Spring 1854
Central Austrian Empire
Erik
The glow of the fire against the tent was dying, though the light was illuminating it enough. I was staring at the woman next to me, still in shock, wondering how she had convinced herself that she had the courage and nerve to be my bride.
She was curled up against me, her features relaxed and peaceful. How could she have such sweet dreams? Did she fully understand just what she had said to me? Just what she had promised? The past few days had been rather trying for her – perhaps she was simply lightheaded and fatigued. Perhaps she truly did not comprehend what she had been saying.
I closed my eyes tightly, hating myself with every fiber I possessed. She had been coherent. She knew what she was saying.
It became a prayer-like mantra, and I felt hot tears come to my eyes once again. The night was very quiet, and I pressed a fist against my mouth to muffle the sobs that were coming. What a stupid boy I was! I seemed to cry at the drop of a hat these days, and they all seemed to be for completely different reasons. Could it have been possible that this time last year I had been a pitiless, merciless monster?
For those few precious moments I had lost control – had completely disregarded my actions. And when Christine woke and remembered, it might ruin everything. Those other times in which I completely disregarded her, thought only of my own selfish needs and impulses…The time she took off my mask…I felt ill. I did not deserve someone as good and pure as Christine. I was a selfish, careless monster. And yet, I still could not crush that tentative hope that she honestly meant to become my wife.
For endless minutes I choked on sobs, abhorring the fact that I was crying and yet unable to find a way to stop. The pleas in my head would not desist. I looked at Christine, praying beyond reason that she had been honest, had been true. The god I had never believed in suddenly became the thing I promised all to – if only Christine would sincerely consent to be my wife.
I worshiped every inch of her, every breath she took, every move she made. If she would love me – truly love me – then there was nothing I would not do for her. Every whim of hers would become my command. And as I lay there, muffling my tears, I prayed as I had been taught as a small boy. This god who had taken everything from me must surely have some degree of compassion. He had to give me Christine. Please – give me Christine.
The bright sunlight woke me the next morning, and I hissed slightly as my entire frame protested. The odd position had left me sore beyond measure, and the hard ground hadn't helped. But my discomfort was soon dispelled. Christine was still next to me. She was awake, and she was smiling at me. I felt my heart seize up in my chest, and I watched her warily. A sudden chilliness around my face reminded me – my mask was outside! Quickly, I put a hand over my face, making to roll over and stand. Christine, however, caught my wrist.
"No, Erik," she said quietly. "Please. Don't hide from me anymore."
I swallowed harshly. "I know you wish to convince yourself that you are not bothered by…this. I understand. But I do not want to have you disappointed in yourself. It does not offend me, Christine."
She looked at me closely, and I resisted the urge to fidget.
"You did not care last night," she said softly. A blush tinged her cheeks.
My mouth went dry, and I felt heat on my neck as well. It was already brought up – and now she would say words that would determine the rest of my life. Funny…I had never put much stock into words.
"It was dark," I said.
"Not by the fire."
"I had to take it off to see this accursed stab wound. I told you not to look!"
She sighed, sounding impatient. "Erik, I don't want to fight with you…Especially not right after what we said last night." She pulled on my hand, and I slowly took it away from the disaster that was my face. Again, no hint of disgust flickered anywhere on her face.
"I want to see you," she murmured. "Not that mask."
And as if it was the most normal thing, she put her head on my shoulder. With my heart pounding somewhere in the vicinity of my throat, I looked at her.
"Christine?" I said.
"Mm?" she said, her eyes closed.
Steeling my nerves, I breathed in deeply and said, "Did you – last night." I felt like an idiotic fool as I stuttered. "Did you truly mean what you said?"
Her eyes opened, and she craned her head to look up at me. "Of course I did, Erik," she said, her voice calm and soft. My heart disappeared for a moment and then returned viciously, beating against my ribcage violently. "I love you and wish to be your wife – that is, if you want me," she added hastily, her light blush returning. "You've never…you've never actually said you love me."
I gave a breathless laugh of relief. "You silly, wonderful girl," I said, managing a weak half-smile. "I love you more than you can possibly imagine." Those three words – I love you – came from my mouth so naturally. I had never said them before, and yet with Christine it felt natural, right.
She smiled. "I've been waiting such a long time to hear you say that."
"I have waited a long time to say it."
"Really?" She sounded rather glad. "How long?"
Her question caught me off-guard. I panicked briefly and wondered if I should lie to her. She would undoubtedly become upset when she learned I had treasured her above all else while she was still married to Chagny.
"Erik?" she reminded softly. "Don't lie…"
"For a very long time," I said shortly. "I have loved you much longer than you have loved me – if I can scarce believe that."
"We will return to that later," she said. "But just how long, Erik? Was it when I was still married to Raoul?"
I stared at the thin ceiling of the tent and nodded, swallowing roughly. Christine was silent, thinking.
"While we were still in Persia?" she pressed.
"I didn't want to admit it to myself," I said grimly, feeling a tad irritated by her calm demeanor, "but yes. Does that answer your question, foolish child?"
She laughed a little. "It does," she said simply. She thought for a few moments and then said slowly, "I suspected it…Later in our friendship, of course. But I didn't want to flatter myself. I couldn't imagine why someone like you – so talented and clever – could find someone like I am so interesting. I made an excuse to myself to think that you were desperate for French companionship and, while in Persia, hospitality."
"Hardly," I said shortly. She giggled and again rested against my shoulder, finding some sort of bizarre pillow from the bone. I couldn't fathom the idea that the beautiful creature lying beside me would want to be my wife – be joined with me forever. For one of the first times in my life, I allowed myself to be happy. Perhaps it was all a horrendous lie…But for those few moments, I let myself to believe. Warmth flooded me, and I felt myself relax slightly.
"How is your burn?" she then asked gently.
I put a hand to my side and fingered the soft, blistering wound under the bandage. "Fine," I grunted.
She didn't look convinced and said, "Let me see it." Her hands went to the tie of the bandage.
"No!" I pushed them away. "It shouldn't be…exposed. Let it alone." I was suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable in the broad daylight and having her hands all over me. She could see everything on my disgusting body with perfect clarity – every protruding bone and scar was no longer hidden by darkness. I wasn't emaciated by any means. Manual construction and hard physical labor from the palace and traveling for so long hadn't stripped away any muscle, but it was sinewy and lean, and I was definitely not a pretty sight. I longed for a shirt. But when she sighed, rested her head on me, and placed a hand in the vicinity of my heart, I felt the delicious torment of skin against skin.
"Is this wrong of me?" she asked.
I looked down at her. Her brow was pulled down in worry, and her gaze was lowered. She took in a trembling breath and said, "Raoul has only been gone for several months, yet here I am…engaged to you."
My stomach tightened with instant terror. What if she thought more along this vein and then took back everything she said to me?
"Loving someone is not a sin," I said quietly, trying to mask the fear I felt.
She nodded. "I know, Erik, I simply…feel as if I am somehow disrespecting Raoul and his memory."
"He would have wanted you to be happy," I said. "Are you…Christine?"
"Happy?" she said.
I nodded, still feeling some panic clouding my brain at her response.
"Of course I am," she said. "I just…" She sighed deeply. "You are right. Raoul wouldn't want me to be unhappy for so long. I can only hope that he is glad that I have found someone to be with – someone I very much love."
"I would never…want to pressure you, Christine."
She laughed a little. "Erik, don't be silly. It took you three years to tell me that you love me. I think the furthest thing you do is pressure me. This is something that I must deal with myself. But please remember that I do love you, Erik. I do." Those sentiments were continually striking me in ways words never had before, and I was not yet allowing black doubts to cross my mind.
She sighed a little, a smile lingering on her lips. I resisted the urge to mimic her, instead closing my eyes and allowing myself another few minutes of relaxation.
Her hand was on my chest, and after a while I picked it up and examined it, stroking the small fingers lightly.
"I have no ring for you, nothing with which to claim you as mine," I said, tracing her bare ring finger of her left hand. "If you wish it of me, I would travel to the tip of Africa and mine you any diamond you wanted."
"I much prefer you here with me," she said, nestling deeper into my side. "Right now, I am fine. When we are in Paris, we may look for something simple. If you were to give me a ring now, I'm positive it would be stolen off my finger without my even realizing it!"
I laughed a little, feeling pleased she could joke about the misfortune that seemed to constantly befall her. We were silent for a while, content.
"Erik," she said at length.
"Yes?"
There was another considerable pause, and she sat up, a hesitant, worried look on her pretty face.
"Those men…"
My breath caught in my throat, and I felt my heart disappear once again. The murders – those men I slaughtered right in front of her. My mind had roared at me, convinced me they deserved death. They had threatened to take away Oberon, and then they had attacked Christine. No one could do such horrible things to her and live. The murderer inside of me had reared its head – uglier than my own – and commanded me to obey it. I had obeyed without hesitation.
"They were threatening to take Oberon," I said. "We need him to return to Paris."
Christine's face looked a little pale, and she looked at me – not with disgust – but with sorrow.
"But Erik…" she whispered. "You killed them. You murdered them all."
"They would have killed us," I said.
"That is no excuse for murder."
"It is a perfect excuse!" I said shortly, sitting up and hiding a wince as my side ached. "I was not about to simply lie down and allow them to slit my throat. I was not going to allow them to take Oberon. We would die without him. I have seen too many horrors, Christine. This world is not pitiful, not merciful. If you do not attack, you will be attacked. I am not going to risk your safety for the sake of some worthless lives."
"Please don't say that," she said, her eyes wide and her face ghostly. "All lives are worth something, Erik. What if one of those men had a family with little children?"
"They are better off without a father harms innocent travelers for his monetary supply."
She was still staring at me with sadness. I was irritated – why could she not understand? Why did she not see that some lives were worth more than others? Some people simply did not deserve to live. They had contributed nothing to anything, had meant nothing, and the world would not be bereft.
Christine's eyes were shining with unshed tears, and a sickening feeling seeped through my body.
"Christine," I said immediately, attempting to amend. "Please – please do not cry. I am sorry. I was only trying to protect you. I did not want anything to happen to you."
"I know, Erik," she said, her voice trembling. "But you have killed people before, and you killed them simply because you were told to do it. We have all made mistakes, and none of us are perfect, but…Erik, please. I am begging you once again. No more."
I remembered my thoughts of the previous night. Every whim of hers would become my command.
But we were not yet completely safe. Paris was still several weeks away, and the traveling was just as dangerous. Mirza Taqui Khan and his men were always haunting my subconscious thoughts, and I knew the only way to stop him would be to kill.
"I cannot love you if I am afraid of you," Christine whispered, and she leaned over to wrap her arms around my neck, her face buried in my shoulder.
"You are afraid of me?" I rasped, suddenly feeling ill.
"I was afraid yesterday…when you killed those men. You are above murder, Erik."
"I have proven time and time again that I am not," I said.
"No – you are. You simply haven't realized it yet. Please, please Erik. No more – for me."
She did not understand just what kind of promise she was asking me to make. I did not kill those men for pleasure – I killed them to survive. I killed them because it was necessary.
When I looked down at her, and she lifted her gaze to meet mine, her pink lips trembled and her wide blue eyes shone with hope and trust. There was a sudden, overwhelming feeling of…responsibility. Christine would soon belong to me. I would have to take care of her and protect her – protect her from others and from myself. This small, beautiful woman by my side was requesting something that obviously meant a great deal to her. It was my obligation – my duty as her soon-to-be…husband…to appease her in whatever way I could. I had never had to care for another person in such a way. For my entire life, I had been alone. No one had cared for me, and I cared for no one. And now…I loved Christine and wanted to make her as happy as I could.
I sighed a little. "For you, Christine."
Christine released a muffled sob of relief and then laughed a little, shuddering, whimpering gasps escaping her as she held onto me tightly.
"Thank you, Erik," she said. "You do not know what this means to me."
I still did not think she knew what such a promise meant. More danger…Yet, for her, I would do it.
After a moment, I looked around and realized just how brightly-lit the tent was. It was nearing midday, and we had spent the entire morning the same spot.
"We must go," I said softly. She looked up at me and nodded. I stood and emerged, only half-dressed and unmasked, into the bright morning. Squinting slightly against the sun, I looked over and saw, with great relief, that our campsite had been left undisturbed during the hours we were both asleep. All of my clothing (now ruined) was still lying in the dirt. I went over and pulled on the soiled, ripped shirt and dirty jacket, grimacing.
When Christine emerged, dressed to go, I did admit to myself that I missed her bare arms. They were so delightfully soft and feminine.
"You always have such beautiful clothing," she said, coming next to me. "It's a shame to see it like this." She put one of her small hands on my chest, and I stopped breathing for a few moments.
"Yes, well, it won't be for long," I managed to say. I then found my mask and quickly tied it back on. "I'll have to get a new wardrobe when we arrive in Amstetten."
"How much longer until we're in Paris?" she asked. Her hand slipped down my chest, and she drew it back just after her fingers ran over my naval. That certainly created a few shivers down my spine.
"A little less than a month," I said. "We travel much faster when it is only us. It shouldn't take much longer."
"Good," she said. "I can't wait!"
I didn't want to dwell on what she meant by that.
I was an engaged man – engaged to be married.
It was a thrilling thought. And also very uncomfortable.
I had never been so…close to someone. No one had ever wanted to be close to me before. My own mother did her best to keep her distance. The closest thing I had had to a friendship was with Nadir Khan, and even that was a respectful, almost wary sort of one.
But Christine. She positively insisted on a sort of familiarity that I had never before experienced. And Christine was quickly turning out to be a physical being. She liked touches and conversation and…kisses.
For the first few weeks, it alarmed me more than it excited me. She would reach for me and lean closer, and that was enough to send me fleeing from her.
Sometimes she would touch me, and I'd jump so horribly she would have to apologize. Such was a time when we were resting and I was sitting down, trying to stitch up a rip in one of the saddle blankets as best I could. Christine had finished her midday meal, and she sat beside me to watch. As she did so, she affectionately rubbed my back, but it was enough to have me jump up and spin around. She couldn't mask the confusion that time.
They really were simple things like that: she would stroke my arm, squeeze my fingers, lean against my shoulder, put a hand on my thigh…All normal, loving things that had my cringing like a fool.
She was a wonderful girl, though. She had infinite patience and claimed to understand my aversion to such intimate physical contact. Although she really did not understand, she never grew upset when I pushed her away.
I never wanted to push her away – truly. I had developed this awful, plaguing thought that she was simply playing with me, toying with my emotions for her own personal amusement. And no matter how many times I told myself that I knew Christine was a good girl who would never do anything like that, the voice came back and hissed things into my ears that drove me mad.
One evening, she was happily chattering to me, sitting in her pretty nightgown and brushing her long hair. I was staring at her with unashamed adoration, watching the gentle curve of her arm as it went up and down to carry the brush through her golden tendrils.
"I want a piano for us," she was saying. "Wouldn't that be wonderful, Erik? You can play as much as you wish. I would simply sit and listen; that would be enough for me."
She continued to speak for some minutes, reminiscing of late nights with her father while he played his violin. I had heard many stories about her father. He still meant a great deal to her.
"Of course," I said automatically. "Whatever you wish."
Her laughter rang sweetly in my ears. She set the brush down and came closer.
No…my mind immediately whispered, panicked. No – don't come near me….Stay there…Stay there!
But she ignored my fidgety mannerisms and settled herself right before me, reaching for the ties of my mask. She is going to take it off and laugh at you; she is disgusted by your face. I abruptly turned my head away from her small fingers when they brushed the ties of my mask.
For the first time, she was angry. She sighed impatiently and put her hands on her hips.
"Really, Erik!" she said, irritated. "I know you want to kiss me. Why won't you?"
I remained silent.
The disgust and horror that people felt from seeing my face returned with vicious clarity, and every time she reached for my mask I could smell the stench of the gypsy camp, hear the vicious laughter and screams; I could see Luciana's face twisting with horror; I could see my mother's hatred in her beautiful face. She had taught me from an early age that no woman would ever willingly be near me. And Christine was a woman.
A very beautiful, very exasperated one at that.
It really was unfair. All of the months I had fantasized of this; all of the sleepless nights dreaming what it would be like if Christine was mine. I had everything I wanted, and I still couldn't accept it. I continued to push her away, like a stubborn, frightened child.
"You know," she said quietly, "I love you. But I know I would love you more if I actually understood you."
"You know everything there is to know about me," I said shortly. "You know the kind of man I am."
"Yes, but I don't know why," she said. She kneeled before me, put her elbows on my knees, and rested her head in her arms. "Let me in," she continued. "Tell me. Tell me about your life, Erik."
I felt a hard lump come to my throat. During the course of the years, I had told her brief tales of all of my travels, from my time with the gypsies to my time in Russia. However, never had I told her of the horrors I had seen – the horrors I had inflicted.
"I want to love you completely," she insisted. "I want to know everything."
I tried to get rid of that hard lump, but it wouldn't disappear. "Perhaps," I finally said. "But not tonight."
She sighed. "Will that be your answer every time I ask?"
I thought for a moment. "Perhaps," I said again. It was honest, at the very least.
"You are insufferable," she said, frowning. "But I do love you." There was a minute of silence, and her frown deepened. "You are supposed to say the same thing to me, Erik," she finally said.
"I love you," I said obediently.
"Now, if you love me, would you allow a small kiss?" she said. "Or am I really so terrible that you simply can't bear to kiss me?"
Her question embarrassed and alarmed me. "No!" I said hurriedly, reaching for the ties of my mask. "No, Christine, it's simply – I'm – "
But she was laughing. "I know," she said.
She waited until my mask was away from my face, and she stood and softly brushed her lips over mine. We hadn't kissed often since a marriage was agreed upon, as I was constantly wearing my mask (much to her apparent annoyance). It always left me dumbstruck.
With the softest of smiles, she left me and climbed into the little bed.
It was silent for a while. I thought she was asleep, but she said quietly, "I know you don't believe me yet." Her eyes were closed. "But you must allow me to prove myself to you, Erik. By the time we're in Paris, you won't doubt me at all. I promise you."
Never before had I so badly wanted a promise to be true.
