The brisk cellar air brushes my face and pulls me away from the heaven that is my music. I suddenly hear a terrifying scream filled with rage and despair, and before I black out, I realize it belongs to me.
I am asleep. At least, I believe I am. I am in the grips of an abstract, horrible dream. Everything is dark, so dark, but I am being flung around as if in a violent storm. The wind howls so!
Good lord, what a horrible sound! What a shrieking cacophony of noise! High pitched wails, evil roars, crashing, splintering sounds...the storm must be tearing an unfortunate ship apart. Was I the only being on earth that knew how to make sound beautiful? Not even nature knew how to make music, which, considering what she gave me for a face, is not surprising.
My face...yes, my face. The wind is screaming about my face. It is mocking me! How dare it? I am a genius, genius, genius! How dare God mock my face through the wind? It is not my fault I was born with such a face!
Why won't the damned storm be quiet? I do not care for it's screaming! Be quiet! Be quiet! Such horrible sound. I won't stand for it! There must be beauty, there must! I can never bring beauty to me, for the dead are not inviting to the living...but I can make it. I am no Don Juan, but I can create beauty, therefore nature must be able to stop this awful noise!
I am dragging something heavy through the storm now. I will make what I am dragging come to me, for it is mine! But wait, the wind has taken a different tone. It is terrified! Why is the wind frightened? Erik is frightened too...Please don't be frightened, I am sorry...
No! I am not sorry! It took my mask off, the wind took my mask! I do not care if it is frightened! I am a corpse after all, so you deserve to see my horror of a face! You deserve to see after taking away my one protection! I will not be afraid of this storm.
Why can't I see? The spray of the sea is full of glass, and it is tearing at my face. Oh, my face is wet, and the wind is sad, frightened, disgusted...it's not tearing at my face, I am...and yet, I am not. The sea foam and glass are making my face so wet...blood and water...and Christine won't stop screaming...
Christine!
That is not wind. Oh, Lord God in heaven, that is not the wind! Christine! Christine! I have to save her, I am sorry! I am coming! I will save you...
I can see.
There is blood everywhere.
I have Christine's hands in mine, but never in the way I thought I would. Her hands...her beautiful hands are covered in blood. Whose? Who did this to her?
I realize with shock that my face is in an enormous amount of pain. And there is blood dripping off of my face. Christine is sobbing. I am sobbing. There are blood stained bits of hair upon the floor, upon my hands...
The pieces of a maddening puzzle come together in one swift motion.
I scream. It is a scream of pure horror and despair. "Oh my God!" I wail. I release Christine's hands as if they contained the fires of hell. I am producing a sound which is a mixture of sobbing and screaming. I stumble backwards, clawing at the death's head which contains my deranged mind.
My poor Christine! I forced her, forced her to touch me, to touch my face! I made her do something so violent to another. How could I? I may have deserved it, but not by her hands! And her hair! I ripped her hair! Oh, God!
I collapse to the floor, pain suddenly shooting through my arms and chest. Christine, sobbing and frightened, reaches out to me, and shrinks away from me at the same time.
I cannot stand this. I have to escape...I have to get out. I have to leave her. She can't be around me! But she can't leave. Never! She can't! She has seen my face! I need her. But I have hurt her, and she has betrayed me. God, what have I done? Why did she take off my mask? Why? Why? Why couldn't I just be loved? Why couldn't she be satisfied?
Still on the floor, I crawl into my morbid chamber. I somehow manage to shut the door behind me. I can still hear my angel's sobs as the door latches.
Panting, as tears continue to fall down my cursed features, I try to calm myself. "Think of anything, anything else!" I shout in my head.
Music. I need it.
Shakily, I get up from the floor and make my way to the organ. I push stacks of music to the floor in a frenzy, searching for something to ease the pain of the situation. I finally find the one piece that will express the horror and despair raging inside me.
Don Juan Triumphant. How ironic, considering the situation. There is no triumph here.
I play as if my salvation depends on it. The music swirls around me, matching my rage, my horror, my grief, my confusion. I pour myself physically and emotionally into the music, but my mind won't stop replaying the events of a minute ago. I know I am not fully lost in my masterpiece when I hear the door of my room open. It is Christine of course.
Christine...
I snatch my fingers away from the organ. I do not resume playing the music. I wonder with terror why she is here. I stand and wait for whatever torture Fate has in store for me now.
I unable to look at her.
Suddenly, she cries, "Erik! Show me your face without fear!" I begin to tremble. "I swear you are the most unhappy and sublime of men; and, if I ever again shiver when I look at you, it will be because I am thinking of the splendor of your genius!"
I turn around, and stare her in awe. I do not know if she is sincere, and I do not care. Even if she is lying to me, she is trying. She is trying to be brave and accepting, for my sake. Poor child, she looks so stern. I can tell she is trying very hard not to show her fear. And yet, I cannot resist her, even when she lies. I cannot, because I love her to much.
I collapse in front of her, and before I can stop myself, I grab the hem of her dress and kiss it. The words, "We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under Thy table," come to mind.
"I love you, please forgive me," I cry and whisper, over and over.
Above my words, and hear my angel sing brokenly, "Lord have mercy upon us, Christ have mercy upon us, Lord have mercy upon us..."
Our words cover us like broken glass.