Re-read: 3-18-05

-Chapter Ten – Heaven And Hell-

The days that Christine shares with Raoul show her Angel without doubt that he has to find a way to have her all for himself. He doesn't want to hurt Christine, he doesn't want to force her, but he can't stand the certainity that this handsome young Vicomte will take her away from him. He knows that she could never love him, his whole life no one has ever loved him, but he can't give up without trying.

Four days after Raoul has arrived in Paris, there is a knock on the door of Christine's dressing room.

"Raoul?" there is a trace of fear in her voice "What... what are you doing here? I told you to always wait in the Foyer!"

"I'm sorry, my heart, but I can't wait until after your rehersal. I..." he sighs "I have to go back to the ship. The repairs they had to do will be finished much earlier than they expected. I will leave Paris again in a few hours."

"Oh, really?" she tries hard not to cry. "Well, I wish you a safe journey, Monsieur."

Bewildered, Raoul takes her hand.

"Is everything alright with you, my darling?"

Hastily she withdraws her hand and backs away half a step.

"I feel fine, Monsieur, thank you. And I'd be very grateful, if you would leave now. I have to prepare for my rehersal."

"You are more distanced than ever." Raoul gives a nervous little loughter. "If I did something to hurt you, I am very sorry. It wasn't my intention, to ever..."

"It's not that simple." she interrupts him coolly "And I'd appreciate, if you would leave now, I have to make myself ready for the rehersal. Again, I wish you a safe journey. Good bye, Monsieur de Chagny."

"Christine..." his voice quivers between perplexion and anger "I'm not sure if I understand..."

"I said 'Good bye'. Don't miss your train!" with that she pushes him off the threshold, closes the door behind him and locks it.

Immediately her cold facade begins to crumble.

"Ouch." she vehemently wipes her eye with her hand "An eyelash or something... ouch..." mercylessly the tears begin to flow down her face.

"You showed disobedience of the worst kind, Christine. You lied to me. You betrayed me." a hiss that suddenly becomes a yell. "Your heart is not where I want it to be!"

"And you lied to me, too!" she retorts with her well known selfmurdrous contrariness, ducked under the power of her Angel's rage "You told me, you wouldn't want to take my life from me, you wouldn't want to hurt me! But you took it away! You forced me to lie to Raoul, to hurt him! He's gone now! He'll never come back! He's too proud." With a sudden cry she throws herself on her chaiselongue and hides her face in her hands, sobbing helplessly. "And now you'll leave me, too! Meg was right, I'm a shin bone kicking brat and I'll die alone and it's all my fault." after that, she falls silent. No more sobs, nothing but tiredness on her white, teardrenched face.

And her utter despair cools down her Angel's anger.

When she hears his voice again, she doesn't move her head.

"Take me away from here." she whispers "I don't want this life anymore."

The Angel stands petrified for a moment. Christine wants him to steal her, to do, what he secretly wishes for since he first saw her flying down the Grand Escalier to embrace a handsome Vicomte...

Softly, his voice begins to fill the small dressing room, caressing, permeating Christine's mind, until she follows it's wordless command through the opened door of her mirror. The moment when she lays her small warm fingers into his enticing hand is completeness, fulfillment, and he wants nothing more than this moment to last forever.

But the moment passes and he leads Christine to his house at the lake.

When his song has lulled her to sleep, he carries her into the bed in the room of dreams that he didn't believed to ever have an inhabitant. Then he stands there beside her bed and feels greed crawl out of the darkness of his body. The greed to touch her, to kiss her, to be with her in a way that is all but decent.

Violently he turns away to flee his mind into the safe refuge of music and morphine.

"So you're an addict..." Carla mumbles, partly involoutarily.

"Do you think anyone could survive what I've been through without a substance that allows him to find some peace, even if it's only an artificial one?" he answers with a slight hint of aggression.

Carla defensively lifts her hands.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you! It's just... you surely know that some phans believe your music should be powerful enough to give you all the peace you need."

"Do they. Have you ever tried to sing a peaceful song the way it is meant to be when you're angry? Surely it doesn't work often."

"I see your point... Now, you took Christine to your house. Did... did you really picture a future with her?"

Erik's eyes give a sad smile.

"One can't help but do that... I hoped that she would stay with me forever, that she would forget about Raoul, that she..." he shrugs, a little helpless as Carla feels. "What does one hope for when he is in love?"

'Gosh!' she sighs silently, when his pronounciation of the last word disturbs the butterflies in her stomach, and turns down her face to hide it's stupid dreamy expression.

"But she didn't forget about Raoul, right?"

"She tried to... Now, excuse me, I remember that you still haven't seen my theories about time fields and I have to dig out the notes I made and copy them so that you are able to read them without difficulties." With that he gets up and leaves the library into the direction of his laboratories.

'So he's a bit angry with her...' Carla thinks, astonished about this fact. Immediately, her feelings start to jump around, and fighting a really stupid grin she shuffles back into her room.

Determined she bangs her book on the nightstand and then presses her hands on her stomach, but that doesn't have much impact on the hysterical butterflies. He's still angry with Christine. He partially blames her for whatever happened...

"You're feelings are assholes, Carla, and you know it's senseless." she tells herself "He may be angry with her, but he loves her as well and is happy with that. You have no right to interfere and there is no chance for you to win his love. And man, you don't even know him! On the contrary, everything you find out about him just lets him seem more alien! What you feel is just a stupid girlish crush for some aspects of a person, and stuff like that isn't worthy of any effort or risk! Plus: even if you someday could be certain that you love all of him and even if he were interested in a relationship with you, how do you think you would live together? How would you introduce him to your parents and Leah, hah? 'Mum, Dad, Phreak, this is Erik. He's 170 years old and lives under the Paris Opera House. He's a morphine addict and talks to the skeleton of... Leah, would you please stop licking his shoes?' Oh, forget it, Carla! Forget it!"

But she can't. She scolds, she argues, she explains... it's all useless. She can't keep her heartbeat from fastening when she imagines Erik embracing her, and she can't keep her mind from creeping back to this picture over and over again. She starts walking around her room, kicking and boxing the walls every now and then.

Finally she leans her sweaty forehead to the cold stones.

"I can't help it. I... I'm in love with him. Hell! I wish I had never entered these darn cellars!"

When she enters the cave, she gets the feeling that she disturbed someone who was totally absorbed into marveling at the flames of the candles. There is a moment of utter silence, then Carla suddenly feels recognized and greeted with a warm smile. It's a strange feeling for she can't percept a presence, she didn't percept a smile, but she reacts as if she had.

Hesitantly, Carla steps to the middle of the room.

When she lets her eyes wander she gets the impression of a royal tomb: The walls are covered with artful carvings, no figures but patterns, symmetry, nameless forms that seem to dance, alive in the softly moving candlelight. And all the patterns seem to emerge or aim at the head of the room, where the names 'Christine Daaé' and 'Raoul de Chagny' dominate the wall. And although the pattern doesen't change it is obvious that to it's creator this is Christine's place and Raoul just a couple of bones in the dirt.

"He frightens me and yet I'm... I'm... in love with him, Christine." Carla confesses after a while, preparing herself for some kind of angry, jealous reaction - but all she feels is a friendly sparkling in blueish grey eyes. "You... you're not opposed?" she asks, quite astonished. "Oh... well... I... I don't know what to do, Christine. Somehow I wish I could beat down all the sympathy that I feel for his nice half. I wish I could just hate him from the deepest pits of my heart. And yet I want to swim against the flow of all the fears and be with him... And it's all so senseless. Why do I love him! He loves only you and there is no darn place in this world for Erik and Carla! He couldn't be a part of my life." she sighs miserably "I so don't understand all this, I... Why must it all be so complicated? My heart is ripped in two perfect halfs and my mind bursts while it tries to make sense of this all..."

'Stop thinking.' Carla suddenly knows that Christine would say that if she could. Then she feels that her host is absorbed into beholding the candles again.

"What does that mean? Christine, what does that mean?"

Carla feels a sigh, then an insecure search for the one word that says it all.

'Trust, Carla.' Christine's eyes can see deep into her heart. 'Trust.'

"Stop thinking, trust." Carla throws herself onto her bed. "What the hell do you mean by that, Christine? Shall I run headlong into disaster with my eyes open and have trust that Erik and I are sent into the same asylum? Shall I stop thinking that he could love me and have trust that I can forget about him? Shall I stop thinking that I love him and trust my sense for the rational? Your suggestion did nothing for me!" She yawns. "Man, I only wish I could sleep."

She gets up with a start, when Erik knocks on her door the next morning.

"Oh, I woke you up, I'm sorry."

"Never mind." Carla croaks "What time is it?"

"Half past one pm. You didn't come for breakfast so I thought I look if you're alright..."

"Uh, yes, I'm fine. Just a little headache..." she coughs "And my throat is scratching."

"You've catched a cold."

"No, I just didn't sleep enough."

"I'll bring you something."

"No, really." she clears her throat "I just need a breakfast and some orange juice... I swear, I'm fine." she ensures him, when he doesn't move.

"Just as you wish." he finally agrees and leaves.

Nibbling on the apple in her left hand, Carla sits at the writing desk in her room. She sings - her voice showing it's well trained steadyness this time - while she throws a pencil sketch of Erik's mask on the paper.

"Since you went away, days grow long,

And soon I'll hear old winter's song.

But I miss you most of all, my darling,

When autumn leaves start to fall."

"So you lied to me, Carla."

She turns to the door with a start. Erik stands on the threshold of her room, one fist braced against the door frame.

"You lied to me at least once." slowly he starts to walk over to her.

"Erik, I... I'm sorry, I...don't understand..." she stammers while her hand hastily crumbles the sheet with the sketch.

"You told me you couldn't sing. But you can sing, you surely had voice lessons for quite some time. And I assume that you study voice at the Conservatoir and not archaeology."

"I took private lessons for six years, I sang in the school choir and I am lead singer and play the e-guitar in Leah's and my little punk project 'Chablis'." she confesses, trying to sound more apologetic than unnerved "But I told the truth about my study."

"And why did you..." he stops, the anger in his eyes turning into understanding for a second. "What did you draw there? Are you hiding more talents from me?"

"No. I honestly don't have any talent concerning pencils, papers and elaborate shapes."

His eyes rest on her face testingly, but then he nods and grabs her sleeve to drag her out of the room.

"You will show me all about your voice."

"Now." he hits some harmonic accords on his piano. "I want to hear the song that you practiced most."

Carla sighs.

"Can't I pick another? I really hate that song and..."

"Didn't I make myself clear considering lies, Carla?"

She groans inwardly. But as Erik's voice sounds more like a kind reminder than a threat, and his presence is feeling strangely encouraging since he took a seat at his piano, she doesn't protest. She can imagine worse things than singing a love song for a good humoured Erik.

"The song I practiced most is 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' by Bonnie Tyler, the woman my voice teacher had a crush on. I could sing 'Holding out for a Hero' or 'It's a Heartache', too, if you like."

"No, sing 'Eclipse'. A capella. I do the 'turn around', you the rest."

"Oh well..." she supports herself at the piano and clears her throat.

Some moments pass in silence, then Erik sets in, his voice soft, dark, enticing even in the tiny piece of music.

"Turn around..."

"Every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you're never coming 'round." she answers, feeling very strange.

"Turn around..."

"Every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears."

"Turn around..."

"Every now and then I get a little bit nervous that the best of all the years have gone by."

"Turn around..."

In the chorus Erik joins in, slowly rising from his place at the piano, coming towards her, the regardless demanding overtone in his voice now unmistakable.

Carla feels adrenaline shooting into her blood, her heart begins to race, her breathing grows stronger and deeper... Her wide eyes are locked to his, while she learns what it means to be possessed and dominated.

'Sing! Sing for your life!'

And she sings, digging out all her energy and knowledge, because the insane killer who is still coming closer leaves no doubt that his threat isn't empty; he will use physical violence if he isn't convinced that she gives him all she has. She wants to flee... and yet she feels drawn towards him and lifted by his voice as if it were a pair of wings that helps her to obey his command.

When it is over, Erik's hands reach for her upper arms to keep her from falling. His grip is hard and painful for a moment, but soon he shows utter gentleness and concern.

'He hurts you and then he cares for your wounds...' she thinks halfheartedly, for when he speaks to her, she lets herself fall thankfully into the wellknown warmth of his voice.

"Are you alright?" he asks while he leads her to his chaiselongue. "Perhaps I was a little too vigorous for you."

"No, I feel fine." she ensures him - and one moment later starts to cry.

Seeming a little helpless in the face of what he has caused in her, Erik sits beside her.

'You scared me half to death, idiot! Embrace me and promise you will never do it again!' Carla wants to shout but she doesn't dare and instead tries hard to stop her tears from falling.

"Christine cried after the first time, too..." Erik eventually mumbles and picks her up to carry her into her bed. His heart is still racing, just like Carla's.