The screams, the screams! From the torture chamber, the voices rose. They were harsh, dry, barely discernible, but they were loud. I could hear them scream from within.

"Let her go, Monsieur, let her go!"

"Erik, you promised me you wouldn't kill another soul! You promised!"

I looked down at Christine Daae who had her arms outstretched, and she met my gaze steadily. I knew she knew they were trapped within, but neither of us made a sound. Neither of us turned towards the source of the horrible noise. We played pretend, like we were standing in a peaceful garden, and nothing could break through our Eden-like bliss: neither the Persian who I trusted as my friend nor the young man who I knew as my brother held sway in this house tonight.

"Christine! Christine!" The young man yelled. And she took a step towards me.

Slowly I entwined her hands in mine and pulled her close, so close against me that I could feel the heaving of her chest, the soft mounds of her breast rising and falling against my skin as she breathed. I let my hands travel up her sleeve, tenderly stroking the smooth pale skin of her shoulder, her collarbone, and then her neck. Her small breakable neck was now suddenly at the mercy of my monstrous hands. My fingers touched her face; they crept to her cheeks, and I cupped them in my palms. I pulled her face towards mine and brought my lips against her mouth. I suckled the sweet breath between her lips and tasted the wet, warm honey of her tongue. I kissed her slowly. Precariously, until my grotesque mouth became one with hers and we were joined at the openings where only songs had known such passage.

Her hands were upon my back. Her nails dug into my suit jacket and she clawed downwards until she released and pulled her hands upwards into the skin of my neck. She pulled me closer to her, pulled my head into the shelter of her hands, and kissed my ravaged flesh, my mismatched eyelids, my hollow cheeks, around my gaping nose, and back upon my mouth where my quivering tremulous lips awaited. She called out my name between these kisses. She cried out my name between her embraces.

She unbuttoned the top of my dress shirt, pulling the collar aside with her small hands. Her lips were upon my heart, and I knew she could hear the thing which I thought had died, pounding loud, thunderous beats.

"Christine! Christine!"

Rip! Slip! The suit jacket was off my back. The shirt was gone, leaving a bandaged arm. I lifted her into my arms, and carried her into her bedroom. I sat her on the bed with her back against me and undid the laces in the back of her dress. Swoosh!

Ragged breathing from us both. Gasps here and there. The dress laid limp on the ground.

"Christine! Christine!"

She turned to me, her naked legs wrapped around my hips.

Zip! Slip!

"Christine! Christine!"

Insertion—Warmth! Inexplicable sensation below my waist! Burning, painful, hateful sensation!…I pushed her harshly against the headboard. Bang! Gasp! She yelps, but not in pain. Her head falls back, she bites her lips. Grunts, groans! I closed my mouth over hers again. Hush…

Thrust after thrust! "Erik! Erik!"

Oh pain! What was this wonderful feeling?

"Christine! Christine!" The voice in the chamber called again and again.

"My Erik," She cries.

I pressed my hand over her mouth, muffling her cries.

"Yes, I am your Erik," I said between gasps, "I am only Erik…."

We clung onto each other mercilessly. Her pink flesh throbbed against me, her breast beat against my chest. I could smell the perspiration trickling down our necks, and the urgency with which I caught the dripping of salt in my mouth made her exhale in ecstasy. I had never tasted anything so magnificent. I had never seen anything so wonderful.

I pushed her into the sheets vigorously, pressing my body on-top of hers so that she was cuffed in my arms. We moved as one. Beating! Thump, thump, thump!

"You abhor me for the coffin?" I grasped her head in my hands whispered in her ear.

Her face pressed into my neck; her lower lip rushed up the trail of my veins to my jaw. "I couldn't breath in there, Erik. You punished me too well…"

"Then you loathe me?"

Thrust! Thrust!

"I do," She cried. "I loathe you and I love you. I love you and I loathe you."

Cries!

"But do not ask me anymore, Erik! No more questions."

Yes, no more words. Just sounds. I supposed she loved what she was most repulsed by…I supposed the coffin was a mistake that did the trick; the coffin made her mad with love. I grasped her shoulders and flipped her atop of me. She sat up.

"Christine! Christine!"

"You're Vicomte is calling," I said. "Do you hear him?"

"Yes, I hear him," She replied and closed her eyes.

Push! Rush! Implosion!

"Hush, my dear…No more…No more."

I sat up abruptly – her legs still around me. Yes, the voices were getting dryer by the second. "The heat is suffocating them to death. They will be dead men very soon."

Her eyes opened slightly. She turned her face towards the noise and looked back into my eyes. "Very soon?"

I pulled away. I dressed, turned to her, and cupped her face between my fingers.

"Yes, Soon."

Her eyes did not scream. They remained fixed on me – waiting, waiting for me to make a choice. She touched my fingers just as I retrieved my hand. I motioned for her to stay where she was, and made my way to the torture chamber door.

I knocked three times.

"Christine! Christine! What is happening? I can't breath!" The boy was hoarse. It must have taken all his strength to say her name.

"I'm glad to see you are still alive." I replied. "What of you, Daroga—how long has your mind feasted upon the noose in my forest?"

They were shocked to hear my voice; thus there was silence for a moment, and then the Persian replied.

"Erik, I hope you have not done something terrible to the Mademoiselle."

I looked over at Christine. She smiled.

"The Mademoiselle might have enjoyed her coffin more than she admits."

"Erik!" Nadir was more exhausted than infuriated. "You broke your promise to me—and you still care to make me laugh?"

"It's very inconvenient to make you cry, Daroga." I sighed. "As much as it pains me to see you trapped, I cannot be blamed for your folly."

I called or Raoul. "Vicomte, perhaps you've found the rope?"

A painful pause.

"I want her back, Erik…" Came the boy's sad voice. "You can't have everything—Not everything."

"I do not need anything, mon frere, only Christine."

The boy gave an agonizing cry. "I beg of you, Erik..." He gasped. "...I love her...You can't keep her forever...here...You don't mean to hide her...here…and have children here...!"

"But the choice is hers, isn't it?"

"She will never survive,... in your royal tomb…" His voice was breaking. "I beg of you as a brother, Erik, please let her go…"

He was resorting to his last card of logic. He had really thought this one through, hadn't he? Someone must have prepped him to the ending.

I looked over at Christine; with reserved quaintness, she stared into the wall. An unrecognizable look crossed her face. Pity? No. I couldn't be absolutely sure…Perhaps I should offer her the opportunity to answer him herself.

I turned the same scorpion key. The heat poured into the room like a desert's current and Nadir was the first to collapse onto the floor. The poor Vicomte, who at the sight of my face could not keep his eyeballs from rolling to the back of his head, fell limply into my arms.