DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these characters. Yet…
"I am Giovanni von Krolock."
"von Krolock…" Erik said the name slowly, savoring the sound. "Erik von Krolock. Interesting. But—Giovanni?"
The count waved
his hand dismissively. "I'm from the Sicilian branch of the family. Now, if you
will forgive me, I have a long journey home, and time grows short. I'm sure you
have many questions regarding your new life style. I have found this book to be
helpful." von Krolock pulled various items from one of his coat pockets,
finally finding a small book. "It was
written by a very knowledgeable gentleman some 100 years ago-unfortunately, he
met with an 'accident' before it could be published." The count grinned. "I
took care of the original manuscripts and have had a few privately published,
to be given to newcomers."
"An accident?" Erik asked wryly.
von Krolock shrugged. "We couldn't let him reveal all our secrets, could we?" He handed the book to Erik, who glanced at it, then set it on the organ, intending to read it later. "If you have any other questions or problems, you may contact me directly. Madame Giry knows how to get in touch with me." He bowed deeply to Christine and turned to leave. "I must now bid you farewell."
"Wait!" Erik
cried, and the count stopped. "What about Christine? You promised…"
von Krolock smiled gently. "Erik,
she is for you to take." He watched as Erik's eyes widened in
understanding, then he briefly clasped his hand. "Take care, my friend." He
melted into the shadows and was gone.
Erik turned to Christine, taking his coat from her and putting it back on. "You heard what he said?"
She nodded. "Erik, I need some time-I want to think about this. I have affairs I would need to set in order. Do you understand?"
"Of course," he
agreed, but a small icy tendril of fear crept into his heart. "No one will
force you."
She smiled at him, glad that he
accepted her delay. "Would it be all right, that is, would you mind if I stayed
here? The Opera managers have been pestering me so lately, and I need to be
away from them."
"Christine, you know this is your
home as well. I have kept your room for you. Is there anything you need from
your apartment?"
She shook her
head. "Not at this time, no." She yawned, covering her mouth with her hand, and
Erik hesitantly took her elbow, leading to her room.
"You need to rest," he ordered.
"You've not been sleeping well lately, have you?"
"No, I've not. I've been upset-what
I did to you, trying to decide my future, Raoul…"
"What of him?" Erik tried to keep
the anger from his voice, but she noticed.
"He was hurt by my decision not to stay with him. It seems I can only cause pain for those I care for."
"You will soon have an eternity to rectify that," he told her.
She hesitated a moment, then answered, "Yes. Good night."
"Good night, Christine." She slowly closed the door and Erik turned to his own room, but sleep was not on his mind. He picked up the book von Krolock had given him and settled in the chair in the corner of his room, reading by the firelight.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The next day Erik worked on cleaning up the mess the mob had left behind, salvaging what he could of his few belongings. He had replaced the wig and was as impeccably dressed as before. Christine helped, organizing what remained of his years of composing, and sweeping up the shredded remnants of the compositions that were beyond saving. She noticed, as the day wore on, that Erik was becoming increasingly restless. After watching him pace from the organ to his throne and back again, over and over, she finally confronted him. "What is wrong with you? Are you ill?"
"What?" he looked at her distractedly, continuing the pacing.
She put a hand on his arm to stop him. "Erik, you are not acting like yourself. I've never seen you this way before."
He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "Christine, I must leave you for a while. I shouldn't be gone long. Lock the door behind me, and you'll be safe." He put on his fedora and cloak and strode toward the doorway.
"But where are you going?" She followed after him.
"Please, just do as I say," he instructed,
and headed out into the night.
Christine watched for a few
moments, the locked the door and returned to her cleaning. She had finished and
was relaxing with a cup of tea when Erik returned a short time later. He hung up the cloak and hat and moved toward
her with his usual grace. "I'm sorry to have left you like that," he
apologized. "Have you supped yet? Is there anything I can get for you?"
"I was hoping we could have our meal together," she told him.
He frowned slightly and told her, "You'll find I'm a sporadic diner. But if you wouldn't mind my company, I'll join you as you eat."
"Yes, thank you. I have eaten so many meals alone lately, I would enjoy having someone to converse with." She followed him to the small kitchen and made up a sandwich, and they sat at the table, Erik sipping on a glass of wine as Christine ate. He longed to speak with her about her decision, but waited, knowing she would broach the subject when the time was right. He only hoped she hadn't changed her mind. They made small talk, then retired for the night.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Christine had made herself at home, cleaning and re-stocking the pantry. The wardrobe in her room was full of never-worn clothes, and she enjoyed trying them on. Erik spent the next few days sealing off most of the entrances to his lair, and updating the alarms on the remaining ones. He often spent meal times with Christine, finding it a relaxing time to merely talk with her, trying to rekindle the relationship they had once had, and hoping to further it. She was regaining the sparkle in her eyes, and it delighted him to see her smile. In the evenings he sometimes played the piano while she sang, not wanting her voice to suffer from not being used. She had spoken once of returning to the Opera, and it was his fervent hope that she do so.
Then one night
Christine noticed he was again getting restless, though he did a good job of
trying to hide it from her. She could tell he was trying to avoid leaving her
again, so she decided to make it easy on him, as she had a plan. She faked a
yawn, then spoke quietly to him. "Erik, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to
retire early tonight. I have a bit of a headache."
"Is there anything I can do?" he
asked in sincere concern.
"Oh, no. It's just a minor one, more irritating than
painful. A good night's sleep should cure it."
"If you are sure…" he said.
She smiled at
him. "I'll be all right. Good night."
"Good night, Christine." She
shivered slightly at the way he said her name-almost reverently. Then she
closed the door and waited silently. Soon enough she heard his footsteps
heading away from her room, and she quietly opened the door, peeking out to see
him disappear through the doorway of the Rue Scribe entrance. She waited a few
moments, then quickly followed.
It was difficult to keep up with him in the darkness, and she nearly lost him several times. Only the brightness of the moon in the clear sky helped her keep track of him, the reflection off his mask a beacon to help her. She hid in a doorway as he paused for a moment, then turned quickly down a nearby alley. She started to follow, but a muffled scream stopped her. She stood frozen a moment, then hurried on, concerned that something had happened to him. She turned the corner and was shocked at what she saw.
Erik was on his knees, hunched over a still form cradled in his arms as he drank from the wound he had caused in the figure's neck. Christine gasped softly and his head jerked up, turning toward the sound but missing her as she swiftly darted behind a pile of refuse. He hesitated a minute, then finished his task, carefully laying the figure on the street before standing and taking one last cautious look around before exiting the alley.
Christine waited a few moments to make sure he was gone, then approached the body. She was shocked to see it was a very young man, and tears filled her eyes. "Oh, Erik," she sighed, kneeling in sorrow beside the boy. She pulled back in shock as the boy moaned faintly, and she touched his face, finding it warm. Erik hadn't killed him. Relief spilled over her, then she stood and ran from the area, not wanting to be found alongside the injured youth. She had to reach the Opera before Erik, else how could she ever explain her absence?
She dashed down the streets, taking all the shortcuts she could think of, then spied him ahead of her, heading toward the Rue Scribe entrance. She paused but a moment, then entered the Opera, pushing through the crowds waiting for the night's performance to begin. She hurried toward her old dressing room and was grateful to find it empty-no one wanted to use the 'haunted' room. With shaking hands she activated the latch on the mirror and hurried through it and down the path to Erik's house. The boat of course was not available but he had shown her a narrow ledge around the lake that could be used if necessary. She carefully picked her way around it then ran through the entrance to the lair, carefully disengaging the alarm before doing so. She had just flung open the door to her room when she heard him coming in the Rue Scribe entrance. Silently closing the door behind her, she felt her way through the blackness to her bed and sat on the edge of it, trying to calm her breathing.
His steady footsteps approached her room and stopped outside. Then he knocked on her door, calling, "Christine." She didn't answer, hardly breathing. Then he knocked again a bit harder, and his voice had an edge to it. "I know you are awake. Open the door."
She finally
obeyed, pulling the door open just a few inches and peering out at him. "What
is the matter?"
He stared at her a moment, then
said, "I know you were there."
Her face flushed
but she only replied, "What are you talking about?"
"Come now, Christine. Even if I
were not a… vampire," he reluctantly spoke the word, "Don't you think I would
have known it was you in that alley?"
She opened the door and stepped out
to face him. "Yes, it was I," she admitted cautiously.
He grabbed her
left arm. "Why were you following me? Was it so much to ask for a little
trust?"
"I was worried!" she exclaimed.
"You started behaving strangely, and I could tell you wanted to leave again.
You wouldn't tell me what was the matter. How else was I to find out?" Tears
filled her eyes as her arm began to hurt from his grasp.
He noticed and immediately released her. "I'm sorry," he said, reaching out to touch her, but she pulled her arm against her body and rubbed it gently. A bruise was beginning to show. Erik clenched his fist, turning from her. "So, now you have seen what I have become. I was feeding. I dislike it, but I must do it to survive. I would rather you had not found out in this fashion. I would have told you in time."
"You should have trusted me and told me immediately. We cannot build a relationship of trust if there are secrets between us."
He was silent
for a long moment, then he spoke quietly. "You are, of course, correct." He
turned to face her again, his face a stoic mask. "I must apologize for not
trusting you, and I am very sorry for hurting your arm. Will you allow me to
examine it?"
"There's no need," she told him,
pulling back slightly. "It's just a small bruise, and it will fade in time."
She looked him in the eyes, trying to read his expression, then she said, "I
know you didn't kill him…"
"It is not necessary to kill. I will not be responsible for more deaths if I can help it."
"I'm glad," she responded as she returned to her room.
"Christine-can you forgive me?"
She smiled a bit sadly at him and replied softly, "Good night, Erik." Then she closed the door. He stood there a few moments, wanting to say so many things to her, but the moment was not right. He laid his hand on the door and whispered, "Good night." Then he went to his own room, having much to consider.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Early the next morning Christine quietly opened her bedroom door and stepped out into the main room. Erik was nowhere to be seen-the door to his room was closed-for which she was grateful. She pulled her cloak around herself and softly but quickly went to the Rue Scribe exit. After one last wistful look behind, she closed the door and re-activated the alarm, then scurried toward the exit to the outside world.
A few moments later Erik came out and approached her room, knocking hesitantly. "Christine?" He waited a few moments then knocked again. When she didn't answer, he cautiously entered her room, worried that something was wrong. He was surprised to find her bed made, hastily from the look of it, and a quick examination of the room revealed that her cloak and shoes were missing as well. He ran to the Rue Scribe exit and burst through the door, ignoring the ringing of the alarm as he hurried up the passageway.
He knew she had been this way-he could smell the traces of her perfume in the air. "Christine!" he called in desperation, but there was no answer. He reached the final doorway and pulled it open a bit, but the bright sun made him slam it closed just as quickly. He stood for a moment, panting from his exertions, then he pounded the door in despair, finally sinking to the floor as the realization hit him. Christine was gone…