Chapter 4

Erik hated not being able to understand things. His whole life if he was thrown into a new situation he observed those around him, read the proper books and brought himself up to speed. But if there was one thing Christine had taught him it was that there was no book in the world that could explain what went on in the minds of women. However Christine's behavior since her return confused and frightened him more than usual. She had taken to following him around his house like a ghost, giving vague, polite answers when asked a direct question, but otherwise remaining silent. She hadn't mentioned her late husband since he made her describe the events of the fire to him, and if he ever mentioned the subject her mouth would snap shut, and she would retreat to her room for several hours, then return to his side as though nothing had happened.

He tried to elicit a response with music, starting with an old Mozart favorite of hers. She stiffened as she heard the first notes, but otherwise had no reaction. He moved on to sadder, darker pieces, hoping to match her frame of mind, but nothing drew her out. He resorted to singing the introduction of a duet they had rehearsed so many times that he knew it must still be in her head. She corrected her posture and took a breath as her entrance drew near, but as his voice subsided to give way to hers she turned on her heel and fled without a word.

With an annoyed sigh Erik began flipping through sheets of music at random, landing on a sheaf emblazoned with his own messy scrawl: Don Juan Triumphant. Unbidden, an image of Christine in a wedding dress filled his mind. He remembered that day with vivid clarity, remembered ordering her back to her room before he could-no, he would not be playing that piece today. Frustrated, he let his fingers wander, thinking how unfair it was of her to return and treat him with such coldness. He was reminded of her question, "where else was I to go?" and realized the truth of it. She had no one but him in the world, but that didn't mean she had developed any affection for him. When forced to choose between being out on the street or under the opera, between crushing loneliness and him, she had chosen Erik, but just barely. It wasn't fair, for her to come back and merely tolerate him while her presence was making him burn with more desire than ever before.

He removed his hands from the keys with an ugly misplaced chord, realizing he hadn't composed anything original since she left. He heard a soft gasp, and saw Christine watching him over the back of an armchair, her eyes wide and glistening. He opened his mouth, unsure what to say, but she shook her head rapidly.

"Please, don't speak." She whispered. "Just play. Your music, not theirs." He raised an eyebrow behind the mask, but did as she asked. His fingers flowed with ease after almost three years of being clumsy and uninspired. Before he knew it he was lost, carried away on the music until it had been hours and Christine had dozed off.

Erik approached her slowly, wearily, and picked her up as though she was made of glass. He tried not to dwell on how right she felt in his arms, how peaceful she looked as he gently laid her in bed. But the sentiments he had tried to banish so many times came rushing back regardless. As her head hit the pillow she let out a contented sigh, a slight smile gracing her features. "Raoul, be a dear and put out the candle." She mumbled in her sleep. Erik felt his back stiffen and his hands clench, but he forced himself not to make a sound, not to wake Christine and have to face her. He made a swift and silent exit, extinguishing the candle with a violent gesture as he went.

The next day he resolved not to talk until she did. He prepared her breakfast and watched her eat in moody silence, then stormed into his library without a word. By the end of the day neither of them had spoken, though she periodically drifted in and out of the room he was occupying. By the time he sensed that darkness had fallen he couldn't take another moment, so he stole out of the house, assuming that she was asleep.

He hadn't forgotten his theory about the Vicomte's death, and knew he wouldn't rest easy until he understood the motive and knew whether Christine was still in danger. It was surprisingly easy to find informants, just as he had years before in Persia. Even across oceans, the hideaways of undesirables who would talk for the right price, or the right threat, looked remarkably similar. But he returned to the opera hours later feeling more frustrated than ever. The only thing anyone seemed to know about the DeChagny's was that the wife had a shady past, and her body had never been found. Erik had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the numerous suggestions that Christine was behind the suspicious fire.

He sensed he was not alone as he entered his home, but as he was still intent on not being the one to break the silence, he made no comment. He hadn't even hung up his cloak when she burst out "Where have you been?" in a high, hysterical voice.

He turned to face her, and immediately knew it was a mistake. She was in a dressing gown, her chocolate curls tumbling loose around her shoulders, and her bare pink feet peeking out from the bottom. "Out." He said shortly, brushing past her before he could be caught staring.

"You didn't tell me you were leaving, or how long you would be away. I called and called for you and you just weren't there." She said tremulously.

"I wasn't aware I owed you constant explanations of my whereabouts." He growled. "I thought that sort of clinging pathetic worry was reserved for married couples."

"I was scared." She sniffed, and he knew that she was crying. Damn it, what was wrong with him? He was always making her cry. "I though you might have left me forever, that I was going to be alone forever."

"What on earth would lead you to that conclusion? I would not be so cruel as to leave you to the same fate that you left for me." He waited for an answer, but she seemed to have gone mute again save for the occasional sniffle. Sighing, he said "You are not a little girl anymore, Christine. I cannot make you stop being afraid of the dark with the snap of my fingers and a pretty song."

"I suppose you wouldn't understand." He was strangely relieved to hear the bitterness in her voice. It meant she hadn't completely given up yet. "You've never been scared of anything." He stayed where he was, facing resolutely away from her until he heard the patter of her feet running and the slam of her bedroom door.

He took off his mask and ran a hand over his tired face. Christine was wrong of course. He was scared of so many things, and most of them revolved around her. Even now, he wasn't sure if he was meant to follow her or give her space, and somehow it seemed either choice was destined to make her hate him more. Just as he had decided to give it up for the night and retreat to his own room, her bedroom door opened and he heard the sound of her approach. He replaced the mask quickly, slight panic flaring in his chest at the thought of being seen.

"The act of storming out rather loses its effect when you return so soon." He said dryly. "You must try for some conviction in your anger, my dear."

"I went looking for you before because I was having nightmares. And I still don't want to be in that dark room alone." She grudgingly admitted, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at her feet. "The only night I didn't have bad dreams was when you sang for me. I was wondering, if you wouldn't mind-"

"Ah yes, you want my voice yet you refuse to give me yours."

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"I will gladly sing for you tonight, Christine, and any night you wish, so long as you sing for me in the morning."

"I don't know if I can." She said in a small voice.

"Don't be ridiculous. You, me, and all of Paris know that you can sing. You are merely fickle with bestowing your talents." She chewed her lip, seeming at war between fear of the memories she saw at night, and whatever she saw when she sang. Finally she said

"All right Erik. You'll get your song tomorrow. But don't be so sure that you will enjoy it." Once again she left for her bedroom, but this time he followed her in.