A/N: thanks so much for all the encouraging reviews! So glad people are enjoying this story. And thanks for many suggestions - it's opened my eyes to numerous possibilities. Cheers :)


Chapter Nine

Evening

After being woken for a light lunch and then an afternoon of back-gammon and similar pastimes, Erik announced that the dinner hour had arrived. He prepared a roasted fowl for the occasion and watched Christine devour most of the meal alone, only picking sparingly at the feast himself. He was still without his mask to Christine's pleasure and while she ate, she took the opportunity to observe him discreetly from time to time when his attention was diverted.

The poor man was devastatingly ugly to the point of making her feel ill when she considered how she had decorated that hideous face with kisses. His straggly hair swept back from a greatly receding hairline and protruding cheek bones gave him a deathly appearance but that was nothing compared to the hole which was his nose. His skin was sallow and grey. Christine could not help wondering how such a being was still able to draw breath. It was a great comfort to know that tomorrow she would be at home again. And yet there was something unsettling about it too.

After dinner Erik helped Christine wash the dishes and then it was time for Christine's bath. She had grown accustomed to bathing twice a day because it soothed her irritated nerves. Besides which, the bathroom was one room in the house into which Erik never dared follow her.

While she soaked in the steaming water and slowly lathered the soap on the sponge, Christine let her thoughts dwell upon the morrow. Scenes suggested themselves to her fancy one after another; Mamma Valerius overcome with joy at her return, the little pot of violets at the front door which would probably need watering, days spent resting in her own room where thoughts of this evil place could recede into oblivion.

And then of course the questioning would begin. The police would want to interview her. The Opera management would want to know what happened on that last night. So many questions whizzing in her brain, so many questions that she did not want to answer, tumbling upon her one after another. Where have you been Christine? Who took you? What did he make you do? Gradually, Christine sensed that she was not as excited about returning to the world as she felt she ought to be. There was something heavy inside her, a ball of emptiness forming in the place where her heart was supposed to be.

Or had it always been there? What was so wonderful about home anyway? It was no different to any other place. "I am very glad to be going home," she whispered to herself in consternation as she squeezed water from the sponge and let it stream like a small waterfall down her extended arm. "And yet everything seems so dead. Everything is dead and finished and over. What is wrong with me?"

Her thoughts turned to Raoul who was truly dead and her stomach turned. "And the police will ask me about him too. And what shall I say? Should I tell them about Erik? What will I do?"

Sliding forward, she plunged the back of her head into the water and lay there, moving her head from side to side so that the water would swish through her hair. It was wonderfully relaxing and Christine closed her eyes to enjoy it.

"Why don't I feel anything for Raoul now?" she asked herself, sensing the troubling numbness climbing up from her chest into her brain. "I used to love him. And now I don't seem to care. I don't care about anyone, not even Mamma Valerius. Everything is dead, dead, dead."

She opened her eyes, staring up at the ceiling where the electric light bulb fizzed. "What is Love anyway?" she wondered silently, only mouthing the words and feeling the hot water warming her neck and sides of her face. The brilliant yellow light bulb pierced her eyes, branding her sight with echoes of its shape which appeared in ghostly form when Christine let her gaze wander over the white ceiling. "I don't love anyone," she murmured to herself calmly. "Tell me Christine, what is Love, my pet?"

As she lay there, a little voice suggested itself on the tip of her imagination. Love is when you find yourself standing in a vast green field, Christine, with scented flowers and clumps of clover; the sun is shining and the sky is purest blue, and there is nothing to do but to run, and run, and run!

"Yes!" Christine whispered to herself, hazarding a tiny smile. "That is how I used to feel about Raoul!" She faltered. "And now he's gone. I don't suppose I'll ever feel that way again."

After finishing her bath, drying and dressing herself in her nightgown, Christine was ready for bed. Erik was not in the room and Christine assumed he would join her presently. She climbed into bed and lay there quietly on her back, her hands folded over her belly, gazing up at the ceiling. The bed had been freshly made, apparently by Erik sometime earlier, perhaps while she was in the bath. The linen sheets were cool and crisp. Christine wriggled her toes, luxuriating in the sensation of new linen rubbing against her bare feet. And then she moved her hands slightly. She felt the movement on her belly and stiffened.

"What if I am already carrying his child?" Christine wondered with a sudden sickening dread. Her eyes stared wildly into nothingness. "What would I tell Mamma Valerius? What would become of me?" A heavy feeling of remorse gripped her, growing more weighty with every fresh idea that suggested itself to her anxious mind. "I could not pursue my career... I would have to leave Paris. But where would I go? And what of Mamma Valerius? How could I explain this to her?"

But in time Christine chastened herself into calm. "There is no use upsetting myself over something that may never happen," she said, repeating a phrase that Mamma Valerius had often counselled her with. Christine closed her eyes and tried to breathe slowly, letting her body and mind relax. "Think of only good things," she went on silently as the seconds slowly passed by. "Tomorrow you are going home. Tomorrow everything will be normal again. Tomorrow Mamma Valerius will make you tea."

It was some time before Christine realised that Erik had still not made his appearance. It was their final night together. She had already resolved not to touch him yet she had expected he would sleep beside her in the usual way nevertheless. Puzzled, she decided to get up and search for him.

It seemed he was nowhere in the house, and then as Christine was returning to bed, she passed the door to Erik's music room. She decided to look in, just in case her strange companion was there.

The room was dark but the light from the hall illuminated it a little as Christine opened the door. Clearly Erik was not here composing music. She made to walk away but at the last moment decided to investigate further. Cautiously she stepped into the room, seeing in dim outline Erik's huge pipe organ opposite, and to the right his deathly casket standing open in the midst of funeral drapery. With only a mild curiosity, Christine ventured nearer the coffin to look inside.

She was aghast to find Erik lying in it with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Why are you here?" she demanded in a voice that jolted Erik into awareness. His pale eyes blinked and then settled on the young woman's face staring down at him. He wore no mask and the paleness of his skin was faintly luminescent in the dim light.

"This is where Erik belongs now," he said to his bride, calmly and distinctly.

"Don't be silly," Christine contradicted at once. "You can't be comfortable there. Why don't you sleep in the bed?"

"Erik is dead Christine," the sombre man returned, gazing up at her simply. "Or he soon will be. Go back to your bed. It will be morning soon."

Christine was shivering although she was not cold. She folded her arms tightly and clenched her teeth.

"You are making me feel guilty for looking forward to seeing the sunlight again," she uttered harshly with a huff. "That's not very nice."

Erik's gaze turned to a frown. "Why guilty? Why?"

"Because you speak of dying soon, as if my departure is going to kill you!"

Erik sat up quickly. "I am not going to die," he said pointedly. "Why do you say that?"

"You said it, just now," Christine argued, her voice sounding shrill. "You said Erik is going to die. That's why you're sleeping in the coffin."

"Erik is sleeping in the coffin," the living corpse amended.

"Yes..." Christine hesitated, frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't know," her husband shook his head at her, genuinely confused. Christine sighed and stepped back. She rubbed her upper arms and tried to regain her composure. Erik was looking at her as if she was no more than a gauzy apparition, a visitation from some ethereal realm.

Christine cleared her throat and braced herself to speak again. "Please tell me one thing," she said succinctly, not able to look Erik in the eye. "It is our final night together. Where did you bury Raoul?"

Erik blinked. "His body is in the crypt."

"What crypt?" Christine countered, darting a look at him. Her husband sighed.

"There were many bodies, Christine, after the Commune," he explained, gazing down at his withered hands while the young woman looked on with a shrewish gleam in her eyes. "You can see them all lined up in boxes, down near the dungeon, if you dig for them. I laid him with those," he finished quietly.

An astonished pause followed as Christine gave herself time to digest the information.

"I did hear stories about what happened after the Commune," she said at last in a small voice. The fall of the Paris Commune decades earlier was a story Christine had heard Mamma Valerius tell, a tale of rebellion, violence and bloodshed which had not spared either women or children. "I didn't know they were all true."

Erik let her words hang in the air for a brief moment. "And so you think me not so bad after all."

Christine was shocked. "No, I don't think that! Those men were wrong to kill so many innocent people. And you were no less wrong!" she told the murderous madman with total conviction. Erik bore it resolutely. Christine's indignation softened. "But I'm glad you buried Raoul," she admitted softly.

"I didn't kill him Christine," Erik's small voice came out of the dimness.

"I wish you would not keep saying that."

The room was deathly still. Erik sitting upright in the coffin, and Christine standing with her arms folded, the two people said nothing for several minutes. They did not look at one another. Christine felt a cold breeze tease her ankles.

"I'm going to bed," she murmured finally, too weary for further discussion. "You can come if you like but only to sleep," she emphasized weakly. "I don't think it would right to... to do anything else, considering."

Christine looked up to find Erik gazing at her coolly.

"I will stay here," he said.

"Very well," Christine shrugged. She moved away to the door. "Good night Erik."

"Christine," Erik stopped her as she put her hand to the doorknob. Christine waited in the open doorway, the gaslight from the hall bathing her in flickering reddish hues. "Will you kiss Erik good-bye?" he asked faintly.

Christine put her head to one side, gazing at the strange man quizzically. "Not good-bye," she said at last in an oddly tender tone, "but good-night."

Her husband shook his gruesome head slowly. "No it must be good-bye."

Christine coughed. "I will do that tomorrow," she said in a slightly discomforted voice.

"Tomorrow Erik will be gone," the deathly figure told her, staring straight into her uncertain eyes. "Only I will be here." He paused. "I'm frightened," he whispered.

Christine let her hand release the doorknob and drift to her side. "What of?" she softly enquired.

"I don't think I'm a good man," came the simple, rasped reply. Christine thought she could detect tears in the madman's voice. She stepped closer, moved round to the side of the coffin and placed her palm on his hollow cheek. The skin was moist.

"You are as good as you wish to be," she whispered gently. Without knowing how or why, her lips found his and planted a chaste kiss there. Erik submitted to it like a child and dipping his head, let his forehead brush his wife's cheek. "Go to sleep," Christine told him, stroking the back of his head before taking him by the shoulders and gently coaxing him to lie down. "And be happy when you wake up in the morning."

Erik grasped her hand as she was about to withdraw. He held it and pressed it lightly between his fingers and thumb before releasing her.

"Good night Christine."