Chapter 2: The Twisting Descent

Christine awoke in the mahogany bed in Erik's house on the lake. The lamp on the dresser was burning dimly and in the soft light, the room seemed entirely ordinary, as it had on the many previous occasions that she had woken there, and it gave the strong impression that nothing in the world was amiss. Yet she felt odd: disoriented, dizzy, and stifled. She wore her dress still, she noticed. Why hadn't she changed before bed? Something was terribly wrong, but she couldn't recall what it might be. Her head was in a fog and she could only remember the singing. It was Erik's voice-the angel's voice-singing a lullaby in tones of gentle love, tones entirely different from the oppressive affections that he normally expressed, and it calmed and eased her mind. It seemed very real, though it had only been a dream, and for a while Christine wondered if he hadn't actually sung her to sleep the previous night, perhaps after a tiring lesson, and that was why she slept clothed. What was the lesson then? She had been practicing for Faust. No, she had performed it last night! And afterwards…the abduction, the descent, and the mirrored room. Dear God, she had promised to marry Erik!

Horror and panic gripped her as she remembered suddenly. What had become of Raoul? She climbed out of bed, nearly swooning, and stumbled into the next room. It was empty and the house quiet. The door of death lay across the room. It was closed and the little window at the top, that had glowed so fiercely the night before, was dark. Climbing the stairs, Christine looked through the glass, but could see nothing-all was blackness inside. She tapped gently on the door, and called softly. There was no response. Of course, she thought, Erik was not likely to leave her lover in the next room. But where were they?

Climbing back down, she moved to the sofa, and sat, unsure of what she should do. The drawing room, like her bedroom, looked no different from before…except the carpet was missing she realized. How perplexing! What had become of it? She looked again at the door of the torture room as if it might provide a clue and it was only then that she remembered the water. Raoul wasn't in the little room now, which meant the door must have been opened at some point. Perhaps the carpet had been flooded, soaked to the point of ruin.

But if Raoul wasn't in the torture room, he must either have escaped or been released-if he was still alive-though escape from the monster seemed entirely unlikely. Did Erik succumb to her pleading, then, and save her friend? She couldn't recall-she remembered only the sound or rushing water, the cries of help from Raoul and his companion, and the wild ranting of Erik, who had gone quite mad with love and jealousy. Could he have let Raoul die? Another man had died, had been drowned in the lake, last night. Erik had sung his Requiem. But he had seemed remarkably upset about it; he didn't appear to enjoy death after all. And he had no reason to kill Raoul now that she had agreed to become his wife. But Erik had been insane with rage and she had known that that night he was capable of any sin. A deep cold filled her heart as she considered the possibility that Raoul was dead, and it spread throughout her body like a paralyzing frost. What was she to do now? For either by death or by force, Erik had clearly removed Raoul from her life forever, and put himself in the Vicomte's place. Could she be a wife to him-the monster who had taken her lover from her? Could she possibly bear to touch him, his horrific rotted flesh and murderous hands, and kiss him, even in the dark?

No! It would be worse than death! He filled her only with terror now! His very presence was oppressive and ghastly, as if she were buried alive in this dark subterranean tomb, unable to scream, unable to run. She must escape from him! She could never bear to look on him again. And maybe if she ever saw the light of day again, she would find Raoul waiting for her, and he would spirit her away from the bewildering and perpetual night.

But where was Erik? The house was silent-perhaps he had gone out. Quietly, she crept to the front door. She had seen him come and go through it many times, but he had never showed her how to open it, and she had never discovered it on her own. But there! A panel had been slid back like a little window to expose a button. Could it be the switch she was looking for? It was unlike Erik to be so careless about security. Why would he leave it open? But then she remembered the carpet-he must have taken it from the house, and perhaps in the awkward shuffle it had not been convenient to conceal the secret panel behind him. Or could it be a trick? The grasshopper would have killed them all, Erik had said. Perhaps this button was also rigged to bring forth some catastrophe. But Christine was desperate now, and death was not entirely unwelcome. She pushed the button. The door opened.

The space between the house and the lake was only a few yards wide and Christine stepped out, listening for a moment; but the only sound was the echo of the dark waters lapping in the vast underground cavern. She had never really spent time out here before-Erik had always ferried her quickly into and out of the house-and she did not know how far the ledge ran on either side of the building. Gathering her skirts so that she might not slip and fall into the siren's waters, she decided quickly to follow the shelf to the left and made to depart. But suddenly, out of the darkness, he stepped in her way, not two feet from her.

Erik had caught her! Terrified of his almost certain rage, Christine screamed and ran in the only direction open to her-back into the house. Throwing herself on the sofa, she buried her face in the pillows, and cried, willing herself away from his grasp and believing, childlike in her desperation, that as long as she couldn't see him, she was safe. But there was his voice in her head once more, though it didn't sound angry at all, as she had expected.

"Don't cry Christine," the voice said. "You know I would never hurt you. Your boy is safe now; I've only just returned him to the light of day. I'm sorry for it to turn out like this," it said, and it was drawing near! "But you promised to be my wife so you must give up your other lover. Don't you see that it is the only way?" And something touched the hem of her gown. In her mind she saw his cold corpse hand clutching at her dress and she pulled away quickly, fleeing into her room.

But the voice followed, and it was no longer the voice alone, but the monster, standing in her doorway! And he reached out for her, with hope in his eyes; hope to touch her, to lay his murderous hands on her! But she was utterly transfixed by fear, powerless to move away now that his burning eyes were upon her, drawing ever closer. She could not move still when he caught her wrist in his freezing grasp and lifted it, as his other hand reached into his pocket to retrieve something. But when it was withdrawn and she saw what he held, life returned to her. She struggled like a wild beast to free her wrist, to prevent the gold ring that he had somehow found from returning to her finger. But his grip was like a vise, and he held her fast. She beat at him, stepped on his feet, swore oaths of pure hatred, but still he held her, until the ring was on her finger once more.

"You are my wife," he said, "There is no leaving Erik now!" And he let her go so suddenly that she fell to the ground.

There is no leaving, no leaving for the monster's wife! The words beat in her ears over and over. There was no stopping them, no drowning them out, even when her cries turned to screams, even when she pulled at her hair. She was over the edge, out of control, and she sat crying until the hands touched her once more and the voice broke through the fury in her mind.

"Drink this," it said. "It will help." A glass of wine was placed in her shaking hand, and guided to her mouth. There is no leaving, continued the echo of the voice in her head, and, resigned and broken, she feebly allowed him to feed her the liquid, only dimly aware that it tasted strange, not like wine at all. But then, slowly, the dissonance receded. Her mind was being filled with a soft warm fog, her body was relaxing. The world was slipping away in a rosy haze and even when the monster knelt beside her, and held her to keep her from slipping to the floor, it did not seem quite so terrible. Even when his face bent over hers and those searching eyes examined her, she managed to remember long ago, when her angel had spoken to her and she was at peace.