Chapter 7: Fractured Foundations

The plans for the house lay open on Erik's desk, finished at last. He bent over them, scanning them carefully one last time, before he folded them and placed them in an envelope, ready to present to a contractor. Which contractor, he did not yet know. He hadn't dared to leave Christine alone, and yet the time was upon him when he would need to. His vision of the house, and the perfect life it would shelter, had continued to grow in his mind, and Erik could not restrain his impatience to see it realized. He must have the house built soon, within the year. And when they shared the same room like a normal couple, perhaps then she could truly become his wife.

Erik had not yet spoken of his plans to Christine. He had wanted to wait until the drafts were complete, partly to surprise her and partly to give her room to continue mending without needless consideration of the future. But since he had begun the drawings nearly two weeks ago, her condition had steadily improved, and now not only did she dress every day and converse cheerfully as she did before, but he had successfully cut her dosage to almost half of what it had originally been. And so later that evening, after he had prepared a special dinner, he would reveal the drawings and present Christine with their new life.

At first, when he had conceived of the idea, he was worried about how she might receive such a proposal. Would she reject it, as she rejected intimate touch while awake? Or would her secret happiness finally surface and bring her excitement at the prospect of a new beginning? But as time passed, and their daily conversations grew more comfortable, and their nightly interactions more passionate, his anxiety slowly dimmed until he was quite certain that, on some level, Christine understood that she was surrendering to him, Erik, and not some phantom from the past. And if she chose to willingly submit to him, then surely she would be disposed to move back into the light, and sleep beside him like a real wife.

Erik could only hope, and continue as planned. The clock on the mantelpiece showed five o'clock. It was past time to begin preparations for dinner. Putting away the envelope with the plans, and rolling up the sketches he had kept aside for Christine, Erik began to assemble the best of their dwindling provisions. In the next room, Christine napped peacefully, and he worked quietly so as not to disturb her. There was little left in his pantry, he had difficulty assembling a meal. Even barring the need to see a contractor, Erik would have to go above ground within the week or they would soon starve. Setting the table, he stopped to consider when would be a good time, and sighed in reluctance at needing to go at all. Despite his excitement over the future, the present was more joyful than he had ever dreamed possible, and he was hesitant to do anything that might jeopardize that happiness.

But what use was such skepticism when he had the present? His lovely bride would join him soon and he would be able to watch her across the table, and see her smile and laugh with her. Nothing else mattered. Finishing quickly, he moved to her door, and nervously adjusted his collar before knocking.

"I'll just be a few moments, Erik," she called through the door. Her voice sounded pleasant tonight, and Erik took relief. Apparently she had not yet changed her mind about him and her circumstances. He moved to a chair to wait, and as he sat, he imagined what she was doing in her room. Perhaps she was sitting at her dressing table, still in her little corset, her white shoulders bare. Perhaps she arranged her hair, but one soft curl fell still down the gentle curve of her back. And he stepped forward to retrieve the unruly lock and touched her skin. She looked up at him in the mirror, though he could not see himself, and she smiled, inviting the contact, asking for his help. But then she stood, and turned to face him, her head tilted back to look him in the eyes, and she whispered, I love you Erik. And taking his arms, she placed them around her waist and lifted her face to his.

"I'm ready now Erik," said Christine, and he started, so absorbed was he in the reverie. "Do I look that dreadful?" she asked, laughing. She was wearing a black dress, cut low and with wide shoulders and high sleeves, so that all but the smallest strip of her arms showed. It had been one of the first dresses that he had bought for her, and it hung in her wardrobe long before she first set foot in his house. But until now she had never worn it. It was terribly provocative-he thought she looked like womanly sensuality personified.

"My God, Christine, you are beautiful," he said shakily, and suddenly he felt like an awkward youth in the presence of Aphrodite. How could the life he wanted ever be good enough for this magical creature? How could he even justify touching her? But he did not need to, for she stepped forward, seeing his hesitation, and took his hand.

"Come, let us eat," she said, leading him to the table. Christine was in a cheerful mood, and chatted happily about the things on her mind, and Erik wondered if she was aware of his sudden nervousness, and was trying to help him along. But he could not help it, he couldn't forget-she was a goddess, and deserved better than the house he would soon reveal. And he was certain that if he lost her now, death would be the only relief possible.

Death! For him it would be liberation. If she rejected him now, he wouldn't wait for time and nature, he would do it himself, here, tonight. But Christine! He could never break a hair on her head. He would need to return her to life, place her in the hands of someone who could take care of her-that Giry woman perhaps. And then one day, she would find another lover, marry and be happy. And this man would take her out, to the theater or opera, and she would wear a dress like the one she wore tonight and be a goddess for him. But she wouldn't reject this man, no! He would be handsome, a god himself, equal to her great beauty, and at night his hands would brush those shoulders and pull the black velvet down, and those lips would kiss her body as her lucid eyes begged for more. And Erik would be powerless to stop it, powerless in the grave, cold and alone in a cellar for eternity. He could not let it happen. She was his! Already two innocent men had died, and their lives had bought her for him. If she left now, they would have died in vain and their blood would be on his hands. His only friend, the Persian, would have died at his own hands. It was unbearable, unbearable!-his dead hands covered in blood while his wife gave herself-gave the supreme gift that he had never received-to another. He could not let it happen. He could not let her live while he died, and so he would not die. The terrible rejection he always feared would be thrown aside, if it ever came and Christine would live in his house and share his room. She would share his room and be his wife, even if she cried, even if she screamed so that all the angels in Heaven heard her wretchedness, because he could not bring himself to hurt her. And if she ran, he would catch her, and if she hid, he would find her. The dress had made it obvious, in his blinding jealousy, that she was inseparably bound to him forever.

Forever, Christine, he though, you are mine and no others!

"Erik, you are quiet tonight, honestly. What is on your mind that is so much more interesting than me?" She looked a little hurt, though he could tell she was ready to forgive him by the smile that lingered in the corner of her mouth.

"It's nothing, my darling," he said, and he found that his nervousness had disappeared in his resolve. "I was just thinking that I will need to go out again soon. There are things we need and, well, you know how I hate crowds."

"I could go for you," she said, rather too quickly he thought.

"No, I'll go. I only wonder if you'll feel comfortable remaining here, by yourself, for a few hours."

Christine smiled and rose from the table. She walked to his side and knelt by him, placing her small hand on his. "Of course, Erik. I know you wouldn't let anything bad happen to me. I trust you."

"You are right to do so," he said. "For I would never break one hair on your head." He softly brushed her shining curls and smiled gently down on her.