Disclaimer: I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.
Author Note: Well, it turns out I had enough time today to actually upload this chapter! Yay! Another massive thank you to my brilliant reviewers; Hugabouv, Dkk5, TMara, icanhearthedrums, emilovesyouxp and a guest too...WOAH! You guys can't see the smile on my face when I read your reviews, but I can assure you they make this all very rewarding! Now over to Erik and Christine...*smiles knowingly*...
Six- In Sleep He Sang To Me, In Dreams He Came
(The Giry Residence, Paris)
Christine sat heavily down onto the edge of the bed in the small spare room in Madame Giry's home, trying not to feel too depressed. This would be her second night away from Raoul and her real life, and whilst it was such a sweet relief to be somewhere other than that unfeeling townhouse, Christine was already dreading the idea of going back. What would Raoul say to her? Or, much worse, what would he do to her?
Pushing the worries aside in the hope that she would have a good night's sleep, Christine slowly began to braid her thick brown curls, finding solace in the simple task that reminded her of readying herself for a performance, tying her thick hair back and away from her face to dance with all her ballerina friends on the Opera Populaire stage. Smiling a little at those fond memories of days filled with giggling and gossiping, she got under the sheets and laid her head back against the pillow, adoring the rustic warmth of the blankets instead of the usual expensive but cold bed clothes she had to endure at home.
As she lay there, hoping for the sweet release of sleep to come quickly, she wished she had a lullaby. That was how it had been in Sweden, when her father had still been alive. He had treated her to one hilariously funny or wondrously exciting story each night as well as a soft, sweet lullaby to soothe her into her dreams. The best night's sleep always came after music for Christine.
She could almost hear her Father's warm voice now, making her laugh or jump or smile for all she was worth with his stories and his music.
"Come on then, Christine, what will it be? Adventure, romance, perhaps a scary story?"
"Not scary stories, Father...tell me about the Angel of Music!"
"Aha! Little Lotte and her Angel of Music- yes, the Angel of Music comes to those who practise their tunes, young lady! So where were we? Little Lotte had a difficult choice to make, it seemed. Playing with dolls or to practise her tunes so that the Angel would-"
"Father, is the Angel of Music real? Will he really come to me and teach me?"
"Of course! An Angel of Music, Christine, will give you the music of heaven. When I am in heaven, I will send the Angel of Music to continue to tutor you and to guide you."
"Will he have wings and a halo?"
"Ah, Christine, who can say? He could be as glorious as the sun itself as it rises over those mountains, or he could be as plain as you or I. All that will matter, little one, is his music and his care for you. As long as he fulfils his duty to give you the music of heaven and to care for you always, he will have met his duties."
"You're like an Angel of Music, Father. Can the Angel be like you?"
"In what sense, little one?"
"A man. A normal man."
"Perhaps, if he were to guide you in music and care for you. Maybe, Christine, we all have the Angel of Music within us and we must simply find it. Now, we must find out what Little Lotte will choose!"
Christine wiped away a few stray tears at the memory of her father, who had always been a little bit mad but hilariously funny and an outstanding musician. She only wished he were still alive to advise her in what to do now. He had always known how to advise her before, as if her were an Oracle, and she had come to depend on his judgement even at her young age. When he had died her world had been thrown into a turmoil that she still had not surfaced from. She doubted she ever would.
Sighing heavily, she rolled over to face the window, watching the huge silver moon as it hung in the darkened sky, surrounded by wisps of translucent clouds. It was truly beautiful to watch, and reminded her of a night over three years ago, on the rooftop of the Opera House. That night, amongst the glittering snow and the mean faced gargoyles, Christine had poured out her soul onto Raoul and he had in turn promised her his love forever. Back then, he had been her saviour, the knight in the shining armour that her Father had avidly described in his stories. He had been so kind to her, so passionate...so why did he have to be so cruel now? Christine angrily threw the thoughts to the deepest corner of her mind and squeezed her eyes shut, fed up of broken promises and pointless dreams.
Outside, on the darkened street and concealed by shadow, a man all in black was loitering in the alleyway next to the Giry's house. He glanced up at the lonely moon, his eyes swimming with sadness and burning with indecision. It was Erik, waiting like a trodden on dog for his chance to finally see Christine. He was desperate to convince his frantic mind that she was perfectly alright and happy. He waited, practically bouncing up and down in the anxiety; his patience would soon wear down and he would not be able to hold himself back from climbing that wall and glancing in at his Christine, just once. He told himself that this was the right thing to do, that he would simply check she was content and leave.
Inside, Christine was just on the fringes of sleep when she suddenly shot bolt upright, the memories of her Angel and his horrified face from yesterday flooding back at such speed she felt terribly sick. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself down, colour high on her cheeks.
The Opera Ghost, her Angel of music...so, he lived. She could not quite decipher why this was bothering her so much, and at this hour of the night. His reaction to seeing her had not made her feel terribly happy, but then again her own stupid act of fainting had probably not helped matters.
She was glad he was alive, of course, as she could finally stop stressing over the fact that her actions might have been the final blow in killing him, but still his presence had set off a chain reaction of emotional breakdowns. She was scared that she might see him again unprepared, and was also strangely curious to meet him and talk to him.
Furious with herself for being so stupid, Christine flung herself back against the pillow with an irritated sigh. She stared at the shabby ceiling, looking at each flake of plaster and following each crack as if it were a map, until sleep began to drag down her heavy lids. She drifted off into the sweetness of feeling nothing, with images of masks, roses and operas whirling around in her brain as she slipped into sleep.
Erik decided it was time to get it over with. The sooner he arrived back home, the sooner he would stop feeling guilty about doing such things behind Nadir's back. He hadn't told the Persian about this, of course, as he wasn't proud of the fact he was so needy and desperate he would stoop to spying on people as they slept. But Erik knew that he would go mad if he didn't.
He climbed the wall steadily and easily, using the uneven brickwork as leverage, as agile as a cat. He had climbed far more perilous buildings in his time, and here the only thing fazing him was whatever lay in the room he sought. In his head he was begging like a child, begging all human decency that when he did steal a glance in at her she would look content and at peace. He hadn't decided what he would do if she wasn't; he couldn't imagine how he could react to such a thing and actually make anyone feel any better.
With the decision that this was his own point of no return, Erik told himself to get over it, and hoisted himself onto the small ledge outside the bedroom window. He muttered words of comfort to himself, feeling terribly ill all of a sudden. But he was up here now, and he had no choice but to just face the fears and look inside. With a deep breath, he peered inside.
Hungrily, his eyes swept the darkened room, having no trouble in seeing in the light from the silvery moon behind him somewhere. He searched desperately, quickly finding the bed and her sleeping figure under the blankets, squeezing his fists so tightly his nails cut into his own hand and drew blood with a painful sting. There was her unspeakably lovely dark hair contrasting against the white of the pillow, and that was her slim figure, visibly elegant even lying down and concealed by worn down blankets. Erik felt a whole new bubble of optimism inside him. She didn't look so different from three years ago so far, he knew he had made up the gaunt, lifeless look of her face...
With this optimism now inside him, he searched and found her face.
He almost gagged, bile choking up in the back of his throat, bitter as poison. He tensed up as the optimism was rapidly replaced by sheer horror as his stricken eyes took in her poor, poor face. There were purple bags under her beautiful eyes, her perfect face now far too pale and fatigued and- oh no. Oh God no, that couldn't be-
Erik couldn't stop the enraged yell of pain that erupted from his mouth as tears of anger spurted from his eyes. He nearly fell backwards in horror, turning away instantly and wishing he had never looked at her, for that image of her face would now never leave his mind.
That was a bruise, a great big ugly bruise on her moonbeam white cheek. And a graze, red and angry, tainting the flawless perfection of her glorious face. That boy- that stupid, insolent, vile fop had harmed her! He, worthless and pitiful as he was, had dared to hit Christine! Erik felt- he could not put words to the anger, the hate that was in his heart right then. His Christine, struck by her own husband! Why had he let her go? Why had he let that evil boy take the woman he loved, the only woman he loved? He had let the Vicompte hit Christine by letting her go.
He recoiled from the glass as if it were fire, writhing and trembling with the urge to hunt down that worthless piece of filth and rip his throat up and out of his own coarse mouth! He closed his eyes, refusing to open them, willing the sadistic urges and the pleasing images of how Raoul would look beaten and dead to go away before he acted upon them...and then a miracle.
"A-angel?"
A soft voice, sweet to his ears and so innocent compared to all the evil images flashing up in his mind now. He opened his eyes in wonder, driven by a force so powerful and yet unbeknown to himself, and he looked straight at her.
Her deep brown eyes were pools of emotion. They were caring, kind, scared and crying for attention; begging for kindness and compassion. Her face was bone white and rigid with fear and yet when he nearly toppled backwards she reached out and gripped his shoulders, pulling him back up and saving him from what would probably have been his death. There was no anger in her eyes, only the curiosity as to why he was there, and the fear that he would harm her.
"I promise I mean no-no harm or disruption." He choked out, desperate to make her see he would not hurt her like her filthy husband so obviously would. "I only came to- to...I was passing, and I..."
His words brought out a small tentative smile onto her rose petal lips, making her face look so much more like the Christine he knew and adored rather than this abused young woman who stood before him now, scared and alone. She looked a little enthralled by his presence, which reminded him of that night when he had led her down to the catacombs, hand in hand, her eyes filled with awe and recognition of everything. He had thought she understood the music of the night, his love for her, everything...perhaps that night she really had. That same look of awe was back again now, which made him feel very strange indeed.
"You sound so different." She murmured, looking at the skin coloured mask and smiling a little at it, her eyes sparkling. "I must apologise to you for my stupidity yesterday; it was out of shock and nothing more. It's just I- I never thought you would be alive."
Erik looked at her dazed face, seeing the moonlight dance in her eyes and he had to look away as the intensity of the gaze grew uncomfortable. He hadn't been this close to her since that night- oh that hideous night of such regret!
"No. Neither did I." He murmured, the words slipping out with just a touch of ice before he could catch them. She flinched a little at the obvious reference to his own suffering, and she instantly tore her hand away from his shoulder, which she had still been desperately gripping like a lifeline. He was convinced that she would be able to hear the erratic pound of his heart; it felt like it might burst out of his chest.
The silence between them was agonising. It felt as if there was an invisible wall, holding them apart and completely choking up all the words each of them wanted so desperately to unleash. Erik had never in all his life felt so far away from someone who was so close. So close he could see the different shades the milky moonlight brought out in those divine curls, so close he could smell the rose water on her creamy skin, so close that he felt each ragged breath kiss his cheek. His eyes surveyed the bruise, his fists clenching involuntarily. The de Chagny fop would be paying for that, and he would relish in demanding that payment.
"Are you happy?" he suddenly blurted, taking Christine by obvious surprise as her eyes widened and her mouth gaped a little. "I mean to say...are you...is... is everything as you wish? I only want to...never mind my intentions-"
Christine cut him off with a small nod that made his blood boil. Why was she lying to him? Did she think he was blind, oblivious to that mark of abuse on her poor face?! He wanted her to tell him the truth; he wanted her to spill out all of her pain and secrets and desperation to him as she had done as a child, so that he might try to help her. But Erik reminded himself harshly that he was no longer the Angel of Music who cared for dear little Christine; he was a crazed madman who had scared her to the point of death and abducted her. Of course she wouldn't tell him her problems; he was the problem.
"My life is...I am lucky to be in the position I am now. After all, should I not still be a forgotten chorus girl, dancing amongst a multitude of equals? Raoul has given me more than I ever deserved." She said this firmly, avoiding his intense gaze, but her hand involuntarily crept up to touch the bruise that had bloomed on her pale cheek. Erik wanted to shake her, to somehow get it into her head that she deserved more than any man could ever give; that she did not have to suffer because she was not necessarily noble blooded. He knew, that if Christine were his wife, he would never stop trying to be worthy of her, always trying to give her the devotion she so deserved. Could she not see this now, burning in his eyes? Could she not see her own perfection? He despised that fop for making Christine into this submissive servant; that was something she had never been.
"And your life?" she asked hesitantly, her desire to be polite fighting desperately with her loathe to ask such a question, as if she knew the answer already.
Erik laughed softly, the gentle night breeze carrying the sound up to the moon, which was bright against the velvet black of the sky itself.
"Oh, yes, I am living the dream." He said quietly, voice dripping with a little too much dark sarcasm, but he could not help it. Her inability to retain at least some self respect had angered him. "I have never, in fact, felt better in all my life."
Christine gasped at his dark words, ducking her head as tears of shame filled those perfect eyes. She was clearly embarrassed to be seen crying, but Erik did not even blink. He was still too affected by the fact she saw herself as so inferior she could possibly deserve to be beaten!
"My Angel, I can never ever forget how I left you that night and I will forever be tormented by the consequences of my choice." She wept pitifully. Erik thought darkly to himself that she couldn't have been that distraught, else she would have returned. "And you come to me now, to chide me and it makes it all so much worse-!"
Erik looked up in a flash, anger gone in a split second.
"It's funny, horribly and painfully funny, that now I should need an Angel when once I despised one." She seemed to have started to rant, hysteria clutching at the words and making them choke out rather than flow normally. "I am alone, for the first time in my life, and I hate it! No-one cares, they simply pass me by as if I am nothing! I hated you, loathed you, convinced that my life was painful because of you and your evil acts, but when you were gone it was worse! I thought you were dead, i was glad of it for I could finally leave my past behind...and yet I feel relief, pathetic relief that you stand here alive! Oh God-!"
"Christine-" he whispered, the words more a plea than anything.
"No- just go! Go away right now and never come back!" she sobbed, reached the peak of her hysteria with frightening emotion. "I don't want yet more reminders of how I have hurt so many- I don't want to be told how hideous I am! Don't you think it tortures me?! If you had any shred of compassion left in you, you would leave now and honour my request."
Erik didn't know what to do or say. He struggled for words, wanting only to stop her tears once and for all. He wouldn't promise to leave her alone; how could he now that she had admitted this painful sadness?
"Christine, I don't deserve to ask you to appreciate my feelings." He said in a whisper as she glared at him with tear filled eyes. "But I cannot leave you when you are so upset. Let me be a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen and- and even a friend, to console you, just for tonight. I cannot bear to see you so alone; I was after all your Angel. You can- you can tell me anything, Christine; just do not make me leave you like this."
"Oh curse you and your concerns!" she growled, almost comically, wiping her eyes and looking at him with a stern face. "I don't even understand why you are here tonight. But that offer you made me, to listen and console me...it is the kindest thing anyone has done for me in quite some time, aside from the Giry's and their support. It's selfish of me, but I cannot resist."
"That is not being selfish; I want to help you." he murmured, his heart close to exploding as her face softened. In a strange way he was glad she had been angry with him. It meant that she was being honest, and to Erik's mind that was one step closer to redemption.
"I...thank you. You had better come inside." She mumbled, well and truly embarrassed now by her hysteria and melodramatics. Erik hid a smile as he ducked inside through the open window, liking this new side he had discovered to Christine. Even if she was submissive in all other instances- Erik gnashed his teeth- he like the strength she had developed through her hardships.
But the smile slowly faded as there was a wrenching feeling in his chest. He knew, with certainty that hurt, that he should slip away now whilst he still could. He had seen her face and come to terms with the fact he now wanted to kill Raoul de Chagny, even though he hoped to resist, and he had even been blessed enough to hear her soft voice again. She was in pain and was alone; he knew that now, and she needed him.
She needed sympathy, assurance, and he could give these things in his doting care for her. He didn't doubt that. But now he knew he could give some comfort, it would torture him if he stopped coming to see her. In a crazed mission to see her face again he had managed to start a vicious circle; again.
His eyes adjusted instantly in the shadowy gloom of the room, one of few benefits of living an eternity of night, and he quickly and efficiently surveyed its contents. A shabby bed with worn blankets, and old cane chair, a washstand, a mirror, a wardrobe that had seen better days and a small, dilapidated chest of drawers. He winced a little as he saw her bare feet on the, no doubt rough, wooden flooring but noted that the room was fairly warm, apart from the chill from the open window, which he quickly and silently shut.
He felt a swell of gratitude towards Antoinette and Meg, who had assured Christine's well-being even with their lack of money. At least she had more now that Erik had Nadir had given her-
He stopped, cursing himself for once again over thinking it. This bliss, this once in a lifetime joy, was not going to last. He needed to savour every second if he had any hope in surviving the cruelty and loneliness that would take over his world once more in the aftermath of tonight. He told his mind to stop thinking, and instead lived in each gorgeous moment.
Christine was shivering as she sat on the end of her bed, pale faced, thin and fatigued. She looked so tired and run-down whilst remaining that steadfast vision of perfection that Erik was so enraptured by. He had never been able to find fault in that flawless face, those deep eyes, her heavenly voice...
To this day, he was still unsure if he loved her because she was perfect, or if she seemed perfect because he loved her. Either reason still caused his heart to throb, heightening the misery of the situation. To be in love was problematic enough, let alone to love in vain. Erik could only hope that tonight would calm his desperation to a tolerable level, even though his heart was screaming that nothing could ever be enough aside from her love in return.
"Would you mind if I got into bed?" Christine asked softly, her voice hesitant and weak again. "I'm rather cold."
Erik gestured with one swift move of his hand for her to go ahead, as he gracefully sat down on the cane chair that sat next to the bed. He watched her crawl under like a child, pulling the blankets around her and propping herself up on the pillows, her eyes drooping with exhaustion and yet bright with what seemed to be happiness.
The silence that followed was tense. Erik was fighting with the urge to talk and the fact that she was obviously tired and needed sleep. He wanted to prompt the conversation, eager to relieve some of her stress, but how could he invite such a release of her problems onto him when he was probably the cause of most of them? In was infuriating, and he glanced nervously around the room trying to ignore how his face was heating up.
"Have you ever been to the south of France, Angel?"
What? Erik turned to look at her, wondering why her voice was so dreamlike, and he saw the fight to stay awake being slowly lost as she struggled to keep her eyes open. He nearly smiled as she looked at him with a blissful sigh. She was even still calling him Angel, reverting back to the old Angel of Music days. For some reason, it was this small detail that caused the smile to break out onto his face.
"No, I don't believe I ever have."
"Oh, you should, it's lovely; so sunny and pretty." She yawned, stretching delicately. "Oh please excuse me- where was I? Ah, yes, the glorious south of France...I never tired of gazing out of my window onto the vineyards and sun kissed fields. After so many years of the cold, in Sweden and so often Paris, it was so calm and soothing..."
She lay back against the pillows with a euphoric yet lazy giggle, closing her eyes. She instantly looked much younger; so vulnerable that Erik felt a lump catch in his throat.
"It sounds lovely." He whispered, soothing.
"Mmm." She mumbled drowsily, her words slipping a little until she sounded incoherent. "Lovely...that's the word. I did so want to live there, with Raoul and little Gustave or Marie or...safe and happy in the sunshine. Safe..."
She never did finish her rambling, as then the exhaustion finally won and took her into sleep. Erik winced and writhed a little in pain as he replayed the words over and over in his tormented brain. How she talked and referred to that fop still, after all he had so obviously done...she still adored him. He watched over her like a guardian angel, shaking his head in silent disbelief. Foolish girl, he thought sadly, you don't understand at all.
At least that seemingly meaningless conversation had soothed her. It made his blood boil that simply having someone to care enough to talk to her had been like the ultimate kindness. Even as she slept, her mouth was still smiling and she looked far more peaceful than before. How could she not appreciate how much she was worth?!
He rose swiftly from the hard cane chair, stopping to reach out to her with one trembling hand. He touched her soft cheek for a second, feeling its silky texture underneath his calloused fingertips, before wrenching his hand away as if he had just plunged it into open flames. She was still so far away, so out of reach, even though he could touch her-
As he forced himself to walk away from her sleeping form, the words from his mournful aria fell from his lips as a barely audible whisper.
"And as much as I want to, I can never hold you,
The struggle to resist fights the need for your kiss.
And as much as I need to, you'll never let me love you,
To take would not be right so I remain, lost in the night.
Alone, forever alone, without you.'
Erik choked on the words, tasting them as bitter and cold as tears of despair spurted from his eyes. He gripped the window sill in an attempt at the self control he knew he couldn't break. He mustn't, he knew he mustn't- so why did the allure remain so strongly? Could he never lose the pain, the horror, and reach the stability to leave her at peace?
God, he knew it then more than ever that he was insane. Fixated on her, captivated by her, enthralled by only her... no-one else would ever be-
This was more than music and more than the need for a voice and muse. This was pure, uncontrollable love coursing through his veins as he silently cried over her smiling, peaceful face. It hurt so much- why did love have to hurt so much?! Love was meant to be good and pure and bliss, pure heavenly bliss, so why was he hurting this way?
Erik knew that he could run to the furthest corner of the globe and never be free of this maddening feeling. This love- this obsession with her- it was etched into his heart so that each staggering beat sent more adoration for her through his body and brain. The power of the love he felt was scaring him, as was the horrifying reality that she could never love him in return. She had said so herself; she had loathed him.
Erik jumped silently to the darkened streets and tried to forget the events of this tormenting night. He couldn't tell Nadir, he couldn't admit his weakness to the man who had made him strong again. He hurried along to Nadir's home, feeling the blast of the cold night air clear his head a little, but nowhere near enough.
He wished he had never given in to look in on her. It was starting, that cycle of insanity; he could feel it starting to overcome his entire being. And he wouldn't let himself become that monster again; he would rather die.
The moon watched silently as Erik fled down the streets back to the sanctity of Nadir's home. Something had changed in the darkness of this night. A change that could never be reversed.
