Part 12:
C-
My first instinct is to laugh. And I do. Like I've lost my mind, because clearly, that's just what's happened. And then bitterly, because how dare my brain make a dream this real, this cruel? Haven't I suffered enough inside my own head? Did I really need to think I was awake this time? To then actually wake up, even more disappointed, disparaged, than ever?
Dream-Erik blanches, looking up at dream-Darius, and I just laugh all the harder, crying. This is too much. Too much.
"Christine, what's wrong? I'm here." Dream-Erik says, reaching back out to me, but I just scoot away.
"That's the problem," I giggle, trying to wipe my eyes dry. ", this is just a stupid dream, another terrible dream that I have to wake up from-" He reaches out again, and I snap, "-don't!"
"Why do you think this is a dream? I'm here, I swear. I tried to call, I went to your apartment, Darius checked at your parlor-"
"Stop talking and just let me wake up!" I yell, and fall to my knees on the cold stone path. "Let me wake up, or let it be over." I sob, the laughter gone. I can't do this anymore.
"Over? Christine, I.. What can I do to prove that I'm here? This is real, I promise.." Dream-Erik pleads, and I shake my head. "And it isn't death, either, I promise that as well."
"It can't be real. I saw the news, I read, I saw.."
"You saw a fabrication. Daroga- Monsi- Mr. Khan worked his silver tongue to set me free, to let us be free together. I tried to call you.." He steps closer, slowly.
"Why only at night? Why only when I was asleep?" I point out. "Why would a real Erik only call then?" He looks at me wildly, confused.
"I haven't? I have called every two or three hours for days.. Christine, you do not look well.." Another step. His hand stretches out a bit further.
"I haven't.. I don't understand. You can't be real. You're gone, you left and then you were.. you died. I saw..!" I shake my head. Do I dare to believe this? Can he really be real? Here? Alive?
"Did you see my face? Did you see my mask, the wounds? What did you see?" He presses, taking another step, nearly crouching all the way down to me, but he stops, hands just a couple feet away.
"I saw.. the reporter. She gave us the headline, and she.. she talked about what happened and.."
"And were there any images? Of me, of anything?" He begs me to think.
"No.." I try to remember, but it was so long ago, wasn't it? But I don't remember anything other than the reporter's face, the headline, the bullet-point presentation of the information..
"And this is because there was nothing to show. It's all made up, Christine. I'm alive and free and here, and I will always be here, if you wish for me to be.." His hands open up, fingers stretching wide and open, palms up. His hands. His lovely, thin, and elegant hands. Have I ever dreamed them in such detail? I look up, allowing myself to look up, to meet his eyes again and let them stay met and focused. They are that perfect golden dandelion color, like sunlight in the day and neon at night. I swallow hard. His long but caught brown hair, his slightly pointed ears, his wide but curved shoulders, how he rolls up his sleeves, it's all exact, all him.
"Erik?" I gasp, and reach for him. He comes the rest of the way down to the ground and to me, arms sweeping around me, pulling me close. I can feel his heartbeat, feel the mild, lukewarm heat he always gives off, the edge of his collar bone pressed against, scraping, mine.. "Oh my god, it's you, it's you, you're here, you're real.." I sob, unsure how to feel. Of course I'm relieved, of course I'm happy he's not dead, but I don't know how.
"I am, I'm here, and I'm yours. I will never part with you, Christine, so long as you want me." He says, hand wrapped in my hair.
"Always, always and forever and don't ever let go." It's my turn to beg.
"Always and forever, then, and I will never, ever let go." He nods. And I feel so relieved, so safe again, so at peace. If this moment can only last forever, damn everything else, I would be happy. But, my heart at rest at last, safe and in his arms and real, everything goes blurry and darkens. I had forgotten how tired I was, how exhausted and spent and just tired I was, and am. I feel my own hand slip out of his hair, and I'm out.
…
I wake up on the couch. It's a snap of a wake up, suddenly and fitfully, simply wide-eyed and staring at a room where before there was darkness. It comes back to me in a blitz, the dream, Erik's supposed return, everything. It felt so real..
"Christine? Are you awake?" I hear, and I realize the ceiling is moving, it spoke. I blink a couple times and finally see that I'm not staring up at a ceiling, but Erik. I feel his hand on my shoulder, under my head, supporting me, not the couch. He must be holding me in his lap, bridal style. I blink.
"You're still here.." I am dumbfounded. It couldn't have been real.. could it? He looks down at me sweetly, patiently.
"Of course, my love. You asked for me forever, so here I have stayed. It's only been a moment, though, and you were quite restless. You seem tired, still. You could go back to sleep." He suggests.
"Will you still be here?"
"Yes, Christine." He nods, smiling.
"Can you.." I start, but my question seems silly, so I don't ask it, letting my eyes droop close to closed.
"Can I what? I would do anything.."
"Just hold me a lil closer. I don't wanna forget you're here." I ask, sleep already trying to claim me again. Before I fade out again, I feel him shift us so that we're just the tiniest bit closer, my head closer to his heart.
When I wake up again, he's still holding me, but the apartment is bright with sunlight and overhead lights both. He also seems to have fallen asleep holding me, slumping against the couch back, chin resting on my head. I let myself smile, even if this feels too much like a fairy tale to be real. Maybe I'll wake up again and he'll be gone, and I'll be in Meg's guest bed, cold and alone and gray. Maybe. I hope not, though. I'm starting to believe this dream, to really believe it's real, and that I won't lose this hope.
Still sleepy, I don't notice myself humming a song I don't remember until I notice that Erik's breathing changes, less slow and tentative to alert, purposeful.
"Where did you hear that?" He mumbles, coming awake himself.
"I don't know." I mumble back. We're both quiet for a while, coming to awareness. "Are you really here?"
"Yes. Is this so hard to believe?"
"Yeah. I kept dreaming.. but I always woke up. Too many dreams."
"Christine, it's been four days since the newscast. How many dreams could you have had?" He wonders, not degrading or snide, just concerned.
"Has it? But it felt like, like weeks.."
"Days, dear, only days. I am still so sorry to have made you feel this way. I wanted to call you ahead of time, but Daroga had not managed to retrieve my phone yet."
"From who?"
"Authorities of one sort or another. I do not know. Much of what happened that led us to this point is unknown to me. Daroga worked his magic, though I do not know how." He murmurs. "They went out, by the by. They will be back, they simply needed to eat, and there was nothing here. The ride was long."
"What about you?" I ask.
"I couldn't bear to eat until I saw you again. When we could not contact you ahead of our arrival, I grew most worried."
"I feel that. I don't think I've.. Well, I don't remember, anyway." I feel dizzy again, even though we haven't moved.
"You're joking, surely? Christine, you're not like me, you can't not eat for several days-" He says, pulling us apart to look at me. "-and I, at least, ate before we failed to establish communication. Do you mean you haven't since the newscast?"
"I don't really remember. It's been a blur. I thought it was weeks." I admit, shrugging. "I feel fine, though. Just a little lightheaded. An' tired."
"I'm going to call Darius and have them bring something back for you." He reaches for his phone, on the couch beside him, I presume, but it makes everything tip sideways. I try not to show the dizziness any, but I'm not sure it works.
"I'm fiiine, I promise." I then try to assure him, trying to grab his phone away. I can't seem to actually get my hand on it, though, until he moves his hand under my swatting attempts. Was I really that far off?
"Forgive me, love, but I cannot believe you. You aren't- something is off. Please." He asks, eyes pleading once again. I can't say no, not to eyes that sad and worried and beautiful, so I let my hand fall off his, and he makes his call. "Darius? Yes, where are you?" He asks, and then pauses. "Yes, but Christine seems unwell. Very unwell. I am certain she needs something to eat, but otherwise, no. She seems to misremember the past several days, yes. Alright. Yes, most kindly. Thank you." He speaks shortly, but calmly, politely. I feel heavy against him. "They are on their way back. They have extra for you, donuts, I think they said. Will this do well for you?" He asks, and I nod. I don't really care. I drift off again, and Erik picks up the song I was humming where I left off. Coming from him, it's even more soothing, especially right in my ear.
I love him, I think, holding on to every sensation even as I fall away into sleep. I love him so much.
E-
Christine falls asleep again, much more peacefully this time than the last. I worry that she may still be experiencing the effects of what was undoubtedly a concussion, but it's been so long since then, and she assured me she would find treatment. Then again, I assured her I would be taken to prison in another country, on another continent, and then I managed to convince her that I was dead. Things don't always turn out how we think they will, it seems.
There's a scar from that night. It's just inside her hairline, covered from all other angles but mine, just above her. It's small, a pink patch of otherwise normal skin, but I know what scars can mean, how much they can hurt. Does she know it's there? Does it bother her? Does it hurt her like it hurts me?
I realize I have a different kind of hurt as I try to shift the tiniest bit. My leg jumps with internal sparklers- they've fallen asleep. Carefully, I maneuver Christine so that most of her weight is on the couch rather on my legs, though they are numb and difficult to move at all. As I do, she stretches out, forward, pressing the slight dip of her nose into my neck, and sighs as her hands bury themselves a little deeper into the fabric of my vest and shirt.
My heart twists. Does she know how much I missed her? How deeply I craved only to hear her breath, to know that she was alright? How much I worried, and how much I fell all the more in love with her when I realized all I had to miss? It's almost too much to hold her now, to have her holding on to me, and I must force myself not to cling as desperately as I wish to.
I just continue to observe her, relearning her shape and weight and the steady fall of her breathing. I nearly cry again when I realize the tattoo on her arm is for me, and it is no longer very new, which I judge from all that she's told me of her own craft. It's several weeks old, the lines still fully black, unfaded, but the skin no longer puffy or bleeding ink. She got it soon after I left, before she thought I was deceased. For me.
It's a rose. And not just any rose, but the exact rose I first gave her, when I was so sure she would be another small moment in my life, and not the entirety of it. I am surprised she remembered it in such detail for only a moment, but it's just like her to hold on to things like that. I wonder if she remembers my face, the insipid hollowness that defines me. I wonder how she might and still love me, but she's here, and she is Christine, and she will always defy my expectations.
Eventually, Darius and Daroga come through the garden door, which I remember Christine called the 'back' door. But they do not come alone. Bolstering her way in through a cautioning Daroga's arms, a young lady of about Christine's age, perhaps a tad younger, comes barrelling our way, ready to yell. I manage to put a finger to my lips to silence her, referring to Christine. This can only be Meg, for she halts instantly, eyes flicking between Christine and I with shock and reverence.
"So you're the guy?" She manages to say, at a reasonable tone. A young man, perhaps older than Christine, comes up behind Meg, more surprised than anything.
"I didn't they were telling the truth.." He says, sharing a look with Meg.
"What did they say about me?" I ask, softly.
"That you were here and alive. I didn't have any doubts, by the way, just him." Meg elbows the man. "I'm Meg, by the way. This is Raoul. We were looking for Christine, and figured she might be trying to come to her apartment or here so we were asking people if they'd seen her and we met-"
"Us." Daroga interrupts, coming around the other side of the couch. "And they would not let us leave without telling them where she was, and then they followed us here. Just as fierce as the young lady herself." He says.
"Wait- you are Raoul?" I ask, pointedly, at the young man. He nods. "The brat who was engaged to Christine? Who disengaged and vehemently ignored her for years afterwards? And then showed up, unexpected, unannounced, uninvited? That Raoul?" He pales, grimacing and blushing both, a humorous sight. It tickles me to have disarmed him so. "What are you doing here?"
"Hey, he was kinda a dick before but he's learned his lesson and he's been hanging with us for several weeks now. He's been real helpful gettin' her through your unfortunate disappearance." Meg explains on his behalf, which is fortunate for the boy, as he looks like he could only squeak. But he takes a breath and tries anyway.
"I was young and stupid and I didn't know.. I just didn't know. I have no excuses. I'm simply here to help my friend now, like I should have done before.." He manages after a moment of me glaring at him.
"I am sorry to say I had not heard of your reformation, and you will have to forgive me if I do not entirely trust you until I hear confirmation from Christine." I respond in the most diplomatic tone I can muster.
"Hey, you kinda did the same things, buddy." Meg points out.
"I.. yes. I did. Though I did it with her protection in mind." I counter.
"Still sucked. Still coulda told her outright instead of deciding shit for her." She shrugs. She.. has me beat.
"I suppose that is a fair point. Very well." I relent, relaxing. Raoul himself breathes a heavy sigh of relief. "I do have some questions, though. Christine has been incredibly odd in the past several hours.. She expressed that she felt as though weeks have passed since the newscast, and that she has not eaten in that time, and she keeps falling asleep in the most peculiar way, never quite waking up.." Meg nods.
"Yeah.. The afternoon she saw the report she kinda went out.. like.. She just wasn't in her own head. She tried to keep going through the rest of the day but she was super distant, just out of it. So we sent her to bed, my mom and me. I mean, what else could we do? But she's been having trouble sleeping and I been sharing my sleep aid but it's been making her sleep walk, and sometimes it makes her dreams worse.
When I went in to check on her this morning, because we'd been tryin' to keep her fed, I noticed that a few more pills were missing from the packet, and that she was gone too, and I think she must've been sleepwalking and dreaming about something important so I called Raoul and we followed her out."
"Sleep aid?" I ask with a squeak of my own. Did she- what was she thinking? Surely she wouldn't think to follow me into my apparent death, would she?
"Not enough to like kill her!" Meg breaks through my internal panic. "You can take like five of mine before it starts to get dangerous. I don't need a high dose to fall asleep so it's a really low dose and super generic so.. But she must've been dreaming whole days or weeks and waking up and trying to go back to sleep and taking a pill each time. And we were gonna let her rest for a while, so she's been chilling for a few days.. So she's had like eight or nine over the course of three days. She's just gonna sleep for a while, don't worry." She explains and I sigh.
"I can live with that.." I look down at her, her rest still peaceful. "Why was she like this? Why did she.. mourn like this? For me?" I can't stop myself from asking.
"That's just how she is. She doesn't just 'kinda' love you. When she falls in love, it's in deep." Raoul says. "When her mom died when we were in middle school, she fell apart the same way. She missed three weeks of school. We were still only friends at the time and I did my best to help her, but really, she just.. had to be sad. I.. presume it was the same when her dad died."
"Yes, except entirely alone." I nearly growl, but I hold myself in check.
"Yeah.. I thought she'd still have all our friends. I was wrong." He admits, and I forgive him, just a little. If he feels regret for his actions, how can I hold it against him? He seems.. changed, from what I knew of before and after.
"And how did she recover?"
"Slowly. Painfully. She never seemed to forget about her mom, never too far from her thoughts. But she got stronger every day. Kept going. Determined to live for her mom's sake, because she believed in Christine and always told her to persevere through hardships, and stuff like that. That's what she told me when we were kids, and that's what I told her to do for you."
"So she would have.. moved on, eventually? She would not have.. ended with me, if I had?"
"No. It would've sucked. But she'd keep going, I'm sure." He says with a touch of pride. Meg nods in agreement.
"She's a tough cookie." Meg says with the utmost seriousness. Darius snickers, at the expression, I assume.
"I'm glad, then. Have you managed to keep her fed, as you intended?"
"With how out of it she's been, she hasn't been able to eat a whole lot." Raoul says. "It's been easier to get her to drink."
"Thank god for protein shakes and smoothies." Meg adds, nodding.
"Good." I sigh. My Christine will be alright.
"I gotta ask though.." I wait for her to continue, but she just waits, thinking.
"What is it?" Daroga asks, and I remember that he is still here as well.
"What the heck is going on? With you? How are you not dead, and, uh, are you gonna stay around this time? The whole disappearing-reappearing thing is really stressful."
"I intend to stay. I would rather explain when all present are awake."
"Well, he may wish to wait to explain, but I do not." Daroga says. "Erik is free. We pulled the stunt with the news to create an alibi, both here and overseas. Legally speaking, Erik is dead. A proper ghost now, ah? This is so that, should any of his enemies from his past attempt to find him, they will find only a certificate of his end. He will have to stay secretive, but he is no longer confined to this house. The sensor is removed; he is free to walk the earth, on the condition that I act as his counselor and check up on him, oh, every other week or so."
"So he and Christine can be a real couple now, with no more murder mystery drama or whatever?" Meg asks.
"Drama there yet may be, but as long as he behaves, it will not be over murder, no." Daroga jokes. I groan, blushing. At least the mask is on my side for that..
"Oh, good. Tell us about yourself, then." Meg says simply, sitting next to me, Raoul sitting next to her, both smiling for the first time since entering. Just like that, it seems, we are friends.
We chat, sometimes with great ease and other times with difficulty, until Christine wakes up, coming to know each other like I have never known anyone else before I met Christine herself..
C-
I wake up, once more, but no longer in Erik's arms or lap or even on the couch. From the darkness, I first worry that it's my room at Meg's place, and I did simply dream it all, but the fluffiness of the bed is too much to be Meg's. All their mattresses are firm. This, this bed is like sleeping on fabric jello. It can only be Erik's.
My head feels clearer than it has in what feels like weeks to me, but I remember Erik said it'd only been days. Either way, I'm grateful for the fog to have cleared. I feel incredibly empty in the hungry kind of way, and I can hear voices and music and I smell something amazing, so I try to scoot myself out of bed. The scooting part works. The standing part, however, does not.
I have to lean against the wall for a long minute, my dizziness from before returning. What on earth did I do to myself? I'm sure someone out there knows, so I wait for it to pass, or lessen, and then I carry on.
What I see when I emerge from the blackout curtains is nothing short of magical. There, in the kitchen, are five of the most interesting people in the world, all of whom I arguably love, even Mr. Khan, who remains an enigma. Erik is talking over a skillet and a pot, which explains the amazing smell. Everyone else, Raoul, Meg, Darius, and Mr. Khan, stands by or leans on a counter or wall, listening or commenting. Then they all grow quiet, except Erik, who keeps explaining something about the skillet.
With a flick of his wrist, something flies up, out of the pan, and then safely back down, which everyone applauds. Is he making pancakes? Or, more correctly, flapjacks? It's so amazing to see him surrounded by people, supportive people, rather than attacked, or alone. And he smiles, too, which I see as he turns around to put his creation on a previously formed stack. And then he spots me.
"Christine!" He cheers, smile ever wider.
"Erik." I smile back, just as enthusiastic if far quieter. He nearly drops the skillet, placing it in the sink as he moves around the counter with long strides, arms out. I can barely take another step before he's whisked me into a hug, spinning us around. I can't help but laugh, and so does he. I forget how tall he is, sometimes, holding me a solid foot off the ground.
"I made breakfast." He says.
"I can see. And you made friends."
"Ah, well, it's hard to dislike such charming friends of yours, and I thought it would be pertinent to be friendly, and here we are. Are you hungry?" He asks, shifting me so an arm is under my legs, the other around my back. It looks like he has no intent on putting me down, and I am perfectly fine with that.
"Yes. Yes, a lot." I nod.
"Good. We can tell you the story while we eat."
And they do. I am overjoyed to hear that Erik is free, if a little disconcerted that he's legally dead. Nadir- who insists I stop calling him Mr. Khan because it makes him feel old- confesses his condolences we can never properly marry, if we wanted to, but thinks we'll make it work. I don't really care about a wedding at this point, just too happy to know that he's alive and well and he can stay forever. Or we can run away, for real, although we wouldn't be on the run from anyone. We could just go, wherever, do anything, just together. As long as Nadir knows about it, and can visit or call once every couple of weeks, that is. But even that doesn't seem like any kind of imprisonment, not compared to a life of crime and then a life of house arrest. This is the freest Erik has ever been, and he wants to spend it with me.
