Chapter nine
The day had passed by slowly for Christine. She spent hours in front of a fire, she managed to make, reading the books Erik had. Ayesha slept half the day away on Erik's bed, occasionally waking to the soft hands of Christine stroking her fur. For about an hour Christine had fallen asleep next Ayesha. Strangely enough, she had a dream about Erik crying for something. She couldn't hear what he said though.
An hour or so after midday, Christine gathered up her scarf, and a basket, and decided to set out for a quick shopping trip. She was amazed to find that Erik lived beneath the opera house itself. She thought of no better place for him, though. This was the best place for music in all of France.
A cool fall air whisked around the city and the other shoppers were dressed as warm as they could. Christine disappeared into a bakery, grabbing some fresh bread and than hurried off to by some vegetables and fruits. She paused at a small flower shop. A smile crossed her face as she gazed through the window. Bouquets of flowers were set all over the store, letting their aroma float into the street. Without think she slipped inside and bought a couple of roses, thinking that it would make Erik's home a bit more lively.
The journey home was colder than it was when Christine first set out. The wind tugged at her scarf, and she tried to keep it on, but to no avail. Christine, with a full basket, tried to catch it without dropping what she had just bought. With a shiver she decided to let the old scarf fly away.
"Oh no." Christine whispered. She wrapped her free arm around her waist. The scarf was one of the only things she had to remember her father by. By now, though, the scarf was too far off to try to run and catch.
Out of nowhere a man seemed to pluck the scarf out of the air. Christine was stunned to see that this was the same man she had run into the night before. He looked at her, a smile dancing across his face. He approached Christine, who was now flushing with embarrassment.
"I believe this is yours." the man said.
"Y-yes." Christine stammered. She took the scarf and managed to drape it over herself. "Thank you, monsieur. If it wasn't for you this would be lost forever." There was a moment of awkward silence. Christine fidgeted and forced a smile. "I must be going. Thank you kindly."
The man took hold of Christine's arm as she turned to leave. She let out a stifled gasp and grew rigid with fear. She had the urge to cry out for help, but bit her tongue.
"Let me walk you home, Christine." the man said. He let go of Christine and smiled broadly.
"How do you know my name?" Christine asked, taking a step back.
The man seemed amazed by the question. "You mean, you don't remember me?"
Christine shook her head.
"Do you remember, when you were only a little girl, that you lost your scarf in the ocean?" the man asked. He pulled the collar of his suit up, blocking the wind from his neck. He continued when Christine didn't answer. "There was a small boy who ran after it, still fully dressed and not bothering to listen to his mother cry out to him."
Christine cocked her head to one side. "I remember that vaguely."
"He went out, swimming after the scarf. . . ."
"The very one I'm wearing now."
"Yes! And when he returned it to you, you gave him a reward."
"A kiss on the cheek. My father was very grateful to that boy! He became a playmate of mine."
"And you two enjoyed listening to your father's tales and music. You taught him to sing a few songs, and he taught you how to dance."
Christine laughed as she began to remember the days of her childhood. She and the boy spent hours together. They danced to her father as he played the violin and sang songs. Christine would sing with her father, and the young boy would gleefully listen for hours at a time, still cheering for more.
"How do you know all of this?" Christine asked, her laughter waning.
"I was that boy, Christine!"
Christine gasped. "You. . . . You are. . . ."
"Raoul le Vicomte de Chagny."
"Oh my God!" Christine gasped, covering her mouth with her free hand. She took a step back, unsure of what do or say.
Raoul let a concerned look cross his face. "Christine, is everything all right?" With a nod Christine turned and began to hurry away. "Where are you going?"
Christine paused. "I have to go. I have a friend waiting for me."
"Who is she? Do I know her?"
"You don't know who he his. No one does." Christine replied. With a curt wave of her hand she called out a good bye and hurried back to the opera house.
**********
The house was alive with music when Christine entered the main room. Every candle was lit, sending odd shadows onto the wall. Ayesha was grooming herself on the couch, taking no notice as Christine walked by.
As Christine placed her basket down she heard a loud crash from Erik's room. She jumped and saw Ayesha scamper into her room. Christine placed her scarf next to her basket and slowly made her way to Erik's door. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard another crash erupt from the room.
"Damn it!" Erik screamed.
Christine pushed the door open and was amazed with what she saw. Erik sat on his bed, his face in his hands. Sheets of music where cluttered around the floor, his violin placed on the piano. One of Erik's masks was in pieces on the floor, its porcine skin ravaged with signs of anger.
"Erik?" Christine whispered, slowly stepping into the room.
Without a sound Erik raised his face from his hands. The mask he wore had a large fracture through it. A line of blood clashed with the white porcelain and trickled down his bare cheek. Christine's hands flew to her mouth as she gasped. She hurried to Erik's side, not bothering to take notice of his surprised look.
"Please, Christine." Erik said, trying to dodge her hands. "I'm fine."
Finally Christine took hold of Erik's face. He was automatically silenced. His eyes widened as Christine's delicate fingers grazed across the broken mask and was stained with the blood. Erik tried to turn his face away, but was stopped.
Christine looked into Erik's eyes. "How did this happen?"
Erik's eyes looked towards the mess as he remembered. "I was trying to pull something down from my bookcase and it fell. My mask was cracked and, obviously, I was cut. Apparently the pain turned to anger and I took it out on my music."
"Does it hurt?" Christine asked, trying not to apply pressure on the cracked mask.
"Its dulled down. In an hour or so I wont feel a thing." Erik replied.
Christine pulled a handkerchief from her belt. The cloth matched her dark blue dress perfectly. Working like a mother Christine began to wipe away the blood, trying to be as tender as possible. A soft smile crossed her lips as she watched Erik's eyes soften to the familiar look of fondness.
"How was your engagement with your friend?" Christine ask, trying to break their silence.
Erik blinked and held back his reoccurring anger on the subject. "Worse than I thought." he whispered. He slowly eased his way into retelling the events of the day.
Slowly Christine's hands moved away from Erik's face and began to stroke his hair. Erik grew silent as she continued. His eyes closed as he felt Christine's fingers continue to move through his hair. Christine began to hum a song her father had taught her.
Erik's arms slowly encircled themselves around Christine's waist and held her close. She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder, her hand still running through Erik's black hair. The two sat in the embrace, seeming to be lost to the world.
Without a word Erik kissed Christine's forehead. She looked up at him, her eyes locking to his. Erik smiled softly and she smiled. Her hands caressed the sides of the mask. The touch caused Erik to draw back, turning his face away.
Christine stood, feeling like she had tread where she wasn't supposed to. She placed her handkerchief beside Erik and straightened her hair. "I'm going to make some soup. Would you like any?" she asked. Her voice echoed off the stone walls.
Erik nodded. "Yes, please."
Saying nothing else, Christine left the room closing the door behind her.
A sigh escaped Erik. He stood and looked at the door. Turning his back to it, Erik's hands went to the cords that held his mask in place. Untying the cracked porcelain Erik looked at it. The blood had been wiped away, leaving nothing else.
With a cry of anger Erik threw it to the wall. It shattered on contact. The porcelain fell, making tinkling sounds. Erik breathed hard, feeling anger swell inside him once more. He turned away sharply and moved over to a bedside desk.
Pulling open a drawer Erik pulled out the remaining mask he owned. It was the same as the others, no difference what so ever. As he raised it to his face, Erik paused for a moment. He did have the one Akil had given to him, but it wasn't something he wished to wear around Christine. A black mask would throw everything he had worked for asunder.
"Erik?"
Erik froze as he heard Christine's voice. He stiffened for a moment. He could hear Christine holding her breath. With trained fingers he tied the mask, making sure it fit into place, before turning around to face Christine.
"Yes?" Erik replied, his voice wavering.
Christine gripped the door knob, her eyes staring at Erik with alarm. "I was wondering if you could help me in the kitchen. I don't know where anything is."
Erik paused. He eyed Christine. She was startled to see Erik placing his mask on. He knew that she never would have guessed that he took his mask off. Erik needed to do something to make her feel calm once more.
"Don't worry about cooking dinner." Erik said.
"What?" Christine asked, taking a step into the room. She slowly regained her composure. "But I was planing on making soup."
Erik smiled lightly. "Put on something nice. I am taking you out to dinner."
"Out?"
"Yes. I know of a beautiful restaurant where there is wonderful music and the perfect food." Erik ran a hand through his hair and approached Christine. He kissed her cheek softly. He looked and smiled as her cheeks flushed. "Accept this as an apology if I've made you scared or worried. What is your answer?"
Christine smiled brightly. "Yes."
The day had passed by slowly for Christine. She spent hours in front of a fire, she managed to make, reading the books Erik had. Ayesha slept half the day away on Erik's bed, occasionally waking to the soft hands of Christine stroking her fur. For about an hour Christine had fallen asleep next Ayesha. Strangely enough, she had a dream about Erik crying for something. She couldn't hear what he said though.
An hour or so after midday, Christine gathered up her scarf, and a basket, and decided to set out for a quick shopping trip. She was amazed to find that Erik lived beneath the opera house itself. She thought of no better place for him, though. This was the best place for music in all of France.
A cool fall air whisked around the city and the other shoppers were dressed as warm as they could. Christine disappeared into a bakery, grabbing some fresh bread and than hurried off to by some vegetables and fruits. She paused at a small flower shop. A smile crossed her face as she gazed through the window. Bouquets of flowers were set all over the store, letting their aroma float into the street. Without think she slipped inside and bought a couple of roses, thinking that it would make Erik's home a bit more lively.
The journey home was colder than it was when Christine first set out. The wind tugged at her scarf, and she tried to keep it on, but to no avail. Christine, with a full basket, tried to catch it without dropping what she had just bought. With a shiver she decided to let the old scarf fly away.
"Oh no." Christine whispered. She wrapped her free arm around her waist. The scarf was one of the only things she had to remember her father by. By now, though, the scarf was too far off to try to run and catch.
Out of nowhere a man seemed to pluck the scarf out of the air. Christine was stunned to see that this was the same man she had run into the night before. He looked at her, a smile dancing across his face. He approached Christine, who was now flushing with embarrassment.
"I believe this is yours." the man said.
"Y-yes." Christine stammered. She took the scarf and managed to drape it over herself. "Thank you, monsieur. If it wasn't for you this would be lost forever." There was a moment of awkward silence. Christine fidgeted and forced a smile. "I must be going. Thank you kindly."
The man took hold of Christine's arm as she turned to leave. She let out a stifled gasp and grew rigid with fear. She had the urge to cry out for help, but bit her tongue.
"Let me walk you home, Christine." the man said. He let go of Christine and smiled broadly.
"How do you know my name?" Christine asked, taking a step back.
The man seemed amazed by the question. "You mean, you don't remember me?"
Christine shook her head.
"Do you remember, when you were only a little girl, that you lost your scarf in the ocean?" the man asked. He pulled the collar of his suit up, blocking the wind from his neck. He continued when Christine didn't answer. "There was a small boy who ran after it, still fully dressed and not bothering to listen to his mother cry out to him."
Christine cocked her head to one side. "I remember that vaguely."
"He went out, swimming after the scarf. . . ."
"The very one I'm wearing now."
"Yes! And when he returned it to you, you gave him a reward."
"A kiss on the cheek. My father was very grateful to that boy! He became a playmate of mine."
"And you two enjoyed listening to your father's tales and music. You taught him to sing a few songs, and he taught you how to dance."
Christine laughed as she began to remember the days of her childhood. She and the boy spent hours together. They danced to her father as he played the violin and sang songs. Christine would sing with her father, and the young boy would gleefully listen for hours at a time, still cheering for more.
"How do you know all of this?" Christine asked, her laughter waning.
"I was that boy, Christine!"
Christine gasped. "You. . . . You are. . . ."
"Raoul le Vicomte de Chagny."
"Oh my God!" Christine gasped, covering her mouth with her free hand. She took a step back, unsure of what do or say.
Raoul let a concerned look cross his face. "Christine, is everything all right?" With a nod Christine turned and began to hurry away. "Where are you going?"
Christine paused. "I have to go. I have a friend waiting for me."
"Who is she? Do I know her?"
"You don't know who he his. No one does." Christine replied. With a curt wave of her hand she called out a good bye and hurried back to the opera house.
**********
The house was alive with music when Christine entered the main room. Every candle was lit, sending odd shadows onto the wall. Ayesha was grooming herself on the couch, taking no notice as Christine walked by.
As Christine placed her basket down she heard a loud crash from Erik's room. She jumped and saw Ayesha scamper into her room. Christine placed her scarf next to her basket and slowly made her way to Erik's door. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard another crash erupt from the room.
"Damn it!" Erik screamed.
Christine pushed the door open and was amazed with what she saw. Erik sat on his bed, his face in his hands. Sheets of music where cluttered around the floor, his violin placed on the piano. One of Erik's masks was in pieces on the floor, its porcine skin ravaged with signs of anger.
"Erik?" Christine whispered, slowly stepping into the room.
Without a sound Erik raised his face from his hands. The mask he wore had a large fracture through it. A line of blood clashed with the white porcelain and trickled down his bare cheek. Christine's hands flew to her mouth as she gasped. She hurried to Erik's side, not bothering to take notice of his surprised look.
"Please, Christine." Erik said, trying to dodge her hands. "I'm fine."
Finally Christine took hold of Erik's face. He was automatically silenced. His eyes widened as Christine's delicate fingers grazed across the broken mask and was stained with the blood. Erik tried to turn his face away, but was stopped.
Christine looked into Erik's eyes. "How did this happen?"
Erik's eyes looked towards the mess as he remembered. "I was trying to pull something down from my bookcase and it fell. My mask was cracked and, obviously, I was cut. Apparently the pain turned to anger and I took it out on my music."
"Does it hurt?" Christine asked, trying not to apply pressure on the cracked mask.
"Its dulled down. In an hour or so I wont feel a thing." Erik replied.
Christine pulled a handkerchief from her belt. The cloth matched her dark blue dress perfectly. Working like a mother Christine began to wipe away the blood, trying to be as tender as possible. A soft smile crossed her lips as she watched Erik's eyes soften to the familiar look of fondness.
"How was your engagement with your friend?" Christine ask, trying to break their silence.
Erik blinked and held back his reoccurring anger on the subject. "Worse than I thought." he whispered. He slowly eased his way into retelling the events of the day.
Slowly Christine's hands moved away from Erik's face and began to stroke his hair. Erik grew silent as she continued. His eyes closed as he felt Christine's fingers continue to move through his hair. Christine began to hum a song her father had taught her.
Erik's arms slowly encircled themselves around Christine's waist and held her close. She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder, her hand still running through Erik's black hair. The two sat in the embrace, seeming to be lost to the world.
Without a word Erik kissed Christine's forehead. She looked up at him, her eyes locking to his. Erik smiled softly and she smiled. Her hands caressed the sides of the mask. The touch caused Erik to draw back, turning his face away.
Christine stood, feeling like she had tread where she wasn't supposed to. She placed her handkerchief beside Erik and straightened her hair. "I'm going to make some soup. Would you like any?" she asked. Her voice echoed off the stone walls.
Erik nodded. "Yes, please."
Saying nothing else, Christine left the room closing the door behind her.
A sigh escaped Erik. He stood and looked at the door. Turning his back to it, Erik's hands went to the cords that held his mask in place. Untying the cracked porcelain Erik looked at it. The blood had been wiped away, leaving nothing else.
With a cry of anger Erik threw it to the wall. It shattered on contact. The porcelain fell, making tinkling sounds. Erik breathed hard, feeling anger swell inside him once more. He turned away sharply and moved over to a bedside desk.
Pulling open a drawer Erik pulled out the remaining mask he owned. It was the same as the others, no difference what so ever. As he raised it to his face, Erik paused for a moment. He did have the one Akil had given to him, but it wasn't something he wished to wear around Christine. A black mask would throw everything he had worked for asunder.
"Erik?"
Erik froze as he heard Christine's voice. He stiffened for a moment. He could hear Christine holding her breath. With trained fingers he tied the mask, making sure it fit into place, before turning around to face Christine.
"Yes?" Erik replied, his voice wavering.
Christine gripped the door knob, her eyes staring at Erik with alarm. "I was wondering if you could help me in the kitchen. I don't know where anything is."
Erik paused. He eyed Christine. She was startled to see Erik placing his mask on. He knew that she never would have guessed that he took his mask off. Erik needed to do something to make her feel calm once more.
"Don't worry about cooking dinner." Erik said.
"What?" Christine asked, taking a step into the room. She slowly regained her composure. "But I was planing on making soup."
Erik smiled lightly. "Put on something nice. I am taking you out to dinner."
"Out?"
"Yes. I know of a beautiful restaurant where there is wonderful music and the perfect food." Erik ran a hand through his hair and approached Christine. He kissed her cheek softly. He looked and smiled as her cheeks flushed. "Accept this as an apology if I've made you scared or worried. What is your answer?"
Christine smiled brightly. "Yes."