I cannot tell you for certain how long I remained in the cellars with Erik, Father – to me it only seemed like a few months, but it could have been closer to a year. Time was an elusive thing, and it meant little to me anyway, for what did it signify? What was a day, a week, a month, when you have been sentenced to a life of imprisonment?
I had supposed that my frequent nausea was the result of the drugged wine Erik prepared for me or perhaps my lack of fresh air, but I soon realized that neither of those things were responsible for my continuing illness; Erik no longer served me wine at all, and he took me on frequent walks, as one might a favored pet. I would lie in bed at night after Erik had departed with my hand upon my stomach, kneading the hard lump that grew there. I had been told that it was possible to catch diseases from men, Father, and naïve girl that I was, I imagined that Erik had given me some sort of infection, which I prayed would prove to be fatal. It would take some weeks for me to discover what truly ailed me, after my clothing grew tight and I realized that my monthlies no longer came, but for a while, Father, I was content to live in ignorance.
Once I grew accustomed to Erik's nighttime visits, I no longer feared them, for I had learned that it was better to be aware of what occurred than to be forced to guess the morning after. He was, for the most part, unfailingly gentle with me, and when he cried sometimes I did try to comfort him – please, Father, do not think me unfeeling or deliberately cruel – but those tears were fueled by demons that were far beyond my reach, and even soft words or caresses could not soothe him, and although I knew that he loved me desperately, I also realized how insignificant and powerless I was. I had nothing to offer him, nothing at all, and I regretted bitterly that he had fallen in love with someone who could not return his affection.
The month passed quickly until one day Erik announced that he would be freeing Raoul, and when he had informed me of this he had watched my face carefully, searching for any reaction on my part, but I had learned to wear a mask of my own. He was gone for several hours, Father, and I waited impatiently for his return, and when he did come back he seemed happier than I would have expected him to be under such circumstances.
"Your young man is free now," he declared as he collapsed into the chair across from me.
"Where did you take him?" I imagined my poor Raoul, alone and disoriented from his stay in the darkness of the dungeon, wandering the streets of Paris lost.
"I placed him in the care of his brother," Erik said, staring at me with such an earnest expression written upon his wretched features that I could not help but believe him, for I did not know then that he had drowned Philippe months ago. "The Count was very eager to see his young brother once again." And then he laughed – oh, that should have been a clue, Father, but I had upheld my half of the bargain and had expected him to be a gentleman, oh, foolish, foolish creature I was! – and I smiled timidly in return. "Now Erik will begin to search for a suitable house for his bride."
You must think me the stupidest woman upon the face of the earth by now, Father, and yet at the time I fancied myself quite crafty! I reasoned that I must delay our departure from the cellars as long as possible, for once we left, Raoul would not know where to find me, and so I told Erik that the house must be very particular indeed, for I supposed that he would be unable to find such a place quickly, and by that time Raoul would have rescued me. I didn't even consider what would happen once Raoul arrived in the cellars or what Erik would do without me – I could not look past my circumstances, dismal as they were, and longed only to be free of them.
I was sure that Raoul would come for me within a week, Father, and so I carefully made notches with my fingernail into the soft bar of soap I used for my baths, waiting for him. When there were seven notches, I reasoned that he was surely fatigued a great deal from his experience and needed to rest and plan my escape; when there were fourteen notches, I told myself that perhaps Philippe was opposing his plot to save me – his brother had always been set against our relationship. Why should he be any different now, especially when Raoul had disappeared for so long?
The bar of soap was soon riddled with marks, and yet I remained in the cellars, Father, with Erik still coming to my bedroom at night. Once in a while he would add another paper bird to my collection, another testament to his bride's fidelity, and I would line them up in neat rows and stare at them for hours, waiting, always waiting.
I was not as skilled at hiding my disappointment as I supposed I was, for Erik sensed my melancholy and also seemed to understand its source. "Your little chap isn't coming for you," he said finally one night over dinner, and I was so surprised by his sudden words that I dropped my spoon into my soup bowl and was obliged to fish it out.
"What do you mean?" I questioned, attempting to feign innocence, but Erik was, as I have said before, far craftier than I imagined.
"Erik knows all of the events that happen beneath the roof of his opera house, he always has, and you know it is foolish to attempt to keep a secret from him here." He glared at me, the heat of his eyes pinning me to the spot, and I was so frightened that I could barely force myself to swallow against the lump that was forming in my throat. "Do you honestly think, silly child, that the Count would allow your young man to marry you, the wife of another man, and disgrace the de Chagny name? He is not coming back for you, Christine. He is not coming back."
I screamed at him, Father, oh how I yelled at him – he was a wretched liar, I knew he was not telling the truth, Raoul would come back for me, he loved me – I didn't even care that I had revealed my hope for escape then; I only wished that he would be quiet. I rushed from the room in tears and threw myself onto my bed and cried for hours. Erik left me alone that night, but the next night he entered my room after I had bathed, after I had scrubbed my body with that bar of soap and had erased every mark upon its surface, and quietly he stood at the foot of my bed, gazing at me. I was miserable and could not stop the tears from flowing.
"It pains Erik to see you cry so, Christine," he murmured as he towered above me, "for he knows how it is to love someone who does not care."
Oh Father, something inside me broke that night, and I reached for him – for the first time, but not the last – and he came willingly into my arms and tried to comfort me in his odd way, which only made me sob more. He was all I had in the world, Father, the only soul who would mourn my passing should I die, and I…at that moment I needed him more than anything. We cried together and held one another, two lost souls clinging to whatever solace we could find, and when he touched my hair and murmured words of devotion against my ear I was not repulsed by him.
It was all false, Father; it was built upon lies, but I was unaware of it…if only we had remained there forever, I believe I could have been happy.
