Erik

"How would you like to take a picnic and go up to the roof today, my dear?"

Christine looks up from her breakfast and beams. "I'd love to!"

"I have a few errands today then we shall pack a basket and go up there."

"Errands?" Christine is incredulous. "What errands?"

"I need to see Madame Giry about getting us some more provisions."

I'm also hoping she will have my salary from the new managers. I'll know then that they have capitulated to my control. The previous arrangement was that Lefèvre would leave the money in an envelope in box five for me. Generally I retrieve it myself. Afterall, I don't want Madame Giry under suspicion for going near the box too often. However, she does occasionally fetch the envelope for me when I don't have the time.

"Madame Giry gets your food for you?"

"Yes. Food, clothing, paper, ink. She gets me whatever I need and I pay her in return,

Christine is staring at me, her mouth agape. I reach over and close it gently. "It's time, I suppose, to tell you how I came to be here." I have absolutely no desire to discuss my past, but she needs to understand the strange relationship between myself and Madame Giry. I take a deep breath and shakily relate the story. "My mother, you see, hated me. She was afraid of me and appalled by my face. The first scrap of clothing I ever had was a mask, sewn by her mere hours after my birth. My father died before I was born. Anyway, when I was nine I ran away from home. I was caught by a band of gypsies." I can't look at Christine as I speak, but I can tell she's crying quietly. "They were a travelling carnival group. A man named Javert put me on display in a cage. He would beat and starve me. One day the carnival came to Paris. That night after Javert had beaten me and displayed me like an animal I finally managed to overpower him. I strangled him to death." I hear Christine gasp, but now that the story is coming out I can't stop. "Madame Giry saw, she took pity on me. She was just a child then herself. She hid me in the opera house. I've been here ever since and she has looked after my needs."

I finally manage to lift my eyes to her face. She knows the worst of it now, knows that I'm a murderer. Tears are coursing down her cheeks. She moves the plate out of her way and slides over to wrap her arms around me. "Erik, oh Erik, my angel. I'm so sorry."

"You don't hate me, knowing I'm a murderer?"

She strokes my hair. "Of course I don't hate you! You were a child, it was self-defense."

I suppose this is partially true. Javert would never have killed me, I was too popular an attraction. Now that she knows the awful truth, I feel compelled to be honest with her about Carlotta. "There's something else, Christine. You remember, Carlotta's croaking in Il Muto?"

"How could I forget?"

"That was me. I replaced her throat spray with a mixture of my own."

She frowns. "Why?"

"I want you to take your rightful place as lead soprano."

Her expression turns stony. "No more, Erik. I don't want you interfering with my career anymore."

"Interfering? You are by far the superior performer! The only reason your casting hasn't been improved is that strutting peacock won't allow the managers to do so! Besides, I told you, this is my theater."

"Yes, well, we've agreed to put that argument aside for now, but don't think for one minute that I'm just letting it go." She's actually scowling now! "This is different though. It's my career. I want it to advance on my own merit, not because my Opera Ghost," she sneers, "husband is coercing the managers."

I stare at her for a moment trying to manage my own consuming need for control. Perhaps after Il Muto the managers will advance her career without any further demands from me. For now, at least, I can give the appearance of yielding. "Allright," I nod, "no more interfering, as you put it, with your career."

I can't say hearing that she doesn't plan to drop the matter of it being my theater is pleasant either. I had planned to ask if she wanted to accompany me to see Madame Giry, but I know now that I can't let her see the money from my salary if indeed it has been paid. Still, I told her I wouldn't leave her here alone if it frightened her.

Something of my thoughts must be showing on my face because she sighs and places a hand on mine. "Please, Erik, let's not be cross with one another. Let's take the picnic to the roof, like you said."

I manage a smile. "All right. You'll have to dress warmly though, and we'll take blankets."

She rolls her eyes at me. "Erik," she says with annoyance.

"Christine," I reply firmly. "I won't have you catching cold."

She closes her eyes for a moment and sighs. "Erik, will you do something for me tomorrow?"

"What is it?"

"Tomorrow is the anniversary of my father's death. Will you take me to the cemetery? Or...or let me go on my own?"

I stare at her aghast. Let her go...I know I'm inexcusably stern with her at times, and she has shown great patience on that score, but let her go to her father's grave? As though I would ever think to stop her!

"Oh, Christine, I'll take you. Of course I'll take you. I'm sorry I'm so...imperious."

She laughs weakly. "As though I didn't know just how imperious you can be. The Angel of Music was an absolute tyrant!"

I grimace, but she smiles. "I don't mind it, Erik. At least I'm trying not to mind it. Well, we're neither of us perfect, are we? I love you, Erik, just as you are. I wouldn't change a thing about you. Not even your 'imperious' nature, as you put it."

"I'm far from perfect, but you, you are the true angel."

She kisses me and I hold her against my chest for a moment. I glance at the clock, I have some time before I need to meet Madame Giry. "How about your first organ lesson?"

She smiles again and nods. We go to the organ and I settle to one side of the bench, leaving space for her. She takes her place and I explain the layout of the keys. I riffle through my music to find a simple piece for her to start with. "Let's start with the treble part for now, we'll add the bass later."

We practice for about an hour until I need to prepare for my meeting. "I must go meet Madame Giry soon. Would you like to go with me?"

"No," she says absently, still trying to get the hang of playing with both hands. "You go, I'll stay here and practice."

"You won't be frightened?"

"No, of course not." She waves vaguely.

I sigh. I need to be certain she's not too distracted to think about what she's saying. I place a hand on her shoulder and give her a gentle shake. "Christine, pay attention."

She turns to me with knit brows. "I am paying attention, Erik. You asked if I'd be frightened to stay here alone. I'm not. I know you think I'm a child, but I do know my own mind."

"I don't think you're a child." Half truth, Christine can be incredibly naive and child-like at times, whether she knows it or not. Perhaps that is partially why I do get so stern with her. Though I know it's also partially just my nature.

I press a kiss to the top of her head and go to dress. I journey up through the opera house and find Madame Giry in our designated meeting place. She holds up an envelope. I take it and find my salary within.

"Ah! So they've conceded defeat!"

"So it would seem."

Madame Giry does not entirely approve of my approach, but she at least understands why it was necessary for me to take over the running of the theater. This gives me an idea.

"Madame Giry, I need three things from you. I have a grocery list," I hand her the parchment. "I also need you to arrange a carriage to take me and Christine to her father's grave tomorrow."

"You're going to go with her?" She asks in surprise.

"You think it a bad idea?" I waiver.

"No! I hoped she would convince you to...er...get out a bit." She takes a deep breath and rushes on, "Christine deserves to be courted properly. She's young, she should be out strolling the boulevards, frequenting cafes, going to shows."

"Well," I try to calm the frantic pounding of my heart at the very thought, "well, let's see how tomorrow goes."

"How is Christine?"

"Happy and healthy." I decide to let Christine tell her about the wedding. It was her idea after all.

"Good. You treat her well, Erik." Her expression is unusually fierce.

"Her happiness is my highest goal."

She nods, seemingly satisfied. "What else is it you need?"

"The next time the two of you speak, will you please explain to her the circumstances that led me to take control of the opera house?"

"So, she's discovered you're Opera Ghost and is none too pleased?"

"Yes," I answer stiffly.

"Very well. I'll talk to her. Your carriage will be here at noon tomorrow."

"Thank you, Madame Giry." I remove her own salary along with a generous tip and the cost of the groceries from the envelope and hand it to her.

She places a tentative hand on my arm. "Don't get me wrong, Erik, I'm glad to see you happy as well. I just can't help but worry about her. I...I care for you both."

She hasn't touched me in years, I can barely remember the last time, and she's never admitted to caring for me. I suddenly hate the fact that I've led her to fear me. I place my hand gently over hers and nod. "Thank you, Antionette. I would rather die than hurt her."

She gives my arm a light squeeze and steps back.

Upon returning home, I find Christine still sitting at the organ, absorbed in practicing. She hits a wrong note and huffs in frustration. Perhaps the two of us are more alike than I realize.

She doesn't seem to notice me, so I take the opportunity to put my salary in the box where I keep my cash.

"Erik, where did you get all that money?"

Damn.

She knows the worst of my secrets now, there's nothing to be gained by lying to her. "It's my salary."

"Your salary?" She crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows. "And what valuable service do you perform in exchange for your salary?"

I run a hand down my face and put my temper on a tight leash. "Look," I finally say. "Talk to Madame Giry tomorrow, then perhaps you'll understand."

"What?" Her temper fades into confusion.

"A carriage will be coming at noon to take us to the cemetery. Just...talk to her before we leave."

"You're really going to go to the cemetery with me?"

There, that has pleased her. "Yes, my love. I told you I would. I believe I also promised you a picnic on the roof. At this point it will be a picnic under the stars."

"Even better." There's pure joy on her face, and it's one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen.

Christine

Erik finds a large basket, places candlesticks, candles, and matches inside, then charges me with choosing the food after he pulls the box up from the lake. I fill the basket while he selects warm clothes for me and several heavy blankets. He comes over to inspect my progress.

"Just one thing missing." He turns to a shelf filled with bottles of wine and selects one, adding it to the basket along with a couple glasses.

"Come and change, my dear."

He's laid out a heavy, woolen dress, thick stockings, a shearling-lined cloak with a hood, and matching shearling-lined boots. I'm afraid I'm going to be roasting in all of it, despite the wintery night air, but I know better than to argue. I dress as he packs the boat, then we make the journey to the roof.

Before we step out into the cold air, Erik insists that I put on the cloak and pull up the hood. I avoid the temptation to roll my eyes. He spreads two of the blankets, one on top of the other, in an alcove to protect us from the wind. I sit down and he wraps another blanket around my shoulders.

"Mother hen," I tease.

He crosses his arms and stares at me stonily. "Keep the hood up and the blanket on, Christine. It's frigid out here. We're honestly doing this against my better judgement. I didn't expect to be so late, but I did promise."

"Come and keep me warm yourself, then."

"All in good time, my dear."

The moon and stars are clear and bright, we could not have picked a more beautiful evening.

He lights the candles, sets out the food, and pours the wine. He holds up his glass. "To us."

I clink my glass against his and drink. "This is delicious, Erik."

"Yes," he examines his own glass, "it's one of my favorites."

As we eat, I tell him stories of silly things I did in my childhood. He laughs and asks questions about my home and my father. Once we finish, he takes my blanket, wraps it around himself, props his back against a wall, and pats the blankets between his legs. I settle down with my back against his chest. He wraps me in both the blanket and his arms. As I stare up at the stars, he murmurs stories about princesses, fairies, and magic in my ear and sings softly to me. I begin to wonder if it's possible to die from happiness. Apparently I doze off at some point because the next thing I know Erik is shaking me gently and saying it's time to go. He makes me wait for him inside as he packs up. I don't know how I manage to make the journey back down to the boat, I'm so sleepy. I drowse again in the boat and wake just enough to register Erik lifting me out of it and carrying me to bed.

I force my eyes open. "Erik, help me get these clothes off. I'll never be able to sleep in all this."

"You've been doing just fine so far," he chuckles, but he helps me out of the heavy clothing.

He tucks me up in bed, removes his own clothes, returns all our things to their proper places and joins me. I fall asleep again in his arms almost instantly.