Standard Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera owns me, not the other way around.
Author's Note(s): Here's the next chapter, as promised... I'd like to dedicate it to all the E/C fans out there. (And as you so rarely get stuff like this from me, I hope you'll savor every word.)
Author's Special Request: I continue to need opinions on the name of the Persian. Please help in this regard. The poor fellow desperately needs a name! And considering he's the only sane character in this whole fiasco, don't you think he truly deserves one?
"Erik!" The soft feminine voice called gently down the corridors and passageways, echoing off moist stone walls and reverberating throughout the underground, melodically incongruous with the dark dank atmosphere. "Erik!" the voice called again after several moments. In the silence that followed there was no answer from the man, only a dripping that resonated, the soft swish of the lady's skirts and a frantic scurrying as her feet sent the resident rats scampering in fear.
She held her lantern aloft and cast her eyes to the left and right at the torches on the walls and the moisture running down the stone beneath them. Such a strange feeling it was, going down into the passageways without Erik at her side. Strange indeed, to be looking for Erik, pursuing Erik instead of the other way around. Poor, Erik, she thought, thinking of that pitiful box of treasures. Oh, poor, poor Erik, she thought, trying to get the idea of that terrible wedding through his mind. Oh, dear, unoffending Erik on his knees in the parlor. Pitiable Erik still wearing that stupid mask and declining food and drink. Oh, unfortunate Erik with such a face as he had that no one in the world could love him. Her heart overflowed easily with something she might easily mistake for love for she felt it in her chest as well as lower down, and she felt her pulse quicken and her blood stir. She cried out again and listened to his name echo all around her.
She shivered and hurried faster. She reached the small boat and stopped. She would have to do this, too, alone. It was not something she had done before. She hesitated. How very many things there were that she had not done! But she could do it. If that other woman could do it, surely she could as well. She stepped in and cried out as it rocked beneath her weight, but she found in a moment as long as she kept her feet at equal distances from the center, it remained steady. Oh, how much easier it had been to recline and let Erik do the work. She eased herself onto the small bench and grasped the oars. How very hard this was to push off from the shore! And how much heavier these oars were than they had appeared in the hands of Erik! She felt something rather like awe of him as she struggled to move the oars, found that the boat turned at strange angles and that she had such difficulty moving them both at the same time.
By the time she reached the other shore tiny beads of sweat had appeared on her upper lip and her forehead was moist as well. It was with the greatest of difficulty that she managed to set the oars in place, gather up her lantern and step out of the boat, which rocked tremendously as she moved one foot, causing her to cry out and nearly lose hold of the lantern. But she managed it somehow, without either dropping the lantern or falling into the dark waters, and as she stood on the shore catching her breath, she felt a peculiar pride in herself—something she had not felt before, save those nights when she had sung the lead at the opera. This was, perhaps, a greater achievement, for she had managed it with no natural talent, and no genius for a tutor.
When at last her breathing steadied, she moved toward the house and hesitated at the door. And it was here that for the first time, she felt afraid.
Erik was not, as she had once expected, so terrible by the light of day. As a matter of fact, sitting so properly in the parlor at the little house at tea time, he had seemed almost like any other man, except that he continued to wear that mask, and she remembered who he had been to her before. But now, she was in his domain once again. This was the place where he had taken her against her will, and this was the place where he had bound her. This was the place were Raoul and the Persian fellow had almost met their ultimate demise. She took a deep breath, then knocked.
Of course he did not answer, but she fancied she could hear music inside. Was that music, or did her memory of all the music they had shared here deceive her? She waited at the door that did not open and thought herself not a little foolish. But she must find him, and how else would one find him but to open the door. She remembered with fear the night that she had heard the bell ring and Erik had gone outside. What had he done in that time outside after the bell rang? But it was no matter to her now, for she had to find him. He would not harm her now, surely. He had said so. How is it you do not come to understand this? Erik could never harm you! he had said. He had better be prepared to keep that promise, she thought, for she was putting her life entirely in his hands without fear—or rather, she was casting off her fear as much as she felt able to and ignoring that which was left. She touched the knob and nothing happened. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Nothing happened. She turned the knob, took two steps forward and opened her eyes.
This was the room as she remembered it. Flowers all around to celebrate his wedding day. Their wedding day. Poor Erik. The room appeared untouched. A layer of dust lay over everything and she wondered where he had lived these past few weeks. She ran a gloved finger over a table and widened her eyes at the thickness of the dust. Poor Erik, she thought again. Oh, poor Erik. She knew where he was. He was in his room, for she could hear the music of the organ for certain now that she was inside. Why, how was it that the other said he was not here? Surely he had been here all along! Where else would he have been? Her fear suspended now for the moment, she opened the door and cried out to him. "Erik!"
The music stopped. For a moment that seemed interminable, his fingers hovered over the keys of the organ, his body bent stiffly forward where he had been reaching for a lower chord. He seemed for that moment frozen in time and then very slowly he reached down to a place beside him on the bench, then back upward and again, and she realized he had been playing without the mask. Then he stood, slowly, as though each bone moved individually from the others so that he rose up one vertebra at a time. Only when he was standing entirely erect did he begin to turn slowly, first turning his head so that he might glance at her out of the corner of his eye, then over his shoulder. Then, slowly pivoting at the waist, and finally his long legs turning at last to catch up with the rest of him. He faced her without a word and seemed to stare through her.
"Erik!" she cried out again, and her voice was an excited giggle. "I've come at last, Erik. I'm sorry it's taken me so long, but I'm here now. Are you all right?" He seemed to manage well enough until that last. Then he seemed to move back in surprise, but without taking a step. "Erik," she said again, more softly this time. "Erik, please... Say something. Tell me you're all right!" She couldn't keep the urgency out of her voice, and her pitch rose with her concern.
At last he seemed to find his voice, though it broke as he began to speak. "I am—well—Christine" he managed, then could say no more.
"Good," she breathed, holding her hand to her heart, futilely trying to stop its pounding. Everyone was worried, she wanted to tell him, but she didn't, for she wanted him to focus on her. She was here. She had come for him. She held out her hand tentatively and watched his eyes dart to it. "Erik, must you remain so distant always?" she asked and sensed his uneasiness as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
He couldn't answer but took a chance on moving forward towards her, watching carefully lest she show any signs of fear. When she stood her ground he allowed his feet to move him all the way to her so that they were standing face to face, she looking up into his eyes, he staring down at her in amazement. When he found his voice again he whispered "Christine, what are you doing here?"
She smiled. She actually smiled. At him. "I came for you—to find you," she said.
He closed his eyes a moment. "Say that again," he whispered.
She frowned. Surely he had heard her. And then she understood. She stood on her toes and leaned a bit closer. "I came for you," she whispered softly, turning her lips toward his ear. She heard him exhale sharply and she wondered what she was doing. This was, after all, Erik. She had fought so hard to be free of him and now... What was she doing? But she had nothing to lose, after all, for she had already lost Raoul. And if Raoul discarded her so easily, then he mustn't have loved her very much, must he? No, she had nothing left to lose now and perhaps everything to gain. Erik had always claimed that he loved her as no one else could. Perhaps he spoke the truth.
Erik was staring at her in disbelief. She stared back. "You are actually here, Christine?" he asked her softly.
"Of course, I'm here," she said. "Right here." She smiled at him again.
"Forgive me," he whispered. "I have had a rather interesting day. And I have been up all night. I would not at all be surprised to be dreaming you."
"Do you dream of me, Erik?" she said softly. He declined to reply and looked away. Actually, he hadn't dreamt of her lately, but it wouldn't do to tell her that.
He turned back to the organ. "It has been a long time," he said and she wondered whether he was indicating the organ or his dreams.
"It has," she agreed, guessing he meant the music. "What shall we sing, Erik? I haven't sung anything for so very long..."
"In a bit, perhaps, Christine," he said. "I am suddenly so very tired." He sat back down on the bench at the organ, but facing away from it.
"Are you all right," she asked, bending low to see his eyes.
It was the third time she had asked that question. "Yes, Christine, why wouldn't I be? I am only tired, that is all."
She hovered, unsure whether to believe him or not. "Can I get you anything?" she tried.
His eyes narrowed at her through the mask. "What unkind trick is this, Christine?" He said it softly, but without pain. It was just a question.
"No, Erik. It's not a trick at all. Maybe I was wrong after all. Maybe you were right all along. Oh, Erik, I've behaved so terribly!" She felt she should be crying at this point, but she was not. She simply stood before him and stared into his eyes.
"No, Christine. You haven't done anything wrong. You were, perhaps confused. We have both been confused for a very long time. Do not think of it. Erik always forgives you, even when there is nothing to forgive." He slowly reached out a hand but paused inches away from her face. He was not to touch her, he knew that.
"It's okay," she said, her breath coming in gasps. "Erik."
He touched her cheek with a bony finger, and that was enough. He withdrew his hand again quietly. He folded his hands in his lap and looked at them.
"Erik," she said, going to her knees so she could see his eyes. "This is how I always hoped you would be. Gentle. Like this. Say you will always be this gentle and I will stay forever."
He stared at her. She could not see it, but his mouth had fallen slightly open behind the mask. She would stay here. Forever. What was she saying? But she was engaged to be married. "Christine. Your engagement," he managed.
She gestured with finality. "Called off."
"Oh, Christine!"
The sound was more of a moan than a cry of joy, but it was enough for her. She reached out to him. "Erik!"
He folded her into his arms and stroked her golden hair gently. "Ah, Christine," he murmured softly.
BleedingHeartConservative's Final Thought: Ah... So Christine loses Raoul and returns to her poor lonely Erik. Fitting, is it not? Ah, but now what?
Stuff to think about: Oh no! Now Christine is single again and underground with Erik, who, well... I mean, is Erik. What of that? What of poor Elizabeth? And what of poor Raoul? And can any of this be good for Erik? I could try to be all warm and fuzzy and wrap it up here (except most of y'all would hunt me down and kill me!) but that would not explain away the young lawyer or Elizabeth's plans for the future. (And besides, she can't really go back to Wilhelm, can she? I mean, if you knew Wilhelm the way I know Wilhelm, you wouldn't want her to...) Oh! What's a writer to do? Suggestions? :evil grin:
Shameless Begging for reviews: (As ever...) Reviews were scant last chapter. Then again, I didn't give you very long to get a chance to read. I did note, however, that they were highest after the chapter about the masked wedding (I can understand why) and a close second after Erik went out in the daylight (I'm slowly learning what you all like, eh?) but Raoul and Christine don't garner much reaction... Oh well. I hope this chapter has got your mind's reeling, but even if it does not, I hope you'll drop me a line or two and let me know whether you loved or hated it. Thanks!
Additional begging on the Persian's behalf: Oh dear god that poor man. As of this minute 18 of you have read my chapter and four of you have been kind enough to review—but only one vote appears for our dear Persian friend. Has anyone tried it and found it not to work? Or am I asking too much? Or... what's going on?
