Erik

Eventually my stomach growled and it occurred to me just how long it had been since I had taken a respectable meal. More importantly, that meant that Christine had not eaten either, which meant I had been remiss in my duties of caring for my dearest love and other half of my soul. Unacceptable.

Despite the hunger, though, I felt surprisingly wonderful. Better than I had in… well… a long, long time. As violent as my actions toward Christine had been, touching her had left me with a sense of tranquility… as if my soul was rejoicing at the contact with its mate.

It also left me with an odd thought that I determined to contemplate later, when I was thinking more clearly. Our bond seemed satisfied by her proximity. The pain was gone, as was the unrest. What would happen if I permitted Christine to keep the extra fragment and, in turn, I would simply keep her? Keeping her by my side would keep us physically well, if nothing else. I may never regain my soul in the traditional sense, but gaining her affection was beginning to sound more and more like an acceptable substitute.

Not that the choice was entirely mine. There was someone else's future to consider here.

Would she even allow it? My touch did not immediately kill her--that is always encouraging--though women tend to require more than that when contemplating a lifelong commitment.

Speaking of which, to my knowledge, Christine was mortal. So what would happen when she eventually grew old and di---

Never mind. Unpleasant thoughts best entertained by one with a more stable mind.

In the meantime, I believed that our connection had been established for the time being--enough that I felt confident leaving Christine alone for an hour while I found us something to eat. My angel would never accept me if she believed I could not provide for her.

There was a small restaurant nearby--closed for the evening--where I had an easy relationship with the owner. I had helped him once when the business was struggling and mere months away from closing, and in return, he never seemed to mind when I raided his kitchens at night. Luckily, the establishment was still operating after all these years.

Eager to return, I made quick work of preparing a tray for us both, alternating between Christine's favorites and more exotic choices that I knew she had never had the opportunity to experience before. I had to prove my worth to her. Not only could I meet her needs--I would provide her with the best, the most interesting, the most worthy. I would happily afford her with all manner of exposures that she'd never dreamed of before, that she could not likely experience with anyone else. Whatever adventures it took for her to have the ideal life.

She would be my queen--and I, an adoring dog by her feet.

But I feared that would never be enough… not after all that had happened between us. Not after knowing what I was.

If only she had not removed the mask. Erik could have been redeemed.

--

I had debated how best to approach Christine after our last encounter. She was understandably upset--probably horrified also at the besotted corpse she had been saddled with for eternity. However, I think I had a right to be a bit upset, myself. Despite the cogs rapidly spinning in my head to sort out the many ramifications of her actions… my heart still ached at the fact that she had betrayed me that way in the first place.

In the end, I decided on the direct approach, and knocked twice. There was no answer, as I expected… but it annoyed me, nonetheless. I now can admit the selfish turn my mind was making. Yes, I had upset her… but she had done worse! It was her fault that she could never love Erik.

She had no right to be sulking. I was the one who had been wronged, here! Because of her. Because of her treachery… she should be the one groveling, begging my forgiveness. Why was I so powerless?

Because you need her.

Honestly the concept upset me. I hated needing anything. There was a time when I would forego food and sleep for days at a time simply because I resented my dependence on them. However, though I could not die, I quickly found it nearly impossible to function without those things--so I dismissed my foolishness and resigned myself to the fact that some things were simply necessity.

Christine was such a necessity; I could not function without her.

Yet, at the same time, I loathed to be this powerless.

So I did what I have always done when I felt insecure--I drew myself up and pressed on as assuredly as possible. I would enter her room, politely but confidently, provide her with the supper I had procured, and lock her door until I was ready to speak with her again.

I knew how her mind operated. She hated to be alone--hated to know someone was angry with her. My coldness would keep her unsettled. She would be the one in submission. She would be the one begging my forgiveness. I would not let her control this situation. I could not… not if it was to end satisfactorily.

With that thought in my head, I assertively pushed open the door.

And what greeted me drained every ounce of assumed confidence from my body.

She was not there--not in the main bedroom--but I heard her voice coming from the adjoining washroom.

She was crying. But not the hysterical crying of earlier, nor the petulant, frustrated tears of a female who has not gotten her way. No, there was abject misery in her voice, as if she was truly grieving something.

And her words?

"Poor Erik… my Erik…"

I quickly set the tray down on the edge of her bed and fled the room.

--

I sat at my piano for a long while, not playing any one piece in particular, just letting my fingers wander. It had been so long since I'd had a real instrument to use. Flexing my fingers in mid-air or on the top of my thigh had kept my mind occupied, but the lack of actual sound to accompany it made the experience somewhat unsatisfactory. So much so that even the simple scales and etudes I'd memorized when I first picked up the instrument sounded so very pleasing to my ears. It soothed me, put order to my frazzled nerves as I pondered the utter quandary I was in.

Eventually I picked up the faint sound of footsteps outside my door and quieted so that I might hear them better.

Louder and softer, louder and softer… she must be pacing. Pacing outside my door. How very odd.

She was obviously trying to decide something. Enter and speak to me or some alternative I could not begin to imagine? Should I allow whatever inner turmoil to continue, or should I simply open the door and address her myself?

Just when I thought I could tolerate no more… when my curiosity and annoyance got the better of me and I stood so that I may throw open the door, I heard a timid knock followed by the creaky hinges of my door opening.

"Erik?" she said, quietly.

I believe nearly every muscle in my body tensed at once. I remained standing but did not turn to face her. I did not dare. After what had happened between us so recently--and her surprising reaction of loss--I could not bring myself to look her in the eyes. I was a coward, I knew, but I could not help myself. She was too important. So much rode on her not hating me.

Clearing her throat in a way that made me wince, she continued. "I'm sorry."

Then I did turn, if only slightly. Sorry? Whatever for?

"I… I know I shouldn't have done that. It was… really mean. But I just wanted you to know that… that I… you see…" she sighed, "You don't have to hide, you know? I understand now that you're… different." I snorted, but she pressed on. "And I guess I was a bit startled. But I'm not afraid or disgusted or anything. If you ever… it's your choice, of course… but if you ever want to stop wearing your mask, it's okay. Don't keep it on for my sake, is I guess what I'm saying. Your face doesn't bother me… not really."

I admit that I was somewhat baffled as to what to say to that. It was certainly not the confession I had anticipated.

"Why?" I asked, after a few moments. "Why are you good to me? I know that I am repulsive. No--do not interrupt--and I know that I have frightened you. What has made you return to this room and say such kind words?"

There was a long pause and I felt a ripple of paranoia. Perhaps she had seen the reason behind my question and was preparing to flee. Or perhaps this was a ploy to manipulate me and she was simply looking for the words that I wanted to hear.

Jolly luck with that, I thought, for even I did not know what words I wanted to hear.

At some point during the silence, she must have drew nearer, for I soon felt the unfamiliar warmth of a hand between my shoulder blades. Barely there… so close to touching that she brushed against my shirt, yet not actually making solid contact.

"Does it matter?" she asked.

I gasped--unable to control myself--and turned around, grasping her hands between my own. The spark was there… the jolt of unbridled joy and sweet coming-home sensation, as well as a strange heat in my belly that I was heretofore unfamiliar with but was too nervous to analyze.

To my immense satisfaction--Christine did not pull away. If anything, she relaxed a bit. She closed her eyes and sighed, looking peaceful. She feels it too! my heart exclaimed. I rejoiced, and allowed hope to fill my heart. If she felt our connection, perhaps she could be made to understand.

Or perhaps not.

"I would still like to go home," she said.

Ordinarily, I would have snapped in my response. I would have given reign to my insecurities and said something cruel. Perhaps I might have locked her up in my fear.

But I found that I could not. The feeling of her hands against mine prevented me from acting out in anger against her. If anything, I felt a strong sensation of… sadness. The strange part, though, was that I could not tell if the emotion was hers or my own.

I fell to my knees, refusing to release her from my grasp as long as she rested there so complacently.

"Christine," I said, begging her to understand, "Do not ask this of me. Anything else, I shall give you--but not this. My very soul literally lies within you. Do you not see? I must have it back first before I can release you."

If I were a better man, I would have warned her that, if I survived this, I never actually intended to let her go. Telling her would have been the polite thing to do, after all. But I have never claimed to be a good person.

"But you don't know how to make that happen," she argued, making me wonder how she knew that, as she could not have seen my notes. "I'm not willing to die, yet. And I can't stay here forever."

I bowed my head, allowing it to rest against her hip--for even though she gasped, she did not move.

"There is no other choice, Christine."

Her voice became… somewhat harder… and she tightened her hands uncomfortably against mine. "I don't think you get it, Erik. I'd hoped you would see reason. What I'm saying is that I'm not going to stay here forever. Someone will come for me. Someone is coming for---" She stopped abruptly, regretting her words, and I looked up at her with narrowed eyes.

"What have you done, Christine?" I asked, standing so that I towered over her.

I felt fear. Again--to whom did it belong?

"N-nothing!" she insisted. "I just mean that… that it won't be long until someone notices I'm gone and comes looking for me. That's all…"

Ah. So she must have gotten a letter to the boy after all. Why she believed she could lie to me, with our minds currently linked thus, I shall never know.

I smiled (though it must not have been a nice smile, since she finally did pull her hands way) and answered lightly, "Oh! Is that all? You please me, Christine. For a moment Erik was afraid you had betrayed him. Silly Erik! Will you forgive my foolishness?"

Christine took exactly three steps back before nodding hesitantly.

I clapped my hands. "Splendid. For that, you have my gratitude. Now, I do believe it is getting late. Perhaps you should rest now, and we will continue in the morning."

She frowned. "But what about---"

I interrupted, soothing her with my voice, projecting peace and calm in my tone. "Sleep now, Christine."

I watched with a smile as she yawned. My angel certainly was a precious one.

"You know," she said, "It's been a long day. I think I should turn in, if that's okay with you."

"I think that is a wise decision. Goodnight, angel."

"G'night…" she mumbled, stumbling back toward her room.

--

Sometime after Christine had gone to bed, I stood in my own bedroom, looking about awkwardly.

Before my imprisonment, my sleeping arrangements were… somewhat unconventional.

I slept in a coffin.

I know how disturbing that sounds, but it was the only place I had felt any sense of safety as I rested. After the life I had led, the people I had met… I found it difficult to sleep in the open. If I was to become so vulnerable to attack, I preferred to close myself away in a place that was protected and well hidden. As a younger man, I tended to curl up in caves, attics, or dilapidated rooftops. And the paranoia followed me even to the fortress of a cellar that I had constructed.

But, as I looked at the dusty box once again, I found myself disgusted with the prospect.

I no longer wanted to hide. Not with Christine nearby. Darkness was no longer my safety--she was. And I wanted to be safety to her as well. Sleeping so far from her filled me again with the ancient coldness that her touch had temporarily vanished before.

I opened the coffin long enough to retrieve my pillow and headed to the hallway beside Christine's room. I would not enter her sanctuary--I did not seek her comfort, merely her nearness. Instead I settled down right there in the hall and pressed my back against her door.

And slept the most peaceful night of my life.