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Chapter 33

Christine

I held a basket of groceries in one hand and Erik's gloved hand in the other. Jules had provided the groceries. He'd bought them before coming back to his apartment to fetch me, and then took the food and me to the Opera House, to the dressing room. To Erik.

The Ghost would be my caretaker for the time being.

And though I'd said I was not his responsibility, not anyone's responsibility, I couldn't help but feel relieved. I didn't want to be in my own home. And being in Jules's home was far too awkward. So at the moment, Erik's underground house was the safest, most comfortable place to be.

We walked in silence. As we did, I could think of nothing but his muted anger yesterday. His...sadness. It had been sadness, I think.

I was a terrible, horrible person.

He cleared his throat, the sound echoing softly against the stone walls of the hallway. "Jules will bring you clothing this afternoon. A few days' worth, and then I can possibly purchase more, depending."

I nodded. He couldn't see the gesture, so I then responded. "All right." I paused, and added: "Thank you."

"You're welcome," came his soft reply. Another bit of silence. "I have a spare bedroom."

"Oh. Good."

"Yes."

I frowned. Things had started to become so easy between us, and now...

We arrived at the boat. I got in wordlessly, and he moved us across the lake to his house. Once inside, he told me where the kitchen was. Ayesha was currently meowing in the archway leading into the room, but I stepped around her - not before she batted at my legs moving past.

"Ayesha!" Erik scolded. She didn't seem affected by that. In fact, she only followed me and jumped onto the counter where I placed the basket.

"She's likely hungry," he said, in the archway. I looked back at him. "I will feed her in a little while - and you, if you are so inclined to eat lunch."

I shook my head. I wasn't hungry at all, though I hadn't eaten breakfast.

He nodded, looking down. "All right. Well." He sighed. "I have books in the parlor, if you'd care to read them. I will be...working in my study, I suppose."

"All right," I whispered.

He nodded again, eyes distant and pointed at the floor. His hands were on either side of the archway. A few seconds, then he turned.

"Erik?" I blurted.

He whirled. "Yes."

"I-" I pressed my lips together. "I am sorry."

He stared at me.

"For...deceiving you. It wasn't right. But...I really do like your company. I really do find you interesting. I...do want to get to know you. I always wanted to get to know you, even before I-" I sighed. "I want to be friends, like we were."

"Were we?" It wasn't a mocking question - it was genuine.

"Yes." I nodded. "I stopped suspecting you a while ago, like I said. I still wanted to meet you. I liked our lessons - still like them. I like coming here."

"If you say so, my dear." He gave a very tight smile. "I appreciate the kind words."

He turned and left.

Deflated, I picked up an apple from the basket - just in case my appetite returned - and went to the parlor. I picked up a book and read.

I listened, perhaps a half an hour later, to the sound of him cooing at Ayesha, feeling a bit jealous of his affection toward her. I focused all the harder on the book.

An hour after that, my stomach complained. I bit into the apple.

And though I read the book, my mind was really elsewhere. And not just because I was fretting over Erik's perception of me - but because I had no idea where Madame was. Where Meg was.

I hoped against all odds that they were safe. That they were, perhaps, together. And that I might be reunited with them both.

Another hour and I heard a bell ringing. Erik informed me from somewhere else in the house that it was Jules, and that he'd be back. I called back that I understood.

He did return shortly, with a bag of clothes and toiletries. He told me he would put the items in the room I'd sleep in. I nodded and thanked him.

Two more hours, and I'd finished the book. The apple's ability to satiate me had worn off, and I was again quite hungry.

This was good, because he informed me that he was cooking dinner. Veal. Vegetables. I said that that sounded wonderful.

The food was delicious. The table-talk, however, was nonexistent. He merely asked me if I was comfortable so far. I said of course.

And that was that.

By the end of the dinner, I couldn't take it anymore.

"Erik," I said, as he collected the dishes, "I want to go back to normal."

He stared at me. "We can, Christine."

"But we aren't."

His lower lip thinned, eyes searching mine. "What, exactly, would you like me to do?"

I didn't know.

But I wanted to feel like he, not I, was comfortable. I wanted to feel warmth around him, not this coolness. I wanted him to-

"Sing to me," I suggested. "Please. You only did it the one time, when we first spoke through the mirror. Can you sing to me again?"

A tired look entered his eyes, but he nodded. "Let me clean these-"

"Let me." I stood, and gave him a smile. "I can do it. You merely - go prepare. However you need to. I will see you in the parlor."

He looked at me, then at the dishes. He relented. "Yes. All right."

I made off with the dishes. I cleaned them in the kitchen as fast as I could. And then I met him in the parlor.

He was already sitting at the piano, leafing through various scores. I sat on one of the couches. "All right," I said, "I'm ready."

A ghost of a smile was at his lips. "Prepare to swoon, then."

I didn't laugh, but relief made my shoulders relax. There. There he was. Good.

He sang. And again that astonishment, that rapture, went through me. Everything melted away except that beautiful voice of his - the voice that didn't belong to his body. Since the night I'd first spoken to him, it had only been me singing. Him teaching me. But this, I think, I preferred.

He finished the song soon after, and I smiled brightly. "Thank you."

Erik gave a short bow of his head. Then he looked toward the grandfather clock. "Might I show you to your bedroom, then? I want to work in my study again, Christine."

My smile went away, but I folded my hands in front of me and stood. "Yes. Yes, I suppose. All right."

"Bring a book or two, if you'd like."

I did so, picking a couple more off the shelves.

"Would you like some water?"

"No, thank you."

"Very well."

He took me to my room - and aside from the stone walls and floor, the black iron chandelier on the ceiling - a smaller model of the one in the foyer - it was a remarkably ordinary bedroom. Dresser and bed and rug and bedside tables. My bag of essentials was at the foot of the bed.

I stepped in, and put the books on the table closest to me. Erik hadn't left the doorway.

"Yes, well," he murmured. "Do call for me if you need anything."

"I will."

"The door locks," he added.

I stared at him. "I don't...feel like...I need to-"

"I'm-" He put a hand up. "Only mentioning it. Sharing a house with a strange man would put any lady ill at ease, I think."'

"I'm not ill at ease." Why did my heart feel like it was in my stomach? "And you're not a strange man."

"Yes, Christine, I think I am. We are strangers, aren't we?"

"No." My voice was resolute.

He looked away. "Whatever you say, my dear." A pause. "Goodnight, Christine."

He closed the door.

I stood there for, perhaps, two minutes. Feeling terrible about our conversation, but unable to pinpoint the exact thing he said to hurt my feelings so - because everything he said was technically true. For all intents and purposes, we were still strangers. And yet-

I sighed. I dug through the bag of clothes, found a nightgown, and changed into it. I put the rest of the clothes into the dresser, put the toiletries atop it. I noticed with some surprise that there was no mirror here. But deep in the bag, at the bottom, I found a hand mirror to use. All right. That could do.

I went under the sheets, opened a book, and read.

I read for a few hours, continued reading, until my eyes felt heavy. And it was at that point that I put the book away and switched off this room's electric lights, using the switch right by the bed.

It was only when I laid in the dark, that the gravity of my situation dawned on me. Madame and Meg were somewhere unknown, my home was a dangerous place, and I was in the Phantom's house far beneath the theatre.

I closed my eyes.

And tried to let the sound of Erik's voice carry me to sleep.

It was the memory of that voice that lulled me into surprisingly calm, comfortable dreams. Had he not sung, I was sure I would have tossed and turned all night.