Two years.
Christine was staring at the headstone, shivering in the early spring wind. Although the sun shone brightly, the warmth was not yet there, and the grass was soft and moist, too wet to sit on it, so she crouched awkwardly, humming as she picked away dead, soggy leaves and grass from the headstone and ensured that the grooves of the name were clean and free of dirt.
Two years. The worst years of her life. And the best.
Memories came back to her...The night of Gustave's disappearance, meeting Erik, their lessons, the strain of her relationship with Raoul, Gustave's debilitating illness...and the funeral. It had been raining, hadn't it? She looked up toward the sky. Nothing but bright, cold blue and a faint, wispy cloud that drifted lazily through the air. No rain, no gloomy skies...Just the promise of spring.
She looked back at the headstone and told him of her recent performances, how pleased Erik was with her progress, how much she loved the music and the singing.
"My director, Mr. Hoffmann, even talked to me about performing in his next couple shows!" she said. "Erik's not sold on the idea...He thinks Mr. Hoffmann is dumb, but still. It's something. And anyway, Erik thinks everyone is dumb."
She was quiet for a moment, looking around the cemetery as if Gustave was replying, but of course he wasn't, and she played with a few curls that had fallen over her shoulder.
"Erik said your violin makes him mad," she then said, giggling a bit. "Not that it's a bad one! He said it's a really nice violin. But he says that for some reason he can't...connect with it. I don't know what he means by that. Some weird musician term or something, I guess. But he still keeps it in good shape for you. I think you'd like that. It's not meant to be put away in a closet, like I did with it."
Her knees twinged a bit in protest at her extended awkward crouching, and she shifted uncomfortably, knowing she needed to go soon but reluctant to do so.
"I think you're happy now," she murmured. "I am, too...even though I still miss you."
Did he miss her?
That was a hard question she didn't want the answer to, so she didn't. She brushed away the wet grass that clung to the top of her shoes before standing and promising to visit next week. She had to hurry to the pharmacy before it closed. Her birth control was almost gone…
It had been weird and a little uncomfortable, doing all those normal things before getting married. Doctor's appointments...examinations...probing questions. Things that hadn't factored into her childlike dreamworld before marriage were actually upon her and the reality of unwanted pregnancy had caused her stomach to jump in fear. Pregnancy. Children. The thought was not yet welcome. She didn't know if it would ever be for Erik. So she got the pills, and he took her and wrapped her up in his world of love and music and isolation. Just the two of them. Maybe forever. She didn't know, and it was something that she didn't want to think about just then.
She could never get rid of the embarrassed warmth in her cheeks whenever she approached the tall counter to get the pills, and it was no different that time. The tall, dark woman behind the counter chewed noisily on her gum and typed Christine's name into the computer, the keyboard loud and jarring.
Christine opened her bag to pull out her wallet and then remembered that she had left her identification card and debit card sitting on the bed after ordering some Swedish novels online that morning. She sighed in annoyance and rubbed her forehead.
"I'll try to be back before you close," she said apologetically. The woman nodded, looking bored and unconcerned, and Christine hurried out and back to the Opera House. It wasn't imperative that she get them today, but it was Friday and she had a break that evening, and the pharmacy wouldn't be open tomorrow, and then her performances would drain her, not to mention she had to get the rest of those songs ready for the wedding...
Grumbling to herself, she unlocked the door and hurried down the first hallway. The prospect of having to go all the way back up and go back to the store was daunting and unwelcome. Maybe if she asked nicely...Erik would go instead...She could only imagine how well that would go over at the counter.
If you do not hand over the contraceptives, you will have to…
She struggled trying to think of a phrase that Erik would use. You will be sorry. Then she laughed a little. Erik was a lot better at word play and making things sound elegant. Sometimes she wondered if he was ever annoyed at her expressions...her vague, unintelligent "hehs" or "ums" or "uhs" that seemed to spill from her mouth constantly. Hopefully not. It wasn't as if she was a genius…
As she turned down another hallway, she stopped, realizing suddenly that it was pitch black and that she had forgotten the flashlight in her haste. She had gotten this far by memory, a habit in her steps that told her where to go only because she had done so so many times before. But she was unsure now with her realization, and she took a few hesitant, unsure steps in the dark.
Stupid. Why had she forgotten it? She huffed and pulled out her cell phone, pressing a button to turn the screen on. The light from it was dim, diluted and spread too thin in the darkness, and she squinted as she tried to figure out where she was. There were a couple arrows near the hallway, and she held up the phone closer...Blue. Blue…
The colors seemed a little mussed in the ugly, small glow of the phone, but she saw what looked like a blue arrow and followed it, giving another annoyed sigh. Erik would have to lead her back up and would probably chide her all the way for forgetting the flashlight when he had told her never to do so, to never wander in the tunnels...
She paused again, looking around. The hallways were now completely unfamiliar, and she held up her little phone light to see that there were no arrows there anymore. Her stomach jumped.
"It's fine," she said aloud. I'll just go back to where I was...Maybe the arrow wasn't actually blue...If she couldn't find her way from there, she would try to call him, but the reception was bad in the tunnels. If that didn't work, she would have to sit there and sing for who knew how long before Erik heard her and came up for her. That would be tedious.
With a little shake of her head, she turned around and headed back down the hallway.
Before she had gotten three feet, something grabbed at her ankle and pulled her forward. She screamed and fell on her back, smashing her elbows and hitting the back of her head. Color exploded in her eyes, and she moaned and rolled over, only to cut herself off with another shriek.
Something was tightening around her ankle, and it hurt. Badly. She sat up quickly and reached over to pull at it, only to feel warm blood seeping from the area. With frantic cries, she prodded around and felt a thin wire rope of some kind that was obviously digging into her skin. When she shifted closer to give the line some slack and release the pressure, it tightened instead. She shrieked again, choking on tears and trying to get her fingers under the thin wire. It was impossible. The pain was excruciating. For several heart-stopping moments, she imagined that the wire would eat its way through and cut off her foot.
She screamed for Erik over and over, trying not to become hysterical but failing. Her fingers were slippery with blood, and it felt like her whole foot was drenched. What was this? Why was it here? Would she be trapped forever?
The light from her phone had gone off—she had no idea where it was, and she patted the ground around her blindly, her bloody fingers becoming coated with the dirt and grime of the floor. She kept trying to shift closer to the wire, hoping insanely that the pressure would be released, but it didn't let up.
What felt like hours of bloody pain later, she finally heard him. He was calling for her, and she shrieked again, gasping and sobbing.
His footsteps were heavy and fast, and he ran to her and dropped down, light suddenly appearing. He was carrying a flashlight, and he shined it down at her ankle. She gagged and gave a shuddering sob. It looked like something out of a gory horror movie, dark red blood oozing down and soaking her shoe and sock.
"Hold still," he commanded, and he leaned over. As soon as he touched it however, she flinched away, but the wire only bit into her skin more as a result of the movement.
"It hurts!" she bawled. "Don't touch it!"
"I have to cut it," he replied. "The more you move, the tighter it gets. Please. Christine. Hold still."
He shifted a little and pressed his knee on her shin, effectively pinning her leg down. She screamed when his fingers returned, but after a few seconds of excruciating, blinding pain, the pressure was gone, and her ankle was freed. She fell backward and lay there, crying hysterically, pressing her hands over her face.
"How long have you been here?" he asked, his voice strained, tight. She shook her head, unable to manage words. It felt like her whole leg was throbbing, a hot, pulsating pain that numbed her ability to speak or think.
His hands slipped under her, and he picked her up, holding her close to his chest. Her cries echoed through the hallways, but by the time he opened the front door, they had weakened into shuddering, painful gasps and sighs.
The bathroom was really too small to accommodate both of them, yet he maneuvered around her as best he could, pulling out bandages and creams. He slipped off her shoe and bloody sock, and she closed her eyes in mute horror at the sight of it.
He was methodical, focused, silent as he worked, and only her occasional yelps of pain and heavy, gasping breathing permeated the tense, taut air. The cool water on her ankle felt good, and then he wrapped a rolled towel tightly around it to stanch the bleeding. He held it there for several minutes, kneeling beside her awkwardly in the cramped, small bathroom. Her head was pounding from the fall, and her elbows hurt too, but her ankle hurt the worst by far. She was bizarrely grateful that the wire hadn't cut off her entire foot.
At last he carefully removed the towel, and he rubbed a cold cream around the cut before picking up a roll of white bandage and wrapping it around her ankle.
"We are lucky not to be in need of stitches," he said softly, securing the bandage. He put her foot down gently and then pulled out another towel, running it under the faucet to wet it. His fingers were trembling a little, and he picked up her hands and wiped away the blood and grime on them. She saw that his own fingertips were pink, stained. Gently, he cleaned her face as well, his actions focused but the expression in his eyes looking far away.
"Thank you," she murmured, starting to feel somewhat calm again.
He picked her up once more and carried her over to the couch, setting her down and spreading a blanket over her. She leaned back with a slow, exhausted sigh.
"I just forgot the flashlight," she explained weakly. "I'm so stupid...I didn't even realize…"
"No," he replied, his voice quiet. "You did nothing."
"You told me not to go anywhere else," she said. "I didn't really mean to, but...And...are there those wire things all over the tunnels? Is that why it's not safe to wander around?"
He was silent for a moment. "There are...others," he said.
"Is it so other people can't come down here?"
"Yes," he said, and his voice was still so soft, almost gentle. It confused her a little; she would have expected him to be hysterical. But maybe he had learned something or was restraining himself for her sake. Luckily, his demeanor was calming her even more. It wasn't such a big deal, really...Her ankle still hurt a lot, but everything had turned out okay. Nothing life-threatening, just a scare.
She grimaced at the thought of the other traps, though. "Has anyone else gotten hurt by those things?"
"No, not by the wires," he replied, stroking her hand. "If we are careful, we might even be able to avoid scarring…"
A few minutes passed, and she sighed tiredly and then laughed weakly, humorlessly. "Guess the refill will have to wait until next week." Something troubling came to her. "I have a performance tomorrow! And I have that wedding to sing at! I'll be able to walk, won't I?"
"Yes, of course," he said. "Perhaps no more today, but tomorrow I will change the bandage and ensure that the blood has clotted and stemmed sufficiently."
"Good," she murmured. He stroked her hair absently, and she shifted uncomfortably.
"My dad died two years ago today," she stated after a few moments, wanting the conversation to get away from her ankle and the traps. "I went to the cemetery this afternoon."
"Yes...You have been withdrawn recently. Sad." He was holding her left hand, running his thumb back and forth over her ring.
She tried to think of a time when she had been sad or withdrawn around him recently. Maybe when he had told her about his 'evil eye' the morning after opening night, but other than that, she couldn't remember anything.
"But you are not unhappy here?" he then said, his eyes widening. "Not unhappy with your Erik?"
"No, of course not!" she assured him. "No, I told you, I'm really happy here with you. Happier than I've ever been before."
"Even after…" He looked down to her injured ankle. She could see a very faint trace of red on the bandage.
She shrugged. "It was an accident."
"An accident…" he echoed, his voice nearly a whisper. His gaze was still on her ankle, and she started to feel unsure, her stomach beginning to churn.
"It...it was an accident, right?" she whispered after a while.
"Of course it was!" he snapped angrily, instantly, looking back at her. "Of course it was!"
"I believe you," she said hurriedly, shrinking back. "It was an accident, I know."
"No—no. My Christine." He ran a hand down her arm. "Do not fear me."
"I don't," she said, trying not to show her confusion. He seemed...off. Unsettled. And that unsettled her. "Are you okay, Erik?"
"Fine." He hummed a few lines of what she recognized to be Tosca and then stood, smoothing the blanket over her methodically.
"Are you sure?" she pressed. "You can tell me, you know, if you're not."
"I am quite well," he said baldly, gently lifting her foot to put a pillow underneath her ankle. "You are not, however. You must rest." He kept humming and disappeared for a moment before returning with some water. "Drink this. I will play for you."
The piano rang out, the piece haunting and beautiful, and she laid there, trying not to feel bothered by his behavior. It had certainly been an unconventional day in many ways, but everything was okay, and they were both safe and together. She was fine. So he was fine.
Wasn't he?
The wedding reception was at an old Victorian manor that had been refurbished as a venue hall for parties and the like. The downstairs had been gutted and converted to a large room suitable for such occasions, and Christine was charmed by the quaint, old-fashioned look and feel of the place.
The room was full, a couple hundred people milling about, and the dim lights and pretty piano music gave it a nice, calm, pleasant air. She sat near the piano, sipping on a glass of water and waiting. Alex's sister—Sara—wanted Christine to first sing for her first dance with her new husband, and that would be in a few minutes. The newlywed couple was currently floating about, greeting, chattering, mingling, a happy glow about them. Christine smiled at the sight.
The only other person she knew was Alex, and she had seen him for a few minutes after she had arrived. He had given her a wave and then had disappeared in the direction of the bar. She was beyond grateful to see that Catherine Abramson was not present. The pianist was a pretty middle aged woman whose name she didn't know, but they had practiced the songs together once or twice before the reception had started.
Christine wondered if Erik was lurking somewhere. She had no idea where he would hide himself. Although the lights weren't too bright, she couldn't spot many hiding places, unless he was upstairs somewhere or in a different room. He hadn't said he was coming, but when she asked if he was going to stay home he had been noncommittal in his reply.
His mood had been worrying her lately. Ever since she had hurt her ankle (which was healing fine and only twinged when she bent it too far or put direct pressure on it), he had been distant, vague almost, as if he was looking through her most of the time. Whenever she tried to ask about, he would snappishly insist that he was 'fine' but would go on acting like he was floating about in some weird, hazy cloud. He didn't avoid her when she touched him, but he did not seek her out. To her greatest surprise, they hadn't been intimate since the accident. After being so...affectionate with him recently, the absence was getting strange, and she was starting to miss him.
Maybe the wedding will give him some ideas, she thought to herself, trying not to frown. He wasn't exactly a conventional husband, so hopefully he would snap out of whatever mood swing he was in and come back to her.
The crowd began applauding, and Christine sat up straighter to realize that the bride and groom had made their way over to a large, empty space, signalizing their readiness for their first dance. Christine stood and stepped over to the microphone, smoothing her dress and giving a smiling glance toward the accompanist, who nodded in return.
The love ballad came easily to her, a simple, uncomplicated, slow melody that Alex's sister had been so blown away by. Christine relaxed and let herself enjoy the easiness of the song. It didn't require the intense concentration, the focus, and the hours of work a complicated aria did. It just required feeling and interpretation, and she sang happily. The newlywed couple swayed together, their eyes closed, and Christine felt a sudden pinch of sadness steal over her...a troubled, innocent sort of subtle jealousy. She and Erik could have never had that, never had a first dance with family and friends looking on in love and support.
Thankfully, the song ended before her emotions became too overwhelming, and she took a deep breath as the final chord rang out. The silence that followed was overwhelming, and she peered out on the small, makeshift stage to see that all the guests were staring at her. Sara looked around as well and then looked back at Christine, smiling and starting the applause. It rippled through the room and grew louder. Christine murmured a thanks that was probably lost to them in the noise, and then the piano started up again for another song.
She sang a few more pieces, trying to focus on the music and not on the thoughts of her husband who she loved more than anything and who was acting so strangely...and who had never danced with her or taken her to a nice restaurant or out to the theater…
After the fourth song, she saw Alex making his way toward her, and he stepped up on the stage, swaying slightly. She grabbed his arm to steady him.
"You okay?" she asked.
He nodded. "Yeah, fine, thanks. Hey, listen...Sara wants you to stop singing for a while."
Christine hesitated. "Am I doing a bad job?"
"No!" He laughed, shaking his head. "You're doing too good. No one wants to dance or eat or talk. They all want to sit and listen to you." He nodded to the pianist, who started playing. "You're too good, Christine. Take a break, and then you can finish up the night. That's what Sara says." He grinned, and she realized that he was more likely than not a little buzzed. "There's an open bar if you wanna join me while you wait."
She shook her head, resisting an urge to laugh at him. "No, thanks. I'm just gonna sit for a while. I'm kind of tired. Thanks, though."
He shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said before disappearing back into the crowd.
The night wore on, and as she sat there, several people approached and complimented her warmly on her performance. All the comments were flattering and genuine, and she couldn't restrain a happy grin that stole her over. She was actually doing it...living her dream...being appreciated for her talent and work. It was still a little unbelievable.
She ended the reception with a few more songs, and there was a long, loud chorus of applause after. She hoped that Erik was there, listening to it. He deserved it as well.
Sara thanked her over and over at the end, even hugging her once. Christine was startled but touched by the profuse thanks, and Sara's new groom even thanked her for making their wedding day unforgettable.
"When you're famous, we'll be able to say that you sang for our wedding," he said, smiling.
She laughed and brushed the compliment aside. "Thanks for the opportunity. I had a nice time."
People were drifting out, and she thanked the pianist once more before getting her own things and leaving the venue. Erik had said he would be waiting with the car down the block, like he did for her performances, and she zipped up her coat as she stepped outside to go to him.
The black car soon came into view, and she felt her heart tug a little, as if it was pulling her to him.
"Christine!"
She turned in confusion and then saw Alex stumbling toward her, obviously hurrying to catch up, though his steps were unsure. Her heart nearly disappeared.
"Yeah?" she said. "Do you need something, Alex? I'm going home now."
"No—well, yeah," he said, his voice thick. He was by that time more than a little buzzed. "You were awesome in there! Thanks again. Really nice of you. Sara cried after you left. She said you were...the best in the world."
"Oh, that's nice of her to say," Christine said, not daring to look around to the black car. "Well, I'm going to go now."
"No, I need something," he said, frowning in confusion and swaying. "Something...Sara told me…"
"We can talk at the performance on Thursday," she said. "I don't think you'd remember anything I told you, Alex. You're pretty wasted."
He shrugged again. "Yeah, maybe...There was an open bar, did you know that? Anyway...uh, Sara needed…" He scrunched his face up. "Oh yeah! The address. Your address."
"Why?"
"For...um…" He took a few unsteady steps to the side, and she grabbed his arm again to steady him. "Money," he said. "Your money! To give you money for singing so nice."
"I have a PO Box," Christine said, relieved at the reason. Just to pay her. Not for social calls or anything…When had she become so paranoid? "Here, let me see if I can write it down for you...I have a pen in my bag somewhere…"
As she was rifling through her bag, she felt sudden pressure behind her, and her stomach dropped as she heard,
"Who is that?"
She turned around, gulping a little as she saw Erik, his eyes burning as he looked at Alex. She was surprised that he had come to her but not surprised at all that he had come to confront her about a man who had followed her out.
"His sister was the one who got married," she explained hastily. "I'm giving him the PO Box so she can mail us the check…"
"I recognize him," Erik then said, his voice flat, though there was a layer of contempt. "He is in your production, isn't he." There was no question in the sentence.
"Yeah," she said, glancing at Alex, who was staring at Erik with a slack-jawed drunkenness that might have made her laugh under different circumstances. "He was the one who offered me the chance to sing for his sister. He's nice."
"He is disgusting."
Alex finally became conscious enough to join the conversation. "Who's that?" he asked Christine, pointing at Erik.
"No one," Christine said hastily. "I'll just give you the PO Box number on Thursday, Alex. Have a nice night."
"Is he gonna kidnap you, Christine?" Alex demanded. "Is that why he's wearing a mask?" He took a step closer and actually reached out, as if to touch the mask. Christine stared, horrified, feeling like she was incapable of doing anything but watching as Alex's hand drew closer. For a moment, she wildly thought that Erik was actually going to let him, but he quickly pushed Alex away instead, his shove not as hard as it could have been but still hard enough to make Alex stumble back and fall to the pavement.
"Stop," Christine said instantly, breaking out of her paralysis. She had to do something before something bad happened. "Let's go, Erik."
Erik growled at the man on the ground, who was uninjured but still baffled at the sight. Christine grabbed her husband's hand and tugged.
"I want to go home. Let's go. Please."
With one more spiteful, hateful look, Erik fell into stride with her and ushered her over to the car. She slid in quickly and peered out the window to see Alex struggling to his feet, stumbling around and watching the car drive away.
Christine sighed and leaned back against the seat, wishing the night hadn't ended on such a sour note. It had been so nice at the reception…She had been hoping to soothe him and help him relax afterward, but that was now unlikely to happen.
"Did you listen to me?" she asked after she couldn't bear his silence.
"Of course," he said, looking out the opposite window.
"Did I do okay?" The worry was back. Usually he liked to touch at least some part of her during their car rides, whether it be her leg or holding her hand...But he wasn't even looking at her.
"You were splendid. As always."
The car drove for a couple more minutes, and she felt as if her heartbeat was thundering in her ears.
"Alex wasn't going to do anything," she then said, wondering if it was the best or the worst thing to say to address what had just happened.
"I am aware," Erik said. "He was far too inebriated. But I did not want him touching me. Or you."
She wondered if Erik didn't want her touching him, and so she clasped her hands together in her lap, looking out her own window, trying not to tear up. She was tired and a little emotional from the reception...All those warm feelings of promise and love, shared by family and friends. It was a reminder of what she could not have, not with Erik.
Her phone buzzed angrily, and she pulled it out in confusion. An unknown number calling. She ignored it, not feeling very chatty or curious at the moment. However, a few minutes later, she received a text from the same number.
Hi Christine this is Sara. Sorry to bother you but Alex keeps talking about u and a guy in a mask. You ok? Text me asap
Christine would have laughed normally, but the mood in the car seemed to squish it down and keep her quiet. Instead she replied: Hey, no worries, I'm fine. Just on my way home. Alex needs to keep away from the open bars in the future, lol.
The reply came: Lol i know sorry. Just wanted to make sure ur ok. Thanks again for your singing! Have a nice night!
"He will not remember details in the morning," Erik then said. "It is fine."
"Good," she said softly, stowing her phone away.
The silence resumed, and she was tempted to tear up and feel bad for herself, but she glanced at her ring and mentally shook herself. No, everything was fine. She was married to Erik, and she loved him more than anything, and he loved her more than anything. Nothing was wrong. So what if their relationship wasn't like everyone else's? She was happy. And so was he.
It wasn't until the car stopped that she spoke again. She looked out of the windows in confusion. The car had turned off, meaning they weren't stalling or waiting for a light, and she frowned.
"Erik? Where are we?"
I hope you guys aren't disappointed that Christine isn't pregnant! I was actually surprised by how many thought so, but it would have made sense. But at this point, I just can't see EC being parents. Like...they would super suck at it. Again, hope no one is upset by the news.
Also, to the "Guest" reviewer: I will answer any guest reviewer questions (and any and all questions) as as long as it's a question that won't be cleared up in later chapters/give away parts of the story. :)
Thanks so much for the reviews! You are all amazing.
