that.

But he said she was his wife.

Christine looked down at the foul chamber pot. To her horror, they would have to combine their bodily fluids in that. What an embarrassing thought.

She looked instinctively for a screen. There was not one. They would have to get undressed right in front of each other.

Not to mention the bed. Very small. They would have to cuddle up together in that.

Christine heaved a long sigh.

At the moment, all she wanted was to be cuddled.

Erik put his arms out. She hugged him. Pressed against him, she could smell cologne and the beautiful, soft linen of his coat.

She let him nurse her.

"My dear child. Erik will sing you to sleep. He will not hurt you. He is still sorry that the other man did."

Then Erik got undressed. He had to. He was being very modest.

The mask was off. Christine knew that. He had his back to her. She got undressed too, down to her chemise. Then she stole a peek at him.

The room was full, now, of his odour. It was no longer covered by the scent of his nice clothes. The expensive cologne was starting to wear off. Erik always stank. Horrible and rotting. Like death.

Erik did suffer from jaundice. And from a few worse maladies, she thought. He was alarmingly skeletal.

But the worst malady he had ever suffered from was being unloved.

Christine was never sure why he looked the way he did. But he told her he always had. From birth.

He stripped off his coat and his waistcoat. She could see the outline of his back in his shirt. Then he pulled down his trousers, revealing hairy, knobbly legs. His poor body. It was so pathetic, so repulsive, so dreadful.

It would charm no girl. It would more likely make any girl laugh derisively. Christine felt so sorry for him.

His face was not comely. His eyes were very tiny. Even if they glowed with his tortured soul.

They were set far back in his head. They appeared, at first, like two dark holes. His excuse for a nose was a tragedy. Just a cavity of foul, rotted skin, with the faint glint of snot.

Echoing the gleam of those tiny eyes. And the twinkle of spit in that foul mouth, with the lips that must have been one millimetre thin. Yellow, rotting teeth. And smelly, spotted gums.

Christine put a hand to her heart.

She did not care about how he looked anymore. He was her friend. The only one she had. And she wanted to unburden herself to him.

"Erik," she said, "talk to me."

"For a day, and forever. Erik will do anything for his Christine. You know that."

"Oh, Erik." She rolled against him, her head settling easily on his chest. "I do not care about anything anymore."

"Why not, my love?"

"I am bound for the fires of hell."

"Then Erik will keep you company."

She felt what she had done was as bad as anything he had. With great grief, she talked about her child. She felt like a murderer. It had been cast from her body and thrown in the bin by the woman who had aborted it.

"Oh, Christine. It must have been horrible." He rocked her.

He comforted her all he could. After a time they just sat there together in silence.

"Erik's mother never suckled him," he said, unexpectedly. "At least you planned to be a good mother. You mustn't be hard on yourself."

"What?"

"Erik was fed from a wooden teat. Horrible goat's milk. A corpse baby, born dead, does not deserve anything more than that. It's probably why Erik doesn't eat much. He had no good nourishment when he was a baby. He grew up thinking... he didn't deserve anything."

Christine began to unbutton her chemise. She was turned away from him. He did not know what she was doing.

She gazed carefully down at her swollen left breast. That one seemed the most tender. She stroked it. Then she carefully observed the pearly white milk that had stained the inside of her garment.

She shook her head.

Christine came up behind Erik. She gently put her hands on his shoulders. She began to massage him.

Erik was savouring every moment. She knew he was not questioning this. He was just hoping it would last as long as possible.

She scratched and massaged his back. He groaned with relief. Then she turned him around. "Come."

Erik saw her breasts. All of a sudden, she felt shy and demure. "This is for you," she said, trying not to giggle. "Only for you. Do this before I get too embarrassed."

Erik's eyes were drained. His whole soul poured out of them. He was mortified, and fraught, and terrified for what he perceived as her virtue. She had none left. She was raped. Impregnated. And she had committed a mortal sin.

But Erik still thought she was pure. The good Lord love him.

"I didn't think my milk had any use. But Erik, you never had any supper. You need my milk," she said, almost laughing. "You need nourishment."

Erik's eyes were as wide as they could possibly be. They were like two tiny golden stars.

"Come," she said, patting her breast. "Lie your head here. You're welcome."

His toothy lips parted. His mouth widened in a grin of such bliss that she laughed fondly.

"Do come."

Erik fell forward on her breast. He let out all the tension he had held since he had let her go, six months ago, in that horrible and ill-judged moment, and watched her leave with Raoul.

The nipple and the breast were pillow soft. He snuggled. Her body had an almost liquid warmth. His head tingled with pleasure as she scratched the roots of his hair. Her hand trailed between his shoulder blades. It sent delightful waves of relaxation down his back, calming and soothing him.

Christine gazed down at her lover. His eyes were half-closed with pleasure. He kicked and writhed faintly.

She groaned. The sucking of his lips launched her into ecstasy, too. All the misery she had felt... it was drained out of her.

"Rest well, my one and only," she whispered. "My sweet. My husband."