Chapter 14

She was dreaming again. She knew this, and yet she could not help but fear. Her father lay before her, shrouded in black mist and hidden from her view. She cried and screamed, hoping he could hear her beyond the veil of darkness, but when he turned around, he could not see her.

"Daddy! It's me!" she sobbed. "Can you not see me?"

He said nothing, for he did not hear her. Bizarrely, for a sick, heart-wrenching moment, the familiar figure of her father changed into something darker and nightmarish – a demon cloaked in fire and smoke. She screamed and tried to run, but though she ran hard and fast, she could not move an inch. The horrendous creature bore down on her and enveloped her in darkness and fear. It gripped her with its claws, and as she turned around, the head was suddenly Erik's, his mouth opened wide to swallow her whole –

"Angel!" she cried in one last helpless plea for rescue.

The Erik-demon laughed, and the chuckle rattled in its throat like dry bones.

"No Angel, no Angel," the creature taunted. "Your father lied – there is no Angel in heaven for you! No angel! Father lied!"

Nevertheless, Christine continued to cry for her angel, hoping against hope that it might hear her.

"Not all angels are from heaven, Christine. Your angel is a demon from hell!"

The demon's laugh filled her mind, and she could already feel the fires of hell burn upon her skin.

"ERIK!"

The shout woke Christine up.

She started from her sleep, the sheets twisted around her legs in a hopeless mess and most of the bedding slipped off of the bed onto the floor. She was completely covered with a sheen of cold sweat, and she could not stop shaking.

"Just a dream, Christine," she muttered to herself. "It was just a dream!"

Nevertheless, caught up in the last vestiges of the nightmare, she couldn't help but feel as though she had narrowly escaped the devil himself. It was not unlike the time she had seen a corpse for the first time… its skin had been turning blue, and the smell of it had made her nauseous – she could never describe the smell – it was like sour meat, only worse, since the horrifying smell was coming from a human. His eyes were no longer there, and there were flies crawling all over him, into his mouth and nostrils…

She had had nightmares for months afterwards.

She looked over to the armchair that was next to her bed, expecting to see the comforting form of Erik's shadow and was more than disappointed that he was not there. She wondered where he could be, but then remembered the night before, and she felt a wave of guilt and shame fill the bottom pit of her stomach so strongly, she felt she might be sick.

Just as she was untangling herself out of the sheets, her door opened and Erik stood just within the doorframe, leaning against it impersonally. She had just pulled the sheets off of her when she noticed him, and she gave a gasp of surprise and yanked the blankets back up to cover her half exposed thighs, as her nightgown had hiked up on her in her fretful sleeping.

"You called, my dear?" Erik asked frostily, as though she had interrupted him from some direly important task. It made her cheeks flush in complete embarrassment that he had come for nothing, after all, that she had been sleeping, and that whatever noise he may have heard from her was her shouts when she woke up.

"I – I'm sorry, Erik," she stammered, suddenly unable to breathe for fear of his temper. "I was not aware that I called out."

He hissed impatiently, and she rushed to explain.

"It was a nightmare! Nothing more – "

But whatever she might have said after that was cut off as he spun around and slammed the door unceremoniously. His coldness made her eyes sting with the onslaught of tears, but she bit her lip hard and willed them not to spill over.

"Well, you didn't have to come 'comfort' me if you were still so angry," she quipped to herself. However, though she tried to be sarcastic and bitter about it, a lump formed in her throat as she wished that Erik would have come in to comfort her, or sing her back to sleep. She hadn't had a nightmare like that for weeks, now, and bearing the burden of it alone made her feel absolutely abandoned.

She tried to swallow the lump back down, but it continued to rise up to the surface. She put her fist in her mouth to muffle a sob, but the sound of it made her break down completely that she turned and buried her head into the soft down pillows. Her grief echoed in the empty room, despite her efforts to quell it, and it magnified her misery. She felt desperate to feel the mattress sink down next to her, to hear Erik shush her into silence, to feel his cool hand brush against her sticky and hot forehead, to push away the hair that was getting in her face…

She turned her head to surface for a fresh breath of air, feeling suffocated by the warm pillow, only to feel more miserable to see that Erik had not suddenly appeared at her side to comfort her in her grief, and then she felt selfish for expecting this of him.

"Why, Erik?" she half whispered, half sobbed. "Why must you do this to me?"

Her question hung unanswered and unheard in the air, and for some reason, the feeling of being ignored made her angry and frustrated.

"Why did you have to choose me? A grieving girl who was no closer to womanhood than a mere five-year-old innocent? Why did you have to confuse me, lie to me? Cheat me of my own life, when I could have perfectly managed on my own? Why did you have to notice my voice and not some other girl? Had I never improved, Raoul would have never noticed me, never would have interfered, and I would never had made any of those stupid mistakes that got me into this huge mess, and I had to marry you, and you made me honor bound to come back and guilted me into staying, and now you can't even trust me to make an honest decision, or even a decent mistake, and I'm still too foolish to grow from those childish dreams, and it's ALL YOUR FAULT!"

All through her rant, her voice had risen to such impressive volume that she wondered that the door had not opened to show Erik in a fury as incredible as a god's. As she screamed the last word, she threw a vase at the door for good measure and fell back on the bed, sobbing long and hard.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm sorry I'm so weak and not strong enough to take on a marriage like this. I'm sorry I'm not honest, even if you were in no danger of losing me. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the letter, and I'm sorry I couldn't tell you how bad I really feel about all this, and I'm just so, so sorry that I can't grow out of my childish fears and show you how much I really care about you, and maybe ever perhaps grow to lo – to like you, and I'm so sorry that I can't just bring up the courage to tell this all to your face!"

She fell silent, exhausted from her ordeal, and lay there for a long time, hiccoughing occasionally and taking several shuddering breaths. She halfway hoped that he might have listened to her at the door, but at the same time, hoped to God that he did not hear one fragment of a word of her embarrassing tirade. No doubt it would have only made him angrier to have heard it, and she did not wish to be on the receiving end of his temper any longer.

Her exhaustion gave way to a deep and dreamless sleep, and when she opened her eyes again, she saw Erik sitting in the armchair next to her, and for a brief moment, in that confusion between sleep and wakefulness, she wondered if the whole thing was a dream, before she remembered the bruises on her arms and the soreness in her jaw from where he gripped her. She lay there, wide-eyed, speculating as to what he was doing there. His posture was too stiff to be contrite, and his aura gave off too much anger to give her reason that anything might have changed since last night.

Finally, she dared to speak.

"Erik," she started, but he held up a hand to cut her off, and to her horror, she saw a paper clenched tightly in his fist.

The letter.

Hours before, she decided that she would never show him the letter Raoul wrote to her. If she gave the letter to Erik to read, he would run out to kill the poor, devoted boy, and at the same time, Raoul would kill her husband at any cost. She didn't know much about fighting, but she knew that in any sort of situation, if Erik perhaps let his emotions carry him away too far, he could easily make a mistake and let Raoul take advantage of him. It happened, whether in duels or word sparring, so she determined never to tell and hoped that his temper would eventually blow over on its own.

However, it did not matter. He had found it anyways.

"Do not speak, for if you speak, Erik will go mad, and he will wring your pretty little neck," he said, his voice calm and collected. Too calm, which made her very nervous. He was beyond mere anger – he was furious.

She did not dare to move, and petrified as she was, even found it difficult to breathe. She did not imagine this. Perhaps she imagined that, once he saw everything (which he did not, she reminded herself, since he would not let her speak), he would see into her mind and understand that this whole thing was a gross misunderstanding.

"My wife needs to be punished. She has been writing letters to a lover, and not her husband. What do they call it these days?" he asked, fully not expecting an answer; merely dragging it out painfully. "I believe they call it… adultery? Yes, yes, that must be it; in which a wife is unfaithful to her husband, promising herself to one when she clearly belongs to another. Or perhaps that is not so – perhaps you realized that no man owns you completely yet, as the marriage was not yet consummated, was it, my dear?"

Her heart stopped in her throat. "Erik," she breathed, but he did not hear.

"Yes, I own your mind and soul, but not your body."

No! no! This mustn't be happening!

"You are my wife, and it is well within my rights to claim you, isn't it?"

Not like this! Please, God, not like this!

He stood up and paced over to the side of her bed. In fear and surprise, she scrambled away from him, trying to yank her nightgown to completely cover her bosom and half-exposed legs. He hissed at her and his eyes flashed dangerously, and before she could pull away further, he reached out and took her wrists firmly. His grip made her wince in pain, and he forced her to crawl to the edge of the bed, next to him. He tied her hands to the bedpost so tightly that, as he pulled the knot, she cried out. The rope was not completely necessary, as she would not have dared to resist him, but being tied up made her feel like he was treating her like an animal, and it hurt to feel treated in this way. It gave her greater insight into his poor childhood.

He had her laid out on her back, and as his hands descended on her, she screwed her eyes shut and prayed that he would be quick, that it wouldn't hurt, and if it did, that she wouldn't remember the pain.

Her body was stripped bared, exposing her completely to his view. She couldn't bear to open her eyes to see what he was about to do next. His bony fingers dug into her hips as he prepared to enter her, and she winced in anticipation –

But nothing happened.

After a full minute passed and still nothing happened, she dared to open her eyes.

Erik was frozen on top of her, his legs pinning hers down and his trousers halfway off, and his eyes locked on her body.

"Erik?" she whispered, and his eyes snapped up to meet hers. "Why don't you just…"

She trailed off and waited for him to carry on in his horrible task, one that was so wrong, she had no doubt her father was rolling in his grave.

For one gut-wrenching moment, he took in a deep, shuddering gasp, and she realized that he was crying.

Crying!

He climbed off of her, muttering to himself. "Erik is not worthy. She is too beautiful, too pure! She must be an angel. It would be a tragedy to touch such perfection, and still, it would be the death of me." He paused, then turned to her. "You will be the death of me!" he shouted. "The death of me…"

He took a step away. "Erik will die," he stated so resolutely, Christine forgot her tied up hands and sought to comfort him, but she could not move. She watched helplessly and Erik wandered out of the room, tugging anxiously at his sparse head of hair.

"Erik!" she cried, but he did not seem to hear her. He shut the door and she screamed again, "Erik!"

There was nothing she could do. Her arms were swelling up and she could no longer feel her hands, but despite her discomfort, despite her less-than-fortunate situation, she wanted more than anything to be out there with Erik, to convince him that she was still with him, and no matter the cost, she would let him take her if it could save him.

"Erik! Let me help!" she called, struggling against the ropes, trying to see if there was a loose knot she could work at, but only managed to chaff against her raw skin. Eventually, she had to stop moving for fear that her arms would fall off. Instead, she called and called for Erik, imploring for him to come in and release her, until her voice was completely hoarse. Still, she kept at it, croaking out her pleas, sounding abominably like Carlotta had that one night of the toad. Her arms no longer felt like they were there, and she felt dizzy and lightheaded…

She woke up again, but she had no way of knowing if she had slept for five minutes or an hour, but she was still stark naked; still tied up tightly. She could not help but weep for her sorry circumstances.

"Erik!" she yelled, but it came out a croak, and she gave in to despair. There was no knowing how long this would last, and he would never be able to hear her dead voice through the stone walls.

"Please, please, please, God," she whispered fervently. "Please help him!"

She lay there for only heaven knew how long, giving up any hope that Erik would remember her and release her from her bonds. She remembered distantly that she should have resented him for doing this to her and nearly raping her, but the memory of his eyes simply chased away any vestiges, if there were any, of that bitterness.

She drifted in and out of consciousness, and every time she came to herself again, she wondered that she was not dead, yet. Surely no one could have endured what she had in those past few days. She only hoped that, if she should die, Erik would be all right, that he would not punish himself too severely for what had happened. She prayed feverishly for his sake, if not her own, that God would spare him the punishment of his sins. Erik was not in his right mind, and the circumstances have hardly served to help him.

She started reminiscing things, such as the time he had first tasted of her cooking, how he had taken one bite, chewed painfully slow for a minute before he politely excused himself to his quarters to finish the meal himself without her watching. She knew that he threw away the meal, and yet, it had touched her. Her cooking talents were less than deplorable, and that he would be most civil of such a thing made her thankful for his discretion.

There was the time, after she received her letter from Mamma, that Erik asked her how she was faring. Her grip over the situation was shaky, so when he asked about it, her lower lip trembled. He took note of it and uncharacteristically pulled her into his arms. It surprised her, but she welcomed it because she knew she needed it. She spoke for a long time about Mamma, which inevitable led to her memories of her father, which in turn led to a narration of her childhood. She told him as much as she could possibly remember as she sat nestled warmly in his arms.

There was the time when he taught her the piano. He stood behind her for an hour each day, patiently guiding her to play the right tunes, sometimes covering her hand in his own as he led her through the more difficult passages of whatever song she was currently learning.

The time when he was still her Angel, after her first debut, she remembered the loving caress in his tone as he told her what a splendid success she was… The angels wept tonight!

The first time she heard him in her dressing room, as he made himself manifest to her as the Voice…

The first time she heard his more beautiful compositions…

When she kissed him… the taste of his tears still on her lips…

His sad eyes as he turned away from her to leave her lying there; his helplessness and the vulnerability his expressive eyes exposed to her…

His voice in her ears as he cried at her feet the night he confessed his cheat…

"Christine!"

She could hear him even now…

He had sounded so upset, and now she longed to go back and comfort him, to tell him that all was well; that he was no longer alone.

"Christine!"

His voice sounded so real to her ears now that she wondered if she had descended into madness, now; or perhaps she was finally dying. She smiled sadly.

"Don't worry, my Angel! All is well," she said, but no sound escaped her lips.

She could feel a faint tugging in her extremities, somewhere where her arms should have been. Perhaps the angels were releasing her?

She waited for the Pearly Gates to appear before her – perchance she could see her father again! Instead, something different happened. She felt needles pricking her everywhere, and the pain of it burned and forced her to open her eyelids. In front of her, she could see Erik, his eyes wild with fear, her hands gripped in his as he rubbed them together.

"Christine, I am so sorry! Please forgive me!" he implored.

She opened her mouth to tell him that he was being ridiculous, that it was all nonsense as she had already forgiven him, but not a sound escaped her throat.

He saw her fight for her voice and found she was unable to attain it, and in utter grief and despair, he leaned his head despondently against her stomach, weeping into her. She noticed offhandedly that, though she was still naked, her bedcovers had been arranged to cover her.

Realizing that she had regained feeling in her hands, she pulled one out of Erik's hands and laid it gently on his head, slowly stroking the thin remains of his hair. He ceased weeping, and as he grew still, she let her weak arm lay limply on his head and, giving into the darkness calling to her, fell asleep.

A/N: A couple things: I hope it's not too OOC. Second, as a friend put so splendidly, if Christine showed Erik the letter, Erik would have immediately gone out to kill Raoul because of the insults that can, without a doubt, be found within the contents of that letter, thereby putting himself in way of harm. Even if Erik did not find the letter, Christine would not have showed it to him. I'm just going to say that, instead of going out to kill Raoul (because, if he had went out to look for him, here's what would have happened in my book: Raoul could have been found as a nuisance by the police or the management of the Opera and barred from its doors; he may have moved to a new flat; any number of things - I DO NOT want to kill Raoul!) Erik instead goes in to punish Christine for her supposed "treachery." Also, seeing the letter would not clear up Christine's name, as Erik is not a mind-reader. The letter contains insults to Erik's name, and instead of throwing the letter away, she kept it, and that is all Erik understands.

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