There can be love without jealousy, but not without fears.
– Cervantes, Don Quixote
The dark wind howled around the Church of the Sagrado Corazon as Erik ushered Christine into its crypt, his grip firm about her waist. The vaulted ceilings and alabaster columns were dimly illuminated, but Christine scarcely noticed them. She was vaguely aware of the dark Christ that agonized on his cross in one chapel alcove, and the Virgin in another. Her eyes focused on the painted cupula above the main altar, where the archangel Michael, protector of transient souls, reigned over the other angels. Then, lowering her eyes, she saw Father Efrén.
"Christine?" The priest looked from her to Erik, and understanding dawned in his eyes.
Father Efrén turned to Erik. "If I had known that I would be performing the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony, I would have worn my vestments. I must say that this is a relief. I had feared that my debt to you might involve Last Rites."
"Not at all, Father. This is a happy occasion! You understand why we would require discretion, of course," Erik said smoothly, still keeping Christine anchored by the waist.
The priest's eyes turned towards Christine, who smiled weakly. "You look wan, Christine. I hope you are a happy bride?"
Don Efrén smiled at Christine with something approaching complicity. He had heard her conflicted feelings regarding Erik during confession, and he clearly thought she had resolved them.
"Still, this is a bit complicated and unorthodox, Erik. No banns, no witnesses..."
"You needn't fear, Father. I shall remedy all that. You know I have the means at my disposal," Erik asserted with an air of impatience.
The priest's smile broadened. "I don't doubt your abilities in the least. Not after the way you managed to release my prisoners...I can never adequately repay you for that, Erik, but -"
"You are about to satisfy your debt in full," Erik interrupted. "Shall we begin?"
Shall we begin? Christine was exhausted, but Erik's easy assurance awakened one last redoubt of rebellion within her.
"I need confession, Father," she interjected.
Both men stared at her, Don Efrén in surprise, and Erik with the brooding light of suspicion in his eyes. She smiled sweetly.
"I'm sure Erik has been shriven, but I haven't been to confession in months, Father."
The priest looked warily at Erik, who nodded his consent. That exchange only served to irritate Christine further, but she had had long practice at holding her tongue, and she moved to the nearest confessional in silence. The booth's solid wooden construction reassured her that it would be virtually soundproof. She smiled. That in itself would provoke Erik.
There was movement on the other side of the screen, and Father Efrén's voice issued forth.
"You may begin, Christine."
"Ave María Purísima," she intoned.
The sacrament proceeded formally at first, with Christine's vague cataloging of impure thoughts and other paltry misdeeds. The priest prescribed several Hail Marys as quick penance and was about to leave the confessional, but Christine stopped him.
"Father, you disapproved of Erik, and you were worried about my relationship with him. Now you seem quite happy to see us getting married. Would you mind telling me what's changed?"
On the other side of the screen, the priest hesitated. Christine could sense him weighing whatever words he was about to say.
"Erik has changed, and you have been the one who has changed him," Don Efrén finally said. "In my line of work, child, one can't give a soul up for lost, ever. I know that, especially now. I admit that I had thought Erik to be beyond redemption, but I was wrong. I am so happy to have been wrong, Christine! I am so pleased to see you two reconciled. You have served as a catalyst for good in his life. He is not the murderous, cynical man he once was, but is capable of great good. Haven't you noticed how he now avoids using violence unless strictly necessary?"
Christine thought of Raoul, imprisoned somewhere in the Hall of Mirrors. "I suppose the change in him has been...subtle," she finally said.
Yet deep in her heart she knew with uncomfortable certainty that she did have the power to restrain Erik. He had held back before for her sake.
As she knelt before the altar with Erik, Christine barely paid attention to Father Efrén's words as he shepherded them through the sacrament of matrimony. She could feel Erik beside her, sense that he was reverberating with some strong emotion, but she did her best not to look at him. When prompted, she answered, "Sí, quiero," sealing her fate, but perhaps it had been sealed long ago – perhaps even before she had met Erik.
Father Efrén pronounced them husband and wife, and Erik rose, pulling Christine up from the kneeler, his arm firmly about her.
"Christine," he whispered, enfolding her in a tight embrace.
Was she the one trembling or was he?
As Christine sat in a pew, she stared up at the archangel Michael, who stood poised to fly, wings outspread, from his place in the cupula.
"Why shouldn't you leave now, too?" she whispered up at the figure as she buried her face in her hands.
Don Efrén had gone, glowing with happiness for the couple he had just married. Erik had gone to retrieve Raoul, faithful to his promise to release him. Christine was alone with her thoughts.
The wind that had been buffeting the stones of the church outside now entered the crypt, cool against Christine's skin. She looked up at the cupula again, only mildly surprised to see Michael fly from his place there to light squarely in front of her. The archangel was battle-scarred from head to toe, and he held a sword whose flames matched his eyes, terrible in their fiery intensity.
"Christine!" his mighty voice thundered, echoing through the church.
She blinked and looked up from her recumbent position in the pew. Erik's eyes glowed down upon her from the darkness of his black half-mask. Even the unblemished side of his face was indistinct in the gloom. Christine felt a twinge of fear at how little she really knew Erik, could ever hope to truly know a man such as he. She roused herself, pushing to a sitting position and adjusting her hat.
"What...sleeping?" Raoul's voice rose an octave at the last word in its incredulity. "How could you sleep at a time like this?"
Good. His vocal cords are undamaged, Christine thought, and she rose to her feet to look beyond Erik to where Raoul sat, his hands tied behind his back. His eyes were bloodshot and he was disheveled, but he did not appear to have been harmed permanently by his ordeal at Erik's hands.
"I'm glad you're well, Raoul," Christine said. She could feel the waves of tension emanating from Erik's direction, and she added, "It's time to say goodbye, I'm afraid."
"Goodbye? Hell! You'll see how this isn't goodbye!" Raoul spat.
Erik, who had been looming darkly beside Christine, erupted into a rapid deluge of French. The tirade, directed entirely at Raoul, lasted for several minutes and terminated in a quick but eloquent gesture - a finger-slice across the throat. The threat at the end was the only part that Christine understood.
"You know I don't understand French, Erik," Christine complained.
"Good. That was not intended for your ears," he replied in English.
Raoul scowled. English was not one of his languages, and it seemed that Erik knew it.
"I don't care what the hell you try to do to me. I'll be back for Christine sooner or later. You won't have her for long," Raoul said, refusing to abandon Spanish.
"Mind your language, de Chagny. You will not find my wife at all, as you haven't the first idea where I plan to take her. I assure you, we will not be anywhere near you." Erik had reverted to Spanish. His tone was cool and detached, and his arms were folded.
"You can't fight us both," Raoul observed. "She loves me...and I love her. She'll escape you."
"Raoul..." Christine began.
"She knows your life is forfeit, wherever you are, if she does that," Erik snapped and turned to Christine. "This fool is abusing my patience. You wished to say goodbye to him, and I have no intention of arguing with the imbecile. We will leave together now, and he will return to France, where he belongs."
"She doesn't love you!" Raoul screamed. His face was scarlet with rage, and he struggled against his bonds.
Erik flinched in a way that was imperceptible to Raoul. Christine saw it, nonetheless, and as she turned to embrace him, she could feel his surprise. She pulled him to her and kissed him deeply, hoping to erase any of the doubts Raoul had placed in his mind. Whatever she did or did not feel for Erik, she was a catalyst for good in his life. Don Efrén had made it clear. She knew what her responsibility was.
As she held fast to Erik, she felt him deepening the kiss, his grip on her trembling slightly. Finally, she pulled back to look at him. The fiery eyes behind the mask frightened her in their intensity, and she could hear how he fought to gain control of his breathing. Finally, he calmed, taking deep, steady breaths as he looked at her.
"I promise to be a good wife to you, Erik. Don't listen to Raoul. I won't try to escape you, and I'll go wherever you go. I'll do my very best to make you happy. I promise." Christine's voice trembled.
"Christine, how could you?" Raoul exclaimed, but both Erik and Christine ignored him, lost as they were in each other.
Erik pulled Christine into an embrace, his dark cloak sheathing them both. She felt his heartbeat, more rapid than she remembered it, and held him tightly. Everything had been decided, and she felt a strange peace within herself. No more need to resist. She wished she could bury herself within Erik somehow and forget the world.
Finally, he pulled away from her to hold her at arm's length. He looked down at Christine for a long moment, his eyes inscrutable, their glow dimmed by whatever emotion lived within him now. More time passed. Christine felt in her deepest being that something had shifted and fallen out of place – something was terribly wrong. She was about to speak when Erik uttered the single word that stopped everything.
"No."
"No?" Christine repeated.
A cold dawn was creeping through the crypt's windows, offering them weak, gray light. Christine's teeth began to chatter. They would have to leave soon; there would be people.
Erik merely stood as though in a trance, observing her as if she were a million miles distant from him. Finally, he turned to address Raoul.
"You will not go to France with her. You will go to Lisbon and from there take a ship to New York."
Christine and Raoul glanced at each other, stunned, then watched Erik warily as he moved towards his captive and hovered over him. A blade flicked open in his right hand. Christine gasped.
"I have no intention of harming him." Erik's voice was flat with his effort to remain patient...and something else.
The blade flashed, and Raoul's hands were free. The effect was instant: leaping to his feet, he attempted a right uppercut, but Erik easily blocked it.
"Raoul...!" Christine approached the men, a sense of panic invading her. Erik was behaving in a way she had never seen before, and by no means did she think Raoul was safe from him.
"Stand down, you fool!" Erik thundered.
Raoul hesitated, waiting, and Erik turned to Christine and handed her the knife he had just used.
"That's my jack knife!" Raoul observed, turning an angry gaze on Christine. "You gave it to him!"
Patting her empty skirt pocket in disbelief, Christine shook her head.
Erik regarded her steadily, with something like tenderness, before speaking softly in English. "Imagine trying to face me armed only with a pocketknife. You are the only person on this earth capable of doing me injury, but the last thing you need for that purpose is a knife."
From outside, the first muffled sounds of human activity could be heard: the roar of an automobile engine, the sound of metal on metal as a gate was opened in the distance. The three people within the crypt showed no sign of their awareness of it, but the atmosphere had become charged with the need for hurry.
Another minute passed, and Erik continued to stare at Christine with that soft expression that alarmed something deep within her. Then he turned suddenly as if he were wrenching himself away from her and drew a bulky envelope from the depths of his cloak, offering them to Raoul.
Erik reverted to Spanish once more. "You will take Christine to Lisbon, then to New York from there. There are tickets, safe conducts, and everything else you will need for the journey within, including maps. You may need to change a few details, including the names on the documents, but you should not encounter trouble on the way. I've made certain of that. The journey across the peninsula will be done by automobile. You will find it parked near the train station; Christine knows which one it is." Erik handed Raoul the keys.
Disarmed by the complete change in Erik's demeanor, Raoul accepted the keys. "I need to go back to my men. I need to continue the work I've been doing. Without me, they'll be without a leader."
The sudden rigid quality in Erik's posture as he contemplated Raoul showed how unused he was to being contradicted. "You will take Christine to Lisbon, then to New York," he said slowly, as if speaking to an unruly child. "The route through the Pyrenees you were planning to take is too dangerous for Christine, and for her to remain in France is out of the question."
"I have Maquis in those mountains I can trust completely," Raoul argued. "As for France -"
"You know that incompetence kills more people than betrayal, de Chagny. You know that from bitter experience by now. Trustworthy as your Maquis may be, they are amateurs. And I would die before seeing Christine entrusted to your brother."
Raoul vacillated under Erik's raptor gaze. "Very well. I will take Christine to Lisbon. I promise."
The noise level outside the crypt continued to increase as the sun rose higher.
"You will leave with her within the week. And try to be discreet, de Chagny," Erik said, and turned and walked towards the side of the church so swiftly that his cloak billowed behind him.
"Erik!" Christine shook off Raoul's quick grasp and nearly ran in an attempt to follow him.
"Forget about me, Christine. You are free. But one last thing: you are to sing tomorrow at the weekly recital. Look in those papers for the music you will need, and destroy it once you have memorized it. Goodbye, my dear." Erik's voice became silvery with distance as he gradually disappeared.
Christine searched in the gloomy crypt for any sign of her teacher, but he had gone.