A/N: Thanks for your patience on this chapter! Quarantine depression hit me pretty hard and kinda killed my ability to get anything done outside of my job and Netflix binging. Working on adjusting to the relative isolation though, will do my best to get at least the next few chapters on a more regular basis!
Chapter 8
The next three days passed quietly. Though Claire had thought she felt a slight bond growing between the two of them, Erik seemed to pull away over the days that followed, preferring to return to his usual activities of hiding in his room, composing long laments on the organ, and disappearing for hours to presumably haunt the opera house.
Slipping back into loneliness, Claire found herself spending more and more time alone in the Louis-Phillipe room. On the plus side, with her laptop and phone now working, she at least had plenty to occupy her time. Whenever she found herself safely alone, she dove into her ebook copy of Phantom of the Opera, which she had carefully renamed in the file settings so as not to draw Erik's attention should he decide to snoop through her phone. However, the book only helped inform Erik's personality and behavior to a small extent, and without having a clear idea when the events of the book took place, she was unable to place herself in relation to the timeline - she knew only from Erik himself that she had arrived in late January of 1884.
On the third day after returning from the catacombs, Claire entered the drawing room to find Erik furiously tidying things up around her. Absorbed in meticulously cleaning the dust from his bookshelves, he didn't even seem to notice her presence. Shrugging, she made her way to the kitchen to whip up some eggs for breakfast.
The rest of the day was just as strange. Erik made not one, but three trips out of the house, returning more disheveled and distressed each time. The second time he returned home, Claire emerged from the Louis-Phillipe room to find him decorating the drawing room with baskets and ribbons. The final trip saw him festooning the entire room with enormous bundles of overpoweringly fragrant flowers, so much that Claire had to repeatedly leave the room to clear her head.
"Erik," she asked finally, returning from splashing the umpteenth dose of cold water on her face, "what is it you're doing, exactly?"
He spun around to stare at her, his expression inscrutable under the silk black mask. In answer, he simply gestured at the flowers and sputtered, as though that was all the explanation needed. Sighing in mild annoyance and feeling yet another wave of headache, Claire retired once again to the Louis-Phillipe room, determined not to deal with whatever madness had taken over.
Not long after this encounter, Claire heard the rumbling of stone scraping over stone once more, and checked the drawing room to find Erik gone once more and the lights dimmed. This time, he did not return for quite awhile, and Claire took the opportunity to make her way through another chapter of her book - she had just gotten to the part where Raoul followed Christine to Perros.
Another few hours later, Claire heard the door open and shut once more. Ignoring it, she continued reading - if Erik wanted to talk, he could come to her and explain what was going on. Oddly enough, however, she could hear him talking from the other room. Setting her phone and laptop on the bed, she crept closer to the door to listen.
From the drawing room, she could hear Erik speaking rapidly in French. Whether he was talking to himself or not, at first she could not tell. As she strained her ears to hear what was happening, she heard suddenly what sounded like a woman crying, and then Erik, slowly and deliberately:
"C'est vrai, Christine! Je ne suis ni ange, ni génie, ni fantôme… Je suis Erik!"
Christine! Her eyes widening in sudden understanding, Claire burst through the door and into the drawing room. The scene in front of her was like something from a soap opera- Erik was kneeling in front of the chaise lounge as though about to propose, though he had frozen, staring at Claire as she entered. In front of him was a young woman with flaxen hair and rosy cheeks stained with tears. She looked both utterly miserable and wretchedly confused.
Claire strode into the room, determined to take some control of the situation. "Erik," she demanded as she approached him, "Who exactly is this? Why have you brought her here?"
Erik stuttered in response. "Claire, this- this is Christine. She is my guest here."
Christine sat forward and rubbed her eyes, staring at Claire in amazement. "Excuse me, Madame," she said in clear but slightly stilted English, "you are from England?"
"America, actually," Claire responded. "My name is Claire, it's lovely to meet you Christine."
"Ah! It is lovely to meet you as well. Then, are you Erik's wife?"
Claire's mouth dropped in surprise at the question, dumbfounded at the unexpected nature of the question - but of course Christine would assume this, for why else would an unrelated man and woman cohabitate alone in this era? For his part, Erik let out a strangled moan and stumbled backwards.
Shaking her head to clear her confusion, Claire smiled at Christine and sighed in a mixture of amusement and frustration. "No, I am Erik's guest here, just as you are." She glanced at Erik and, despite the mask, got the strong impression that he was glaring daggers at her. Christine didn't seem to notice. She continued, choosing her words with care. "I am sure you will find Erik to be a very… gracious host. And if there is anything you need, please let me know."
"I will Madame, thank you."
"And Erik," Claire fixed him with as neutral a look as she could, not wanting to concern their young guest, "We will talk later. I'll be in the other room."
Turning on her heel, she swept back into the Louis-Phillipe room, closed the door gently, and slumped against it while groaning in quiet exasperation. While she knew this had been a possibility, she wasn't thrilled at finding out that she had managed to land right in the middle of events. And while she hadn't yet reached the point in the book that detailed what was yet to happen, she vaguely recalled how things would certainly spiral out of control from here.
There was only one thing to do - after carefully tucking the laptop well out of sight, she returned to reading the book on her phone, feverishly swiping through the pages as fast as she could. Before too long however, a delicate and sorrowful tune floated into the room, on a harp. As the music picked up, she heard Erik's magnificent voice joining the melody, and she found herself fighting to keep her eyes open.
Tucking the phone into her pocket in frustration, she returned once more to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. All thoughts of building a stronger rapport with Erik were out of her head, her focus turned entirely to protecting Christine from the violent mood swings of their host - and she couldn't very well do that if she were to succumb to her own exhaustion and the gentle lullaby that permeated the air around her.
Hearing the bedroom door open, she returned to find Erik carrying a very much unconscious Christine - it seemed the hypnotic melody had worked on at least one of them. He laid her gently on the bed, taking great care to ensure that she was arranged comfortably on the plush pillows.
"Erik," Claire whispered, just loud enough to capture his attention without waking the young woman. His gaze snapped to hers again, but this time he seemed less furious and more… broken. "Erik, what on earth are you doing?"
Erik slumped. "I love her Claire," he whispered reverently. "She is the only light in this dreadful… the only light in my life. I brought her here to tell her this."
Claire looked back at the sleeping Christine. "I see," she murmured. "I must say, I'm disappointed in the route you've taken. But she clearly needs her sleep now - I'll stay with her and make sure she's okay when she wakes."
Erik simply nodded and slunk from the room like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs. Claire sighed and sat on a sofa across the bed from Christine, keeping a watchful eye on her charge.
Christine slept for the next several hours, during which time Claire found herself also drifting in and out of slumber. When she awoke fully, she found Christine standing by the wall, sobbing in despair at the unpleasant situation she had suddenly found herself in. Claire could feel her heart breaking for the young woman, and she quickly pulled herself together to see to her needs.
Moving toward the bed, she smoothed out the rumpled comforter and sat down, inviting Christine to sit with her. The young woman sobbed and fairly threw herself onto the bed, clinging to Claire with an unexpected ferocity. Taken slightly aback, Claire froze at first, then laid one hand on her back in comfort, gently rubbing her shoulders in circles as she wept.
"Shhhh," she murmured quietly. "Shhhh, it's okay, I'm here, you're okay."
Slowly the sobs wracking Christine's body calmed and quieted, and before long she was sitting up straight again, drying her eyes with the backs of her hands.
"Oh!" she finally gasped. "Oh Miss Claire, what have I done to find myself here? How could this man be the voice? I trusted him!"
Claire had gotten up to find a handkerchief for Christine, and now returned with one to the bed, handing it to the distraught young lady. "You can't blame yourself," she said comfortingly. "I'm sure you've done nothing wrong - why don't you tell me what's happened?"
Christine dabbed the cloth gently at her eyes and nodded, swallowing hard before beginning her story.
"It was three months ago," she started, her voice quavering. "He came to me while I was in my dressing room, but only as the voice! I thought- I thought he was an angel, sent by my father in heaven to bring me music- and he did! I was only a chorus girl at the time, but somehow he elevated my voice to heights I didn't know were possible. But it wasn't until a few weeks ago that I sang for the world…"
"But somehow, I found myself filling in for Carlotta, who had taken ill- I don't know why they chose me, but I sang in her place… but after that they sent me back to the choir. And then, after Carlotta sang again last night…" she trailed off, clearly unsure how to explain what had happened.
"He brought you here?" Claire prompted.
"Yes! But Miss Claire, I don't understand how. I was in my dressing room - and then I was not! And the voice was gone, instead there was a man… instead there was - Erik! He took me down to this strange house, and then… well, that's when you came in." Christine broke off with a sob as tears sprung anew to her eyes. "He told me he loves me! I don't even know him, how could this happen?"
She pressed the handkerchief to her eyes as she began crying again. She slowly collected herself again and turned to Claire.
"Did he take you here, too?" she asked, her eyes imploring and miserable at once. Claire shook her head.
"No," she replied. "Well, not exactly. I was vacationing here in Paris, and found myself suddenly penniless and with no way to get home. Erik found me and offered a place to stay."
"Then you are not his prisoner?"
Claire bit her lip. "Not exactly - though I'm afraid I don't know the way out of here. The only time I've left since I arrived was with Erik, and he hasn't shown me how to let myself out, let alone how to get back to the opera house safely. I can promise you though that as long as you are here, I'll make sure you're safe."
Christine leaned forward and embraced her, trembling. "You are very kind, Claire," she said tremulously. "I was very much afraid that I was alone here - but I am very happy you are here with me, even if we are both trapped."
Claire returned the embrace, wrapping her arms around Christine affectionately. "Me too," she responded. "I'd hate to think of you alone here, with only Erik for company… and I'm so relieved you know English!"
Christine smiled shyly. "Oh yes, my dear father was very insistent I learn English alongside French - he was sure it would be useful in the future, and I suppose he was quite right!"
Claire opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment there were three taps on the door, and it opened to reveal Erik carrying several boxes. He strode silently into the room and began arranging them on the bed, speaking to neither of the two women.
As Claire watched, she noticed a strange fury come over Christine. In an instant, she transformed from the sweet naive angel Claire had come to know into a snarling coyote. She jumped to her feet with an angry flourish and began berating Erik in a furious mix of English and French. Claire had to look away to hide her smile - maybe Christine wouldn't need any protection from her after all.
As Christine's tirade continued, Claire watched Erik carefully. To the casual observer, it would seem as though he weren't even slightly fazed by the string of admonishments and insults being flung at him; but Claire could see his hands shaking almost imperceptibly, and she knew he was internalizing every word, letting every hateful word add to the mountain of self-loathing she had come to realize rested upon his shoulders. Perhaps that was enough, he certainly understood how angry Christine was now. Claire moved to interrupt, but Christine's rant had slowed to a finish:
"And take off your mask, if you truly are an honest man and not some terrible fiend!"
This was too much for Erik. He spun around, seething at the accusation. However, when he responded his voice was calm.
"You shall never see Erik's face. But come now - it is 2:00 in the afternoon and I have lunch waiting." He crossed to the door and gestured to the two of them to join him in the drawing room. "You should be dressed and ready for the day - both of you." In response, Christine strode briskly to the door and slammed it in Erik's face, causing Claire to gasp in both shock and mild amusement.
Christine took several deep breaths and turned back to Claire, her face suddenly stricken with worry. "Oh Claire," she said shakily, "do you think he'll be mad? Oh, perhaps I shouldn't have done that. I was just so… so angry with him!"
Claire shook her head. "He might be," she responded, "but you're hardly the first woman in the world to slam the door on a man who has done her wrong, and you won't be the last. Why don't you take some time to freshen up though? The bathroom has some really lovely soaps and bath oils - I'll make sure Erik doesn't come back while you take some time for yourself."
Christine smiled stiffly and nodded, heading toward the bathroom. A moment later Claire heard the sound of running water behind the thick mahogany door, and she slipped quietly to the drawing room to confront Erik.
She found him preparing a lunch for two people - no doubt Christine and herself, given that Erik avoided eating around her and no doubt would avoid the same around Christine. They had never talked about it, but knowing what she knew of his story, many of Erik's mannerisms had a clear reasoning behind them.
She cleared her throat and stepped forward. Erik glanced up from his preparations and nodded slowly at Claire. She cleared her throat again and spoke.
"Really Erik, what the actual fuck?"
He dropped the knife he was holding in surprise - until now, Claire had avoided cursing around him out of politeness. The time for politeness was over.
"No, really - what the fuck were you thinking? You kidnapped a woman to tell her you love her? What kind of bullshit, asinine, moronic plan is that? You can't just go to her and confess your feelings like, I dunno, every other guy in the world?"
Erik didn't respond, still taken aback by the slew of expletives flowing from the mouth of the young lady who had lived with him the last week and a half. Claire, however, wasn't done.
"Seriously man - I was starting to really respect you. You gave me shelter and food, you helped me try and get back home - though you may have had ulterior motives. But when that didn't work you didn't kick me out like so many others would have. I thought, 'hey cool, this guy's alright for someone who lives in their own personal version of the batcave.' But noooooooo - you had to go and fuck all that straight to fucking hell by kidnapping someone."
She paused to catch her breath, and Erik finally found his voice.
"It's only for five days, Claire, then I will return her. I only want her to know me as a man, not as her angel of music."
"I can understand that, dude. I get it. But there are much better ways to go about that than by kidnapping them. Like, I don't get how you go from, 'ah yes, I want to get to know this person better,' to 'guess I'd better steal them from their dressing room in the middle of the goddamn night!'"
Erik slumped slightly and carried the two plates to the table, now laden with prawns and chicken wings and gently steaming with the scent of rosemary and thyme. "I did not know how else to approach her, Claire. I thought, should I try to introduce myself as a normal man would - she would simply run away! No woman has ever trusted me Claire, not when I must wear this mask."
"Then I suppose I don't count as a woman, then?"
Erik hesitated. "You are… different. You come from another time, I cannot speak to how trusting the women are past the year 2000. You have shown me movies and shows where people wear the most outlandish outfits - for all I know there are many people who go about their day wearing odd masks, hats, and other costumes simply because it is the fashion."
He had somewhat of a point.
"Be that as it may," Claire spat, "keeping Christine here as your prisoner is… horrible. I can't believe you've done this, after all your talk of your morals."
Erik cried out in distress at the accusation. "No!" he moaned. "She is not my prisoner, she is my guest! I promise you - both of you! In five days time I will accompany her back to the surface, and then she will be free to come and go as she pleases - just as you are!"
Claire rolled her eyes - it was little comfort when the trip to and from Erik's house was as treacherous as he had created it. "Fine. This conversation isn't over, by the way - but I'm getting a headache. I'm going to see how Christine is doing."
She returned to the Louis-Phillipe room to find Christine finishing up getting dressed for the day. She did look greatly refreshed, and there were no signs of tears left over on her rosy cheeks. She smiled brightly as Claire walked in.
"Miss Claire! Thank you for everything, I feel much better now."
"Good!" Claire chirped in return. "I'm glad to hear it - I think Erik is finishing up with lunch right now, it looks pretty tasty."
"Oh, wonderful. I must admit, I am quite hungry. Will you join us?"
Claire pondered for a moment. "I will, in a short while though. I need to freshen up as well."
Christine nodded knowingly, and headed out to the drawing room. Finally alone, Claire breathed a heavy sigh and headed to the bathroom, stripping her blouse and thick woolen skirt from the day before and allowing them to fall haphazardly across the bedroom floor as she walked.
She desperately needed a long, hot bath.