Chapter Sixteen
A/N: Wow get ready for this chapter! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! P.S. I originally posted this chapter around 5pm today but I returned to it later at night and edited. I am more content with this version.
Sunday proved to be entirely dreary alone in the Valerius' home. Rain had taken to pattering on the roof mercilessly while Christine fidgeted in the parlor with this and that. Really, there wasn't much to clean; Erik had seen to it that every surface was dust-free, a task he must have undertook the night of the funeral when he had promised to drop off her articles. She had given him her spare key now that she was in possession of Mama's. Her heart clenched at his kindness.
Meg had dropped her off early that morning at Christine's request.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay another day here? Maman would love your company."
"No, that is alright. I think it's time to fully settle down in the house. It will make it easier in the long run," Christine reasoned, even though part of her desperately wanted to stay with Meg and her mother for longer.
And so now the girl finally settled into an armchair with a cup of tea clutched in her hands. She had changed into a nightgown and robe for comfort; there was no need to be fully dressed today at any rate. Where would she be going? The winds outside howled with gusto while the tapping of water on the windowsills was almost hypnotic.
"Christine? Do you want anything to eat?" Mama Valerius' voice called from the area of the kitchen, instantly jolting Christine to her feet.
"Mama?!" She ran, her tea spilling down the front of her nightgown, burning in its wake but still not painful enough to stop her from running to wherever Mama was. In her haste she slammed into a tea table, knocking it to the ground as her hip smarted from the rough contact. Christine fumbled her hands in front of her, finally connecting with a wall as she reoriented herself and shakily walked into the room.
"Christine? What's wrong?" Her guardian's voice was clearer than ever. She was so close! She was alive!
"Oh, Mama! I thought you were dead!" Christine cried in relief, her arms ever reaching to embrace Mama Valerius…and then she touched nothing. A chilly waft of air brushed against her front, a shiver wracking her frame.
"Mama?" the girl whimpered.
There was no response.
"MAMA?!" she shouted in desperation.
No answer.
No, no, no, no, no, no. Christine sunk to the floor, her arms wrapped around her middle.
"Have I lost my mind?" the girl whispered from her place on the cold ground. Mama's voice-it had been so clear. Surely she had been there in that very house! Surely she had…no, they had buried her. Christine had been there in the graveyard, had thrown a handful of the wet earth onto her coffin. She had even held the older woman as she lay dying, growing limp and stiff…
In a daze, she waved her hand beside her form, finding and then clutching the edge of the wall for support as she brought herself away from the chilled floor. The girl floated past the parlor, into the hallway, finally locating Mama Valerius' room. Pushing past the creaking bedroom door, she shuffled inside. It smelled stale-as if it hadn't been aired out for years. Christine stumbled to the window, her hands gripping the edges of the frame and pushing up. It was stuck. She pushed again, holding her breath. Still, it did not give.
"Blast you damned thing! Open!" She shouted at the object, heaving up again with all her might as it flew open, rain spattering her face while the elements of nature welcomed themselves into the room. Her neck and chest throbbed as water met the surface of her skin, reminding Christine of the slight burns she had acquired from the tea. But the cold felt so right on her flesh; she did not back away, instead taking big gulps of crisp air.
Still, it stormed and Christine finally backed away from the opening, her legs hitting the bed. Without a thought, she pulled the covers back and sunk into the mattress. Even the bedding still smelled like her. She drifted in the scent of rose and honey, her guardian's calming aroma engulfing in its presence. Her hands clutched a pillow fervently, holding it to her chest even as her burned skin protested the contact.
How long she slept, she was uncertain. Her only hope in telling time now lay in the chiming of the clock down the hall, and its voice was yet unheard. The girl did fully wake when a knocking sounded at the front door. Who could it possibly be? Christine swallowed back a lump of fear as the very real possibility of Ashkan standing on the doorstep invaded her thoughts. A splatter of water hit her face as she rolled quietly out of the bed. Her teeth chattered as she remembered she had opened the window earlier, leaving her exposed to the elements and any other unsavory characters that may be searching for an opening into the residence. Stupid Christine!
Her feet hit the floor with a quiet thud; she crossed the room with her hands shoved in front of her body, finding and closing the window quickly. Then, she tiptoed into the kitchen in order to rummage through the utensil drawer.
Now armed with a somewhat large knife, she gripped the handle as she slipped back into the parlor and made her way to the door. The girl held her breath and then spoke lowly.
"Who is it?" Was the fear in her voice detectable? She hoped it wasn't.
"Christine? It is Erik. I wanted to make sure you settled in alright," he replied in his usual deep tone.
"Oh, Erik! Please come in!" The relief that flooded her being at the sound of his voice was indescribable. She practically flung the door wide open and bid him enter immediately as the weather was still quite volatile.
"May I take your cape?" It was the covering Erik preferred to don.
"Why do you have a knife?" He sounded startled; she flushed.
"Oh…um…"
"Why is your neck so red? And why is your face wet? Are you hurt? Did you spill hot water on yourself, Christine?" Concern colored his tone.
"Just…let me take your cape and hat first and then I will explain. You must be freezing!" She found a table and placed the weapon down before reaching her arms out to retrieve the clothing articles. They were dropped in her palms, wordlessly, and she crossed to the coat rack by the door to hang them so they may dry.
"Let's sit down." The girl insisted before Erik spoke again.
"There is no fire here. Aren't you cold?" How he fretted over her!
"Oh, I cannot light the fire by myself…" Christine bowed her head, embarrassed at her inability to do the simple task without her sight.
"Oh, yes. I will light it for you then. But while I do, tell me why you had a knife." His voice was calm and so she felt that it might be easier to tell him of what happened with Ashkan in the graveyard.
"When I heard the knocking on the door, I thought you were Ashkan-the stranger." She spoke deliberately.
"I thought you only met him once, Christine. Did he threaten you then?" He asked cautiously.
"No, in the graveyard for Mama's funeral…he-he was there, Erik. He came up to me and Meg and-."
"He approached you?" Anger seeped from his voice, and the noises that he had been making while lighting the fireplace had ceased.
She gulped but continued. "Yes. He told Meg he wanted a private audience with me. She, of course, told him that was out of the question. But then he grabbed my arm quite tightly and he said…he said he knew I was involved with you somehow and that you were a dangerous man."
"He touched you?" The question left him in a whisper, but Christine recognized the obvious malice in her companion's voice.
She nodded wordlessly, shaking.
"Which arm?"
She held out her right limb, the robe falling off of her shoulder as she did so. The sleeve of her gown reached the crook of her elbow. His footsteps approached her slowly as she rolled the soft fabric up to expose the tender skin.
His hand was gloved in the usual leather, but the touch of his fingers on her flesh still caused goose pimples to rise. "He bruised you." The statement was simple, yet his tone held deadly promise.
"I suppose he did," she replied, hating herself for enjoying his fingers on her skin. Be proper, Christine.
"I will have to kill him."
"No, Erik! Just, calm down. It is alright. I am alright," she reassured, her stomach churning at the thought of blood being shed over her. The sleeve unfurled and she yanked the robe back onto her shoulder, passionate musings now forgotten.
"As long as he is alive, you are in danger, Christine. He knows you mean something to me, and he will take advantage. The Shah's men are ruthless; they will not think twice before hurting a woman to get what they want." He hissed the last sentence. She held back a shudder.
"Please, please don't talk of killing him, Erik. What if…what if he has a family back in Persia?"
"Then his wife will be a widow and his children orphans."
"How could you say such a thing?! I thought you regretted the innocent lives you affected in Persia!" Christine was horrified.
"I will never regret protecting you. You are my first priority, Christine. If he must die for you to be safe, so be it."
"Stop this!"
"What happened to your neck?" The change in topic came abruptly.
"I spilled tea on myself," she replied, startled.
"How? You've never been entirely clumsy, Christine."
She struggled to decide whether or not she should tell him about the earlier incident. Honesty won out. "I…thought I heard Mama's voice calling me from the kitchen," she whispered, terrified he would think she had gone insane.
His voice softened. "Was anyone here, then?"
"No."
"It is alright, Christine. Grief can make people act strangely." He did not sound entirely sure of the topic himself though.
"You do not think I've gone mad?" The girl asked quietly.
"No, my dear. You are not mad. Perhaps you are tired from everything that has happened. If you'd like, Khan may find some time to speak to you. He…lost his wife and son many years ago. He knows much more of grief than I do."
"That is awful! But, Erik, this never happened with Papa…I never heard him speaking to me so clearly after he passed."
"It will be fine. I will ask the Daroga to speak with you soon. But now, Christine, Nadir and I must locate Ashkan. If he found you in the graveyard, that means he's been following you...The Daroga did not know this." Erik sounded angry once more, this time the emotion was directed toward Monsieur Khan. "I am going to check all the locks on the house, Christine. Do you think he knows where you live?"
"I am not sure. After the funeral I went to the Girys' residence. So if he did follow us after all, it would have been to the apartment. Meg did not see anyone following us here this morning…Yesterday, the workers in the cemetery who heard the commotion, they promised to hold him there until we left. Do you think he was arrested?"
"Perhaps, although there is not much they can hold him in custody for at the moment, unless he has done something else to someone."
"Oh."
"I will have Khan check the jails tomorrow." He tried to reassure.
"I do not like the thought of you killing again, Erik." Christine whispered nervously.
"I know, Christine, but there may be no choice now." His tone was gentle.
She nodded reluctantly. Perhaps he was right.
"Do you have anything in the house for burns?" His voice cut through the fog in her mind.
"Burns? Oh…yes. Mama Valerius kept some salve in the kitchen cupboard. Sometimes when we were cooking, we would spill or accidentally touch a hot pot. I don't think I am injured much, Erik."
"It is better to have treatment now than risk scarring later."
Christine sat in the arm chair across from Erik, her throat and top of her chest pleasantly cooled from the burn salve. He had applied it lightly, her face growing hot as his bare fingers just grazed beneath her collarbone. She wondered if her touch ever affected him the same way. "You know it does", her mind whispered.
"How do you feel, being here alone?" His voice rose slightly and she turned her attention back to him.
"It is strange. I think spending the night will be even stranger. I miss her terribly."
"She loved you very much," he replied gently.
Christine gave a watery smile. "Yes. She told me so every day."
A lapse of silence passed between the pair. Erik spoke again.
"Are you excited for your debut?"
"Oh! That's tomorrow already! I almost forgot."
"That is understandable. You will do wonderfully as Elisa," he praised.
"My triumph will be yours, Erik. I cannot thank you enough for all of the time you spent helping me, for crafting my voice. Sometimes when I sing, I feel as if I have left my body, like I am floating." She smiled warmly.
"Your voice is lovelier than ever. Once the audience hears you sing, they will insist you play the lead for every show." Pride echoed in his voice.
"I hope so…still, they were promised Carlotta. I sound nothing like her."
"Which will be a blessing to them. I cannot tell you how many audience members I have seen walk out of the show to tend to their aching heads."
Christine couldn't help but laugh. "You sound just like Meg! Poor Carlotta."
"Pah-that woman sounds like a toad. All the money in the world and she couldn't pay for decent lessons," he scoffed. This elicited another giggle from the girl.
"Even your laugh is musical, Christine," Erik commented with awe.
She bowed her head, her face feeling hot. She spoke before she could think better of it. "When you used to carry me down the stairs to your home and my head was pressed against your chest, I always thought the same about your heartbeat. Everything about you reminds me of music." Her hands twisted in her lap, embarrassed.
"That…is the loveliest thing anyone has ever told me," Erik replied quietly.
"There is a lot about you that is beautiful, Erik," Christine declared softly.
"Do you really still wish to court, Christine?" His question surprised her.
"Why do you ask this, Erik? I haven't told you otherwise, have I?"
"I don't wish you to…be with me if you don't want to. Sometimes I wonder if you only agreed because of the things I have done for you-".
"Erik, stop. I did not suggest we court out of guilt." Christine rose from her chair and reached her hand out as she walked in the direction of his voice. He did not take the proffered limb as she expected him to.
"I will release you from your promise, Christine." His voice was raw and agonized.
"Where did this come from? Enough with this nonsense, Erik!" The girl fumbled her hand around until it made contact with his chair, and then she found his stiff, cold fingers and grasped them tightly in hers.
"You could have anyone you want, Christine. It would be monstrous of me to let you bind yourself to me. What about that boy, Raoul? Surely you would want to be with him-."
"ENOUGH, ERIK! I do not want to be with Raoul. He was a good friend when we were children and I love him dearly as friends do, but he is gone! I want you!" Realizing what she had just said, the girl clasped both hands over her mouth before stumbling backwards.
"You…want…me?" His voice was hushed, disbelieving in its delivery.
Do I really want him? Christine thought back to all the moments the pair had spent together, to his first appearance in the storage room where she had taken to humming as she sewed. His lovely, deep voice had swirled around her, magnificent as he praised her instrument.
"I can make you a star, Christine. Let me teach you to sing even better than you do now!"
"What? Take music lessons from a ghost?" She had gasped at the offer. And then he sang for her and she melted. And she had accepted.
The two of them had been hurling towards each other in an unstoppable whirlwind ever since. Who had she gone to when Mama Valerius took ill? Who had taken care of her while she struggled with grief? Who had bared his awful deformity to her on that strange night, fully expecting her to never return? Who had brought her to the status of leading lady? Who had held her head above water while she felt as if she might drown in loss?
"Yes, I want you, Erik. I want to court you. I want to know you, all of you. I want to be your wife someday." She heard his sharp intake of breath at her confession. "Do you want me too, Erik?"
"I've wanted you forever," he choked out and she heard him bolt out of the chair and cross to where she stood. She reached up, finding his mask and then tearing it away from his countenance. It fell to the floor.
"Kiss me, Erik," she commanded even as her voice shook. And then his malformed lips were crushed to her delicate ones. She had kissed him before, had known what his mouth felt like on hers. But he had always held back, had always been unsure. And she too, had been uncertain of what she felt for him. Clarity enveloped her. She loved him. Perhaps she hadn't loved him before, and for good reason. But so much had happened now.
His hands tentatively crept upward until they rested on her waist as his lips moved against hers. Her fingers clasped around his neck, encouraging him. She felt the patchiness of the hair on his head and the tenderness that flooded her body was accompanied by a scorching wave of heat. He pressed his form closer to hers and the two gasped at the contact.
Christine knew she had to pull away now before they ended up doing something that could not be undone. Erik seemed to share her thoughts, as his mouth left hers before she could act, and suddenly it felt as if he stood on the other side of the room.
"I love you, Erik," she rasped.
An answering sob reached her ears before he spoke. "Oh, Christine. I do not deserve this," he moaned in reply.
"You do though," she insisted.
"I do not. But I am a selfish man, and so I will take whatever you give me, Christine. Lovely Christine…"
"Erik, I want you to be happy," she said, bewildered as to why there were tears in her eyes.
"You have made me the happiest man alive," he declared somberly.
"You do not sound happy though." He did not reply.
She paused before speaking."I was wondering, Erik. Would you like to have dinner tomorrow night? After the show? It-it would be part of the courtship." She felt as if she was rambling.
"I thought you wished to wait until the production was over." He stated quietly.
"I did. But, I think things are different now. I want to start now-or tomorrow. If that is alright with you," she finished in a rush. His footsteps approached her once more and his hand brushed against hers. She lightly traced her index finger across the skin of his palm.
"Nothing would please me more," he answered in a contented sigh. "Wait in your dressing room tomorrow night. I can take you to my home from there."
"You can?" Christine blanched.
"Yes, there is a passageway through the mirror." The girl startled, and perhaps perceiving her unease, he spoke up before she could protest.
"I cannot see through the mirror. I can only hear; it is the same as the costume room. Just call my name and I will take you."
"Alright," she assented.
"I should go now, Christine."
"Yes…you should. Will you be watching the Opera tomorrow?" A twinge of nervousness entered her voice.
"I would not miss your debut for anything." The simple sentence was said fondly, tenderly.
She smiled. "Thank you, Erik."
Christine escorted her companion to the door and bid him a safe journey to the Populaire. When he had left, she readied for bed, giddy at both the prospect of her debut but also at the clarity of her feelings for the man.
"I love him," she spoke aloud, smiling brightly as she rested her head on a pillow.
"I really do love him," she repeated as she drifted to sleep.