Chapter 11 "Say You Love Me…"

Eric woke the next morning with a rare smile on his face. Christine lay beside him. He could feel her warmth in the silk red sheets of the swan bed. His heart was filled with pure and overpowering love for her. And love truly conquers all. Jailers fall in love with their prisoners, torturers with their victims, soldiers with their opponents. He just couldn't stop smiling.

He got up slowly and went to wash his face silently in a small basin by the bed and get dressed so as not to wake his angel from her perfect slumber. He looked back at her. Her skin was practically glowing with health and beauty. Oh, how he loved her so much his heart would explode with it all. On an impulse, her stole over to her side and carefully picked up his music box. It was one he had made with his own two and something that never strayed far from him for long.

He turned the key in its side and the quiet, sleepy tune began. Christine smiled a little in her sleep. He left the music box playing and went to find his mask. He held it in his hands for a moment, considering. No, he would not wear it now, it would only annoy her and another argument was not needed. He began to hum with the music. He stooped swiftly and kissed Christine's powdery cheek, her smile widening and her eyes fluttering open. He began to sing for her. Soft and whispery.

"Masquerade…

Paper faces on parade

Masquerade…

Hide your face

So the world will never find you…"

The music box wound down and the little monkey stopped clashing his symbols. "Good morning, my angel…" he whispered in her ear. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him sweetly. He was still clumsy at it, but he was getting used to the sensation. Such a simple gesture to show such devoted love, a kiss.

They broke apart and Eric stroked her honey hair softly with a couple of fingers.

"You are so different, Angel," she murmured. "You used to be cruel and sarcastic and brutal. Now you are so gentle and loving and…" she pondered for a suitable word. "Innocent. What has changed?"

"I told you, you would learn to love me…" he grinned. He became serious for a second. "I don't know," he answered truthfully. "It's just everyone around me has been so nice and caring. Christine, I have friends that care for me now. I find myself not thinking of what I want anymore but the people around me. Looking after Grizabella and getting her food. Watching Blake's back in case a policeman is around the corner. I find people looking at my eyes when I speak to them instead of the other way. I suppose it's been a lot of things combined."

"I've noticed," she announced happily, stroking his cheek softly. Suddenly, her nail caught his dead skin and as she drew back, he was cut. He didn't blink, but touched a droplet of blood that had welled up there. He raised his eyebrows at her. "Careful now…"

She frowned. "Doesn't that hurt? I just broke a nail on your cheek and my finger is stinging like hell!"

He shrugged. "I have no nerves under my skin there. It's completely feeling-less. You could take a razor blade and slash me and I would feel nothing!"

"That's disgusting!" she giggled.

"Mind you," he sighed sadly. "I can't feel even nice things. I can't breathe properly through my right nostril and my lips don't move as smoothly. Hence saying the letter "P" is absolutely ridiculously difficult. Can you imagine…?" he sniggered.

"Past the Point of no return!"

He sang, making a point to splutter at the letter "P". She laughed a little harder. Then he continued on sadly, "and when you kiss me, I can never kiss you back, even though I long to do so all the time."

"Oh, how tragic!" sneered a sarcastic voice from the doorway. "You're breaking my heart, here, Phantom!"

They booth wheeled round. Raoul de Chagny was standing there, hands on hips and sneering down at both of them. Christine gasped and pulled the quilt up to cover her barely decent night-dress. Eric stood up to his full height and faced Raoul determinably. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to rescue Little Lotte!" he demanded. "Now, step aside freak and I will take her without a fuss."

Eric frowned at Raoul. He could understand his anger, but to talk of Christine like she was little more than child too young to understand him? That was unfair. He turned to her. "Do you want to go with Monsieur de Chagny, Christine?"

She shook her head, too frightened to speak.

There was a dead silence.

"You've bewitched her again!" Raoul hissed. "Release her now!"

"She is free to do whatever she wants," muttered Eric, anger rising within his. "Christine wants to stay with me," he said in forced calm.

"I want to hear that from her own lips before this goes any further!"

They both turned to Christine. She opened her mouth, closed it, swallowed and tried again. "I want to be with Eric a little while longer, Raoul…"

The Vicomte seemed to visibly sag. "But…" his lip quivered. "I thought you loved me… Say you love me Christine!"

"I love you, Raoul…" it cut through the Phantom like a knife. "But I'm in love with Eric."

"Christine!" he gasped, suddenly rushing forward and shaking her violently. "You don't know what you're saying! He has you under his spell, come back! Christine, wake up!"

"Eric!" she cried, and Eric jumped into action, grabbed Raoul's shoulders and pulling him forcefully away. "No woman likes to be manhandled!" he yelled. Raoul spun to face him.

"That's rich coming from you!" he shouted. He turned back to Christine. "Don't you remember? He's mad! He killed Buquet and Piangi and God knows how many others!"

Eric bowed his head in shame, not bothering to deny such accusations. He wouldn't blame Christine if she changed her mind there and then. But she stood resolutely by him. "That was a long time ago, Raoul and he's changed. And he was desperate then. A man in love but shunted to the side like it didn't matter. How would you feel? You yourself said you'd kill a thousand men to please me!"

"Yes, but I only meant…"

"Get out!" she commanded. "Leave us! And don't you dare trouble us again!"

He stood there, petrified, his mouth hanging open stupidly like he couldn't really comprehend what she was saying. She put her arms round Eric and laid her head on his chest, tears coming down and dampening his shirt. This was probably the hardest thing for her to do, thought Eric. To stand up to him, to hurt him like this.

"Leave, before you cause any more damage, monsieur…"

That goaded him into speech. "You think you have the last laugh, Phantom," he spat. "But remember, I can pull tricks like you!" and laughing maniacally, he flicked his wrist and disappeared with an explosion of emerald smoke. Eric cursed. That was his last bottle and it was hell trying to collect the right ingredients to make more. He should have seen Raoul stretch over and take it from the shelf beside the door. How could he have been so stupid? Oh well, good riddance to bad rubbish! He thought.

Christine had wandered over to examine the green splash on the floor where the power had liquidated and vaporised, creating a puff of smoke. Then she looked up, gasping and clutching her heart. "Blake…!" she whispered. He followed her gaze, only to see something that made his insides vanish as quickly as Raoul had.

Blake was hanging by a rope, the Punjab Lasso, from the cave ceiling, his eyes wide and staring at nothing, unmistakably dead. Christine burst into tears and buried her face in Eric's shirt again but Eric just looked up at his friend with a growing sense of horror. Raoul surely wasn't responsible for this! But remembering the way he laughed madly and his last words…

You think you have the last laugh, Phantom. But remember, I can pull tricks like you!

"We've got to get out of here," he told Christine.

She nodded. "Where do you have in mind?"

He pondered. "Out of the Opera House, out of Paris, out of France, even…"

She looked up at him. "I've always wanted to go to Scotland," she said. He embraced her. "Then Scotland it is, my angel!"