A/N: Why so silence, good readers? Did you think that I had left you for good! Have you miss me, good readers? I have written you a new chapter! Here I post the finished text. DON JUAN TRIUMPHANT!
Ah, no, it's not that at all! Hum… Well, sorry, I couldn't resist, but let's be serious now. Without departing from my usual practices, I must, my dear readers, give you once again my sincere apologize for this interminable silence. Major personal problems have burdened me these last weeks and have prevented me to devote myself conveniently to my story. However, I'm back with a chapter that, I expect, will please you. I hope to haven't make too much mistakes in this text that I have written as I'm not at my 100% of capacity. If it is so, I implore your indulgence and tolerance to forgive me. ;-) Feel free to leave me a review or to send me a message about your good or bad impressions, they will be much appreciated. As always, I remain, dear Phans, your obedient servant, Taedium Vitae…
– Chapter 10 –
– Redemption –
The last hours of the night dispersed slowly as the dawn draw near, bringing with it the first sounds of awakening and activity in the labyrinth of the Parisian streets and inside the hive of the Palais Garnier. Life was reclaiming its right on the lethargic and quiet silence of the night. The café owners swept their terrace, the shopkeepers dusted their shop window, cabs and omnibus checked their horse team before another day's work, the farmers and other peddlers dragged their heavy cart filled with goods to the various marketplaces and the last drunken revelers tottered back to their home.
Absorbed in their daily tasks, no one noticed the imposing dark figure perched on the roof of the opera, his black cloak enveloping him like the wings of a crow. Sitting on the wide parapet, his knees folded against his chest, Erik was leaning against one of the golden statues crowning the corners of the facade and watched absentmindedly and enviously the common run of people attending to their morning routine without feeling the slightest fear of being criticized, humiliated or pointed at. These idiots, eternally dissatisfied with the banality of their condition, were unaware of their privilege to claim for an ordinary life, free of tragedy, horror, crime and betrayal. Erik would have given all his genius and talent to live the mere existence of one of these men, to wander carelessly in the busy streets, to share a few mundane words with a merchant or to lazily sip a cup of coffee on a terrace watching the lovely ladies. All these small pleasures of life he had never known, but in which nobody paid any interest, value or attention. Most people considered these innocuous and simple joys of everyday life as a right, but it was actually a favor granted by fate and that all men didn't experience. In this world, many people didn't know the meaning of friendship, kindness, tolerance, compassion, happiness and love, they vainly pursued their lives without knowing the kindness of a word, the warmth of an hug, the purity of a smile, the gentleness of a caress, the tenderness of a look, or the taste of a kiss. Some people lived without ever knowing what it meant to love and to be loved.
Erik was suddenly distracted from his dark and gloomy ruminations by the crystal laughter of a young girl who was crossing the Place de l'Opéra, running to jump into the arms of her boyfriend she kissed on the cheek. At the sight of this couple in love, the Phantom's thoughts turned to Christine and to the unspeakable disaster of the last night. Their relationship would be forever soiled and stained by the violence, hatred and obscenity of his act. He might have not abused her body, but he had raped her spirit, which was without doubt the worst crime.
His first intention had been to terrorize, afflict and torment her with grief and pain through the darkness and desolation of one of his compositions. However, his music had quickly turned into a fiery, sensual, erotic and feverish symphony where unbridled passion rivaled with primal savagery. Maybe he hadn't been physically alongside Christine in her room, but their minds had been brought together by the music, the reality had been dissolved and replaced by a sultry carnal fantasy they had lived together, side by side.
He saw himself again, sitting at his organ; his eyelids had closed of their own volition and voluptuous images of their entwined bodies danced before his eyes. Beneath his hands, the impersonal hardness of the keyboard was swapped by the suppleness and warmth of her creamy and silky flesh. His mouth had tasted the honeyed flavor of her plump lips, his nose had exulted with her amber and fruity scent, his eyes had feasted on the sculptural forms of her feminine silhouette; his ears had resounded with her sighs, her complaints and her throaty shrieks.
When his fingers had finally halted, his forehead beaded with sweat, his muscles were trembling with desire, his panting breath was scorching his lungs and his heart was beating with a senseless violence between his ribs. This illusion had proved so powerful and palpable that he had the impression to still feel the touch of her hands on his flesh and the taste of her sweat on his tongue even after having returned to reality.
In the next room, he had heard Christine's breathless and eloquent moans, and then a deep scream had pierced the quiet of the night like the fierce roar of a wild panther. Contented sighs and low murmurs had quavered for a few seconds before a long, oppressive and deafening silence had reigned between the walls of his sinister dungeon. Erik had begun to hope that the girl was peacefully sleeping after this tumultuous and dreamlike encounter, but an indistinct murmur, monotonous and dreary, had gradually arisen in the austere home. Alarmed, he had stood up and pressed his ear against the dividing wall of their room to listen and decipher the strange hum. When he had understood the nature of the rumble, his blood had frozen in his veins and his heart had died in his chest. It was the stifled, bitter, upset, tearful and painful sobs of his soft and fragile Christine… of his precious Angel of Music.
By Hell! What had he done? Under the pretext of revenge, he had dared to dishonor and defile the pure, innocent and vulnerable soul of a chaste maiden. Soon, his ears whirred and drowned with her tears, the reality summarizing only to her heartbreaking and desperate cries. It was too late, the damage was done and he could only lament on this shameful and pathetic episode. He was a beast, a demon, a monster for having acted so wickedly, cruelly and insensitively. This rush of hate and violence had taken him with such force that it had been impossible to restrain, as if an evil spirit had taken possession of his soul and had bent him to its will. This dark side hidden in the depths of his being had experienced a vile and wicked pleasure by making the girl suffer needlessly.
But the shadow was gone, the Phantom was assuaged and now it remained only the poor and unfortunate Erik weeping on the dreadful misdeed of his vengeance. Christine's betrayal was futile and insignificant in comparison to the odious and undeserved punishment he had inflicted on her. After a disaster as terrible, she could never trust him anymore, even if she chose, in her great generosity, to forgive him, he was absolutely unworthy of her clemency. If he once thought he was honorable enough to receive the love and friendship of Christine, now he deserved no respect, mercy or compassion from her.
A ray of sunlight streamed out over the metal and stony roofs, dazzling Erik who left his thoughts and returned to the present. It was still early, but Christine was used to get up in the first hours of the morning. If he wanted her breakfast to be ready when she awoke, it was time to come down from his perch and return to his lair, especially since he also had to freshen up and get dressed for the day. He stood up at the foot of the huge golden statue representing The Harmony that he stared for a few seconds, a bitter smile on his lips. He would have liked to experience the same sense of peace in this moment; however, he knew that the next few hours would be far from serene. With one last disdainful look at the mob that began to invade the city spread out at his feet, he turned away from the sunrise, his cape flapping in the cool breeze and wrapping him in a cloak of darkness. It was time for the creatures of the night to join the den where they were hiding from the garish light of day.
On the path that led to the door of the fifth cellar through the maze of the opera house, Erik was surprised by the presence of a shadow lurking in the dark and deserted corridors. He discreetly followed the intruder from afar and managed to see his face in the light of the lantern he carried before him to light his way. It was Joseph Buquet. What plot the chief of Machinists, usually perched on the flies, could be preparing in the depths of the palace? It wasn't really his domain; moreover this part of the building was hardly ever used and served as a deposit for some props and obsolete sets. This desertion of the premises was caused, many years ago, by the Phantom's assiduous frequenting of that part of the basements. Indeed, he had been seen in many occasions haunting and wandering these desolate corridors from where he disappeared magically. However, there was nothing strange or extraordinary in his repeated presence, since it was at the end of the gallery that stood the secret entrance to his lair, hidden in one of the walls of the fifth cellar.
Without hesitation, Buquet traveled the corridor to the cul-de-sac that ended it. After suspending his lantern on a hook, he began to grope the wall of brick, the irregular plaster ceiling and the floorboards. Erik had no doubt about the purpose of his frantic search. Obviously, he was trying to find the door opening mechanism. He had certainly seen Nadir succeed in unlocking it and he wanted to try his luck in order to capture the elusive Phantom of the Opera, which would probably earned him the gratitude of directors, the admiration of residents and a substantial monetary reward.
Furious to see this unwelcome pest prying around his realm, Erik had to use all his willpower not to jump on him and strangled him with his bare hands. Instead, he chose to have fun at his expense and to play one of his little tricks. He crept on tiptoe behind his target and hid in the dark behind a former set of King of Lahore. The machinist was less than two meters away from him, kneeling on the ground he searched meticulously.
-"Joseph…" whispered a sepulchral and disembodied voice.
Buquet froze one second, holding the ear before lifting his face to inspect the nearby darkness. Nobody was visible. He resumed his inspection when his name was again whispered in such a gloomy way that he shivered with fear. In a flash, he was on his feet and grabbed his lantern that he waved in front of him to pierce the thick veil of blackness that surrounded him.
-"Who… who's there?" he stammered, with haggard eyes and trembling fingers on his lamp.
-"Joseph… Joseph… Joseph…" repeated the voice that seemed to have multiplied to infinity.
Soon, the worker was attacked from all sides as if twenty people encircled him and tirelessly chanted his name in a threatening and sinister tone. The most strange and disconcerting was that the pitch of the voice was never the same, sometimes reedy, growling, shrill, or muted and it always came from another dark corner. A cold sweat beaded on his ruddy face as he walked with a hesitant and shaky tread.
-"You should not be here!" threatened the voice hostilely and icily.
At this point, Erik emerged from his hiding place in front of the machinist who barely had time to see the contours of his black mask before he turns off the lamp with a quick gesture. Without any further ado, the terrorized man dropped his lamp in a deafening crash, and then fled blindly into the hallway with a long shriek, screaming lustily he had met the Phantom.
A satisfied and amused smile sketched on Erik's face as he watched the hasty flight of this incongruous visitor. He had been initially annoyed by the intrusion of Buquet in his domain, but he had to admit he felt a great satisfaction and pleasure to see him scamper like a chased hare. These nasty mischiefs were always small joys and distracting entertainment of which he would never get tired. Moreover, this singular misadventure had somewhat cheered him up. He would never thank enough Miss Perrault for giving him a book about ventriloquism during his childhood.
Forgetting the infuriating machinist, who certainly wouldn't delve into the area for several weeks, Erik took from his pocket a metal plate slightly smaller than his palm and slowly slid it on the bricks from left to right at the level of his shoulders. A sharp thump was heard while the complex mechanism made of magnets, springs and cogwheels embedded in the wall, freed the two solid bolts, unlocking the door. After ensuring that no spy was in the hallway, he slipped into the narrow opening with the litheness and velocity of a shadow and pulled an iron lever placed near the entrance. Jangling and grating noises were heard while the gears of the lock were getting back in place and sealed the access.
Erik was sullen and unhappy at the thought that he would have to completely change the locking system and invent another device to prevent the entrance of his den to other curious intruders. However, for the time being, a more important task demanded him and it was better to hurry if he didn't want to keep waiting his Nightingale in her gilded cage.
X X X X
After this tedious night of tragic revelations, sensual dreams and restless sleep, Christine awoke mid-morning and walked with a numb tread to the bathroom. The large finely gilt-framed mirror on the dressing-table showed her neglected and disheveled reflection. Her hair, still wet when she got to bed, were tangled in a chaos of knots and wispy curls, her face pale as snow framed her eyes reddened and puffy by the endless tears she had shed and her lips she had bitten to stifle her cries were swollen and cracked. She looked pitiful.
With a depressed sigh, she fell on the padded stool without turning away from the image in front of her eyes. Her worn-out features involuntarily reminded her vision of Erik's facial deformity. Confused, she wondered how she could have avoided the defect that altered his right eye, visible despite his mask. However, upon reflection, it seemed absolutely normal. In this dreamlike realm with the haunting and prodigious presence of Erik, the truth that her eyes perceived and the actual immutable reality of her environment were often very different and contradictory. It was hard to separate dreams from reality. She had lived this strange experience during the night when she wasn't able to tell if Erik had entered her room or not.
Her heart beating and her cheeks burning at that memory, she grabbed her comb with a nervous hand and untangled her hair pensively. Her mind was still so troubled by this nocturnal encounter that it took her several minutes to realize that the large mirror with its complex frame in which she was looking her face during the last few minutes, was a new element in the room, and the small hand mirror that Erik had temporarily lent her had disappeared. Obviously, he had found the object in a corner of the opera house in order to satisfy her request of the previous day about the lack of mirror and he had brought it into her room while she was sleeping. Christine's heart sank at the thought that, despite her cruel treachery, the Phantom continued to spoil her with gifts and to take care of her well-being.
Shaking her head to clear out her unwelcome ruminations, she focused on her task and keenly combed and brushed her thick unruly hair. The best she could do was to make a good impression by wearing her best outfits, her loveliest smile and to confront her Teacher in the hope of being forgiven. She would never bear to spend her last days with him in this sepulchral silence, heavy with reproach, grief and anger. She never imagined that the atmosphere of a place can depend so much on a person that according to his mood could make it charming or dismal.
When she was finally ready, she took a deep breath, prayed her father to give her courage, and then she opened the door without hesitation. The house was eerily silent; no musical note was floating in the house, as it had been at each of her awakening, and she felt no presence within the blind walls. The only sign of life she could discern was the scent of fresh bread and hot chocolate that came from the dining room and filled the whole house. Gathering her courage, she entered the huge room to discover that it was empty, except for the presence of Ayesha busy drinking milk in a bowl placed on the floor in a corner. Upon her arrival, the animal looked up, licking her chops, gave a welcome meow, then resumed her meal.
Amused by this singular welcome, she went to the imposing table on which her hearty breakfast was served, but her gaze was not at all attracted by the abundance of victuals. An envelope addressed to her name and accompanied by a red rose was leaning against the empty cup. She opened the letter and unfolded the note it contained.
Ma chère Christine,
You're alone, at present, in this house which is yours. Several obligations and tasks need my attention at the opera house, and therefore, I would be absent the whole day. I have taken the liberty to prepare your breakfast that you'll find on this table, as well as your lunch that I took the precaution to keep warm in the oven. I again beg you to forgive me for this absence that prevents me from being with you to serve you properly.
As I already told you, you are free to come and go in this house. My secrets are now also yours. But do not try to get out, otherwise you would risk losing yourself in the underground labyrinth or falling into the icy waters of Lake Avernus.
Concerning your singing lessons, I would be very pleased if you could explore the role of Eudoxie of the opera "La Juive" of Halevy. After all, we need to prepare your return on stage. You can find the libretto in the library of the lounge.
Once again, I apologize for this absence,
Erik
After last night disaster, Christine was surprised to read so much politeness and kindness in this letter. Had he already forgiven her or was it the cold courtesy due to a young woman? Maybe it was a little of both. She was hardly in the mood to eat, but with each new bite of crunchy bread she ate, her appetite increased, so she devoured several croissants, some delicate pastries covered with jam and sugar, as well as two big bowls of hot chocolate. Her stomach fully sated, she joined her bathroom to clean up, and then moved to the living room with the libretto of "La Juive" that she began to study carefully.
The morning passed in silence whose monotony was broken only by the sound of the clock on the chimney mantel every hour. At the slightest noise, squeak or rustling, Christine looked up from her book and hoped to see her Professor appear unexpectedly in spite of the word he had left. However, nobody ever appeared except for Ayesha that emerged from the vestibule, probably after a little trip in her underground territory. The cat meowed several times as if she was calling her master, but when she received no response, she resigned herself and went to sleep next to Christine on the sofa. She was greatly relieved to finally have some company, even if it was not the person she wished to see.
With a disappointed sigh, Christine imitated the little cat and resigned herself to accept Erik's absence. He probably needed calmness and solitude to assimilate last night lamentable episode. She couldn't contain a shudder of horror, but also of thrill at the thought of what had happened between them. She could never consider herself as an ingénue after experiencing this heated and sensual dream. For it was indeed a dream. She had managed to convince herself of it after several hours of procrastination in the darkness of her room. Erik's kisses were so intense and deep that they would have undoubtedly left marks on her body. She remembered perfectly the reddish patches that one of the dancers wore after spending an evening with a so-called patron a little too bold and daring. Yet, she had found no similar marks on her skin, which was enough to soften her doubts.
However, she could not forget these images and sensations that were forever branded in her mind, if not on her body. Her innocent and virginal heart should have been horrified and mortified by this licentious experience, but she was more curious, stirred and fascinated by the heat and the mystery of these unspoken emotions. She knew nothing about desire, passion, sensuality, pleasure. She was a chaste and ignorant little singer thrown into an unknown world filled with flame, vice, temptation and eroticism where she had been consumed by the ravenousness, the violence and the intensity of Erik's desire. This feverish fantasy was her first contact with this carnal and sensual world where sensations prevailed over thoughts. However, she doubted that this would be the last of her travels in this realm of the senses of which Erik was the guardian and master and where he wouldn't hesitate to take her again.
The sudden loud ringing of the twelve strokes of noon by the great clock of the dining room brought her back a little rudely in reality. Closing her book, she made her way to the kitchen with Ayesha on her heels and took out from the oven her still warm meal carefully protected by a lid to contain the heat. She sat at the end of the huge table in the dining room along with the cat, occasionally feeding her a piece of her food. The silent and almost gloomy atmosphere of the place was heightened by the monotonous sound of the pendulum of the Comtoise clock of which Christine had the impression to hear the creaking of each gear and spring. It wasn't surprising that Erik was a bleak, taciturn and bitter man as she studied the environment in which he lived every day. Anyone else would have lost his mind for a long time by living in this reclusion and sepulchral silence where time seemed to be frozen, petrified forever in a gangue of darkness and oblivion.
With a helpless sigh, Christine finished her plate, trying to contain her ominous thoughts to focus on the task he had assigned to her. Luckily, she already knew the broad outline of Halevy's oeuvre, "La Juive," and she didn't have too much trouble to remember and learn the various songs and arias. However, she knew that most of the work wasn't memorization, but the vocal interpretation of the text. Erik always insisted that she should sing more with her heart and emotions than with her mind. He was a very picky teacher who kept asking the best of his pupil and who didn't mind exhausting her or scolding her severely. Although she was used to his remonstrance and tantrums, she couldn't help feeling each time a great sorrow at the thought of having disappointed him, even if subsequently he always apologized profusely for his conduct and consoled her with lots of melodies and songs.
After cleaning the dishes, she moved in the living room and stood next to the grand piano on which she opened the libretto to the page of Eudoxie's first song. She warmed her voice singing a few scales, and then hummed the aria quietly to absorb it and to decipher its intricacies. Throughout the afternoon, she scanned, repeated and dissected the text, the scenes and the songs without forcing or raising the pitch of her voice. Erik would be raving mad if she dared strained and ruined her unprepared voice for a simple preliminary exercise. However, she really wanted to impress him by showing him what she had already accomplished, so she spared no effort.
After hours of training and work, she finally raised her tired look of the manuscript and saw it was nearly eighteen o'clock. With a weary sigh, she rubbed her eyes with her fingertips and noticed only now the discreet headache buzzing in her head and the slight hoarseness that tickled her throat. Perhaps she had a little overstressed her voice after all! She made an unhappy grimace at the thought of the reprimands that Erik would sermon her if he knew of this.
Closing resolutely the libretto, she went to the kitchen where she hoped to be able to make some of that special potion he had given her the recipe. After several minutes rummaging through the various cupboards and get the necessary ingredients in the pantry, she lit the samovar and made warm tea to which she added the different spices and condiments. The familiar smell invaded her nostrils and she was already feeling better. She prepared a plate of cookies and a teapot that she brought to her room to rest quietly on the comfortable chaise longue and sip her drink.
The relaxing warmth of the tea and the lack of sleep urged her into a torpor she greeted with joy. She finished her last cup and stretched lazily on the pillows as she was overwhelmed by a welcome drowsiness. Her thoughts were just beginning to wither and waver when she heard a door creaking on its hinges, then the sound of a chair drawn on the floor. A few seconds later, the sad and quiet piano chords sounded in the next room.
The moment she realized Erik had returned, she sat on her couch and listened. The melody evolved alone during soft minutes and finally Erik's divine voice joined the celestial notes. Christine closed her eyes to focus on the angelic singing of the young man while her heartbeat quickened and stirred as the song embellished and developed. His rich, deep and soft tone mingled so well with the music it was impossible to separate the man from the instrument.
I found you broken on the ground
From your mouth a bitter sound
That became sweeter as I approached
You in your deepest agony
I put you up and raised you well
And more than stories ever tell
I fell in love with you those days
And hoped that you would too
You've been a fallen angel
Ripped out of the sky
Goal as your wings strong enough grew
You left me behind to die
We built up our own world together
For our future I assumed
I believed in what you said that day
Already goal was doomed
The more you've learned and grown
The less you cared for me
But I was too blinded by my feelings
To see the dawning agony
I love you more than I can say
And we will never share
You told me nearly every day
But still you broke my heart
As soon as you could fly again
Into the open sky
You left me without any reason
Back on this world to die
With moist eyes and a heavy heart, Christine realized from the first lyrics that this song was a poignant ode to their complex and deep relationship. She was troubled at the thought that he had composed a melody on her behalf, on their behalf. The aria was scarcely finished that he pursued with another. From the first chords, she recognized without hesitation the fabulous Requiem Mass of Mozart. This symphony was familiar to her, but she had never heard an interpretation so overwhelmed, intense and inspired. Leaving her seat, she sat on the floor behind the door against which she leaned. Without feeling any discomfort or shame, her tears flowed slowly down her cheeks, in rhythm with the heartbreaking and tragic sounds emitted by the piano which seemed to be crying.
For almost an hour, it was not the piano music she heard, but the words of her Guardian transcribed through the exceptional and masterful melodies of this unparalleled masterpiece. Erik was music personified; it ran in his blood, filled his lungs, and lived in his mind. It was the only way for him to express emotions that human ignorance forbade him, that he had never been allowed to sense and that he couldn't manage, nor control. Music was his personal and natural language that he understood better than any words, and if she wanted to communicate with him, she had to do it with this particular vocabulary of his own. Full of determination and courage, she jumped to her feet, put some order in her hair and smoothed the fabric of her skirt before opening the door with a confident hand, determined to put an end to the austere silence between them.
The hesitation seized her somewhat when she saw him sitting at the piano, dressed entirely in black as a fallen angel, with his imposing, authoritative and elegant presence that was innate to him. However, she won't be intimidated and, after a deep breath, she walked up to him, her palms sweaty and her legs unsteady, without him turning once to look at her while he played the last requiem's verses with unprecedented vehemence, as if her intrusive presence instilled in him a colossal and enraged energy impossible to fight and restrain.
When the deafening silence fell around them, she sat down on the bench beside him with a gesture that was meant to be natural, but which proved to be rather uncertain. She gave him a discreet smile he watched from the corner of his eye suspiciously. After having rubbed her palms against each other vigorously, she put her fingers on the keyboard and played a series of notes that Erik instantly recognized. It was a symphony of Beethoven titled "Sonata quasi una Fantasia per il Clavicembalo o Piano-Forte", but was better known as the "Moonlight Sonata." It was the only song she had learned to play on a piano as a child in the home of the Valérius couple in Brittany.
In a split second, Erik's hands were running on the black and white keys to accompany her poor and tentative play by the prodigious virtuosity of his fingering. Despite the awkwardness of her performance, she was invaded and rocked by an exquisite serenity to which she gave up without fear. Dizzy and intoxicated by the fabulous melody, she had the feeling to commune with Erik, to understand him without any uncertainty and to belong to this musical and oneiric kingdom of which he was the protector and master. Having no desire to put an end to this heavenly moment with her Angel of Music, she took the score from the beginning as soon as she had reached the end and resumed this utopian journey. As if reading her mind, Erik followed her without making any pause or hitch, or even show any surprise. At each of their repetition, Christine gained assurance until finally, she was overwhelmed by the deep, magical and exciting feeling to communicate and mingle with Erik's soul. Again and again, they played in unison and continually this melancholy sonata. Despite her desire to extend endlessly this extraordinary duet, Christine's fingers began to numb and ache for her greatest displeasure. After a vibrant and inspired final, her hands froze on the keyboard while she felt her heart pounding in her chest; delectable shivers running down her back and a pleasant heat bathing her cheeks. She felt as light as a butterfly flying over the green and flowery meadows, more alive than ever.
In the midst of her dream, a hand squeezed hers, still floating above the keys, and she responded to the caress by intertwining her slender fingers with those of her companion. A brief jolt and a discrete tension seized Erik's palm, paralyzing him few seconds before he dares tighten his fingers on hers. Eyes brimming with emotion, Erik looked unblinkingly at their hands joined intimately, kindly, lovingly. Holding his breath for fear of breaking this magical moment, he absorbed the warmth of her palm, the perfect smoothness of her skin texture, the delicate embrace of her elegant fingers. It was the first time she touched him willingly and in a so familiar and tender way. As far as his memory went, he had never lived such exchange with anyone. No one during his miserable existence has offered him the comfort that could provide a human touch. He had known neither tenderness or compassion or friendly kiss or caress, not even from his mother that he frightened. Yet, this young and innocent girl, who barely knew him, granted him this priceless gift without showing any fear, mockery or revulsion.
Happy that Erik had responded to her caress and exhilarated by the small electric shock she felt at his contact, Christine looked up at the face of her teacher and saw it for what it really was, the face of a tormented man marked by misfortune and suffering. Remembering the deformity he was hiding, she felt no fear or disgust, but only a strange ambiguity, empathy and tolerance. What right had she to judge him when she knew nothing of his existence, and none of the hardships he had faced because of this mutilation? Despite this dark, dangerous, violent and insane side rooted in him, there was a persisting glimmer of passion, generosity, compassion and beauty to which Christine was deeply sensitive. A bright smile spread over her mouth when Erik raised his head and smiled back hesitantly. He looked so charming and attractive at this moment.
Her pupils shining with adoration, Christine knew he was, and would always be, her Angel of Music, no matter what would happen between them. Looking into each other's eyes and hand interlaced, they remained motionless and silent for long and pleasant minutes as if the surrounding world didn't exist. Erik could have spent hours and hours lost in the deep and soft gaze of his divine Princess, enjoying the unparalleled touch of her frail hand in his. Once again, the music had reunited them beyond fear and pain.
However, the reality was recalled to their senses by an unwelcome meow from Ayesha who took benefit from their immobility to sneak up on the piano where she sat and watched them with a puzzled look. Somewhat embarrassed by the situation, they turned away from each other like two teenagers being caught. The cat gave a new impatient meow, walked along the glossy surface and jumped on the floor before trotting toward the dining room. Fortunately Ayesha was present to remind them of suppertime.
-"Can I prepare you a small meal?" Erik inquired wiping imaginary dust from his pants.
-"No, thank you, I heartily lunch and I ate some biscuits for tea time. I must also thank you for the absolutely delicious meal you've prepared."
Erik swept these trivial comments with a neglecting wave of the hand as if it were the most insignificant and ordinary thing in the world.
-"You never told me you could play the piano!" he said to return to the topic that interested him.
Christine laughed cheerily at this remark, which relaxed her a little and made her Professor frown.
-"Oh, that's because I don't play. This sonata is the only song I learned to play when I lived with the Valérius. They tried to pay me lessons, but I never managed to get interested enough, which is a shame, because I found it quite pleasant. But I must confess that the tutor they had engaged was boring, grumpy, stern and capricious. Bref, a lovely man who totally discouraged me," she scoffed, rolling her eyes.
-"Weird, but this man reminds me of someone?"
-"Oh, no! You have absolutely no similarities," she stated with a slight laugh. "You are an amazing, passionate and admirable teacher… even if you have your little grumpy and bossy side," she teased, feeling the red flush her cheeks.
Incredulous, Erik's mouth gaped for almost a second as he heard this joke made at his expense, and more importantly, coming from Christine. He didn't know she could be roguish, of which he was excited. He was already looking forward to other lovely traits he would discover by mingling with her and getting to know her better. His heart jumped in his chest at the thought of the intimacy he wanted to create and share with her.
-"Hmm… Well, if I'm such a great teacher, I should attend to this shortcoming of your education and give you a few piano lessons. If it makes you happy, of course!" he proposed, letting his fingers fly over the ivory keys.
-"Are you sincere? Oh, yes, it would be with joy," she chirped, clapping enthusiastically. "At least, with you, I'm sure I would invest in my training and I would find satisfaction in it!"
-"I'm glad to hear it," he admitted in a half-smile, touched by the contagious gaiety she showed.
Christine couldn't stop smiling as if her mouth could no longer find its relaxed and normal state, but Erik didn't complain and he could have watch her radiant smile until the end of time without getting tired. She was so beautiful, radiant and angelic when she was happy.
-"You were made for this, Christine! For laughing, charming, singing and dancing! You deserve to be pampered like a princess, to be praised by art and music, to be admired by the gods!"
Erik understood nothing to his emotions! A few hours earlier, he cursed, spat and vomited her name, and now he covered her with thousands of praise and compliments. Was this love… to be able to forgive each other regardless of the horror of the offense? He could not say, because no one had ever explained what love was and it was not in books that he was going to discover this truth. Maybe he should ask Nadir for clarification as he had loved his wife with all his heart.
Chasing these ridiculous thoughts of his mind, he returned to the present and his eyes fell on the libretto of "La Juive" lying on the piano edge.
-"I see that you've followed my instructions," he stated, pointing the book.
-"Yes, I always obey my Maestro!"
-"It would be better for you," he taunted with a mischievous look. "Very well, in this case, I won't detain you any longer. You should do your toilet and go to bed. You must be well rested to face the long day of work that awaits you tomorrow."
Without a word, she nodded obligingly, got up and walked to her room where she stopped in the doorway to throw him a last glance. The conversation had been different than the one she had imagined having with him for their first meeting after her betrayal of the previous night. She knew that sooner or later she would have to come back to this episode and present him her humble apologies. However, she was glad to be able to calm her fears of being rejected by her Guardian and regain some complicity and serenity before this terrible ordeal. As she disappeared into her apartment, she heard again the piano chords filled the air with sweet notes. The music was released from the burden of pain, weariness and bitterness with which it was previously marred, and although undeniable melancholy persisted in these flights of notes, a glimmer of hope and tenderness had suddenly made its appearance.
Christine wasn't in the mood to take a bath and opted instead for a quick sponge bathing. After having washed and combed, Christine dressed in one of the luxurious nightgowns that adorned her closet. She turned off the lights and kept a candle she placed on her nightstand. In the midst of the golden halo cast by the flame, she saw Erik's mask she had picked up after their altercation. Taking the piece of leather in her hands, she sketched the delicate curves, reviewing in her mind the disfigured face of the young man. This discovery was certainly a shock and discomfort, but at that moment, she realized that the bewilderment she had felt had quickly dissipated and a deep sense of compassion had replaced it. The truth was that she had been much more frightened and shocked by his overreaction of anger and violence than by his appearance.
This small part of difference didn't impede her to appreciate the rest of him like the pride of his demeanor, the intensity of his gaze, the beauty of his voice, the passion of his music and the genius of his mind. The tormented soul of this man seemed to be the perpetual battlefield between his dark and noble side, a struggle between the forces of good and evil, relentlessly plaguing his heart. It was as if a devil and an angel were living in the same body, each one trying to dominate and destroy the other. Every human being was torn between these two powers, choosing to succumb to one or the other, but Christine could only imagine the ferocity, the torture and the excessiveness of the battle raging in Erik's passionate soul.
This constant torment could be heard and felt in any of his compositions and musical interpretations. Without understanding why, it was this passionate intensity, this emotional storm, these spiritual torments of every moment that above all frightened Christine. She was so innocent, fragile and ignorant that she feared being swept away, swallowed up, consumed and annihilated by this impetuous and inexhaustible torrent of fire and ice. However, a small part of her, secret, dark and unknown, quivered with pleasure at the thought of being devoured by the wild passion of her Tutor. After all, was it not this dark side that had responded and succumbed without any struggle to the Phantom's desire and passion in this intoxicating and erotic dream? Her breath choked in her throat and her body flared up at this memory still so alive and tenacious. It was impossible to deny the irresistible lure Erik possessed on her, despite his deformity and his madness.
Tightening the mask against her chest, she decided it was time to present him her apologies and asked him forgiveness for her impertinence. She left her room hesitantly to find Erik who was sitting in a chair by the fire, a book open on his lap while his eyes wandered in the flickering flames. He hastened to get up to greet her with a courteous nod she returned with a shy smile. As she approached, she told him to sit down, which he did without breaking for a second the contact of their eyes or even blinking. With a determined and bold hand, she put the white mask on the glossy surface of the pedestal placed at his side while he froze and tensed at the sight of this dreadful object, bearer of bad memories. To prove her repentance, Christine knelt at his feet and bowed her head like a penitent soul.
-"I ask you to forgive me for the cruel and disrespectful act I committed against you. I should never defy and contest your warnings and your authority. I realize now how wrong I was to deceive your trust. It was stupid on my part," she lamented, her voice quivering with emotion.
At the spectacle of this repentant and mortified Angel, Erik felt his heart writhe and ache as if a dagger was stabbed through it. It was unbearable to him to see his innocent Christine humiliate and lower herself like this, at the feet of the murderer and liar he was. Trembling with rage against himself, he reached out and placed his finger under her delicate chin to raise her face. Her wonderful eyes began to blur with tears and her lovely lips shivered with grief. He was a despicable beast, a soulless monster for having hurt this fragile nightingale. He swallowed the angry lump growing in his throat and concentrate on Christine's seraphic features.
-"I forgive you graciously this error, if you give me your solemn promise not to touch the mask."
-"You have my word. I vow on the grave of my father to obey you blindly from now on," she swore, pressing her hands on her heart.
Erik's thumb slightly brushed her chin while he got lost a few seconds in her luminous and tender eyes. Her mouth parted on her shaking breath and the tip of her tongue slid over her dry lips before disappearing into the dark cavity. A shiver ran down Erik's spine when his eyes lingered on the pristine whiteness of her perfect teeth and on her red and shiny lips looking like two cherries ready to be picked. What could be the taste of her kisses?
-"Perhaps you're not the only one to blame for this incident," he murmured, unaware that he was speaking, his mind focused on the perfect face of his sublime nymph. "I never let anyone get so close to me or to touch me as you did. I was entranced, bewitched by music and by your divine charm. I didn't know what I was doing."
-"So do I," she sighed, savoring the delicate caress of Erik's finger. "You possessed me, body and soul. I couldn't control my thoughts or my actions. I was irretrievably attracted to you"
Imperceptibly, Erik leaned forward, nearing his face to Christine without breaking their eyes contact, until he perceived her warm and fruity breath invade his nostrils. Mesmerized by the intensity of these two pale green lagoons which scrutinized her, she didn't move a muscle, nor protest at his incongruous closeness. Her gaze slipped down on his sensual and masculine lips, and at that moment, his mask, his deformity, his madness no longer existed. What could be the taste of this mouth so attractive and tempting?
Driven by a desire she didn't understand, she closed her eyes and craned her neck toward Erik, leaning forward to know the answer to her question. Her delicate hands sneaked on the hard knees of her professor who jerked, then froze under her fingers.
With the velocity of lightning, Erik jumped to his feet and turned his back to her to conceal the grimace of shame and despair that twisted his features. His fingers fiercely gripped the chimney mantel and his head fell against his chest as he tried to calm his erratic breathing, his frantic palpitations and the chaotic tremors running through his muscles. Lord, he had almost kissed her! He, the abject demon, had tried to steal a kiss from an innocent angel.
The girl was still kneeling on the floor, her incredulous and bemused expression lost in the void as she tried to set her thinking straight again. She put her hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle the surprised gasp that emerged from her throat. Had she really been ready to embrace this man? Again, an unknown force had obscured her senses and pushed her into the arms of her Maestro.
-"Go back to your room, Christine, and try to sleep," the Phantom ordered in an imperious tone that allowed no protest.
Obeying his orders as a frightened puppy, she awkwardly got up on her fluffy legs, walked to her room and stopped on the threshold while a strange and persistent idea crossed her mind. After this intense and unappeased exchange, would he try to visit again her dreams or would he leave her alone. She wasn't sure to survive a second time to this kind of encounter without going crazy. Her nervous fingers fiddled with the fabric of her gown and she bit her lip with an uncertain and timid pout. Finally, she dared to turn around and spoke in a timid and embarrassed whisper.
-"I'm afraid to sleep," she announced anxiously. "Last night, I had a strange, feverish and bewildering dream, which drained me of my energy and my lucidity. Do you think it might occur again?"
Erik cursed inwardly. He had hoped she would have forgotten his licentious intrusion in her sleep, but she remembered it perfectly and had been terrified by it. With a superhuman effort, he regained control of his chaotic emotions and grief by taking a deep breath before releasing the edge of the fireplace and straightening up proudly.
-"Do not worry, Christine. No ghost will haunt your dreams tonight!" he stated as he felt his heart being crushed by guilt.
Apparently reassured by his words, she turned on her heels, took a step and stopped again to take a glance over her shoulder.
-"Do you mind if I leave my door open until I fall asleep. I will be more relaxed if I hear and feel your presence in the next room."
-"Do as you wish, Christine."
She gave him a tiny relieved smile and disappeared into the darkness of the room that seemed to swallow her like a grave closing in on its victim.
-"I swear to you that this weakness will never happen again, ma douce colombe…" he whispered hoarsely, out of Christine's earshot.
Erik stood motionless in front of the fireplace as he heard the muffled footsteps of the girl and the rustle of the sheets. When he was sure there was silence once more into his home, he allowed himself to collapse in his chair and let his stifled sobs surged from his tight throat. She hadn't verbally pardoned him, but every one of her actions, of her words and of her reactions had been more explicit than any words. The simple fact of seeing her surrender with such sincerity and ease proved in every way she had kept her faith in him. He would do everything in his power to remain worthy of this chance of redemption she gave him innocently.
–"Thank you for according me your pardon, my Angel…"
With trembling hands, he took off his mask and let his silent tears slid down his face, draining his heart from the weight of his misery.
A/N: The song played by Erik is named "Fallen Angel" and came from the album "Gezeiten" of the German metal band "L'Âme Immortelle". I like very much this song and I think it mirrors perfectly Erik and Christine's relationship, because it can be seen as much from his point of view than from hers.