Chapter Three
Christine whirled around, eyes widening as she faced the masked figure.
The man stared at the girl kneeling before him, mouth slightly opening in disbelief. A shadow of painful recognition passed over his face before he adapted the usual look that conveyed no real emotions.
Taking a visible breath, he broke the silence.
"What are you doing here?" he whispered, his tone cracked.
"Erik…" Christine began, her own voice several pitches higher than normal. She only found herself at a loss of words. What was she doing here? Surely she couldn't tell him the truth. Using the back of her hand to wipe away the tears, she tried to regain her composure in a manner than seemed somewhat natural. Standing up to a pair of trembling legs, Christine noticed that she still hadn't closed her mouth. She quickly did so. Realizing that the man before her was still waiting for a response, she finished lamely, "I-I… wasn't expecting you."
Her eyes briefly flew over him before finally meeting his gaze. He wore his traditional black attire, with only the wine red collar of a shirt silhouetted against his pale neck. His scarce hair was safely tucked away, hidden beneath the familiar wig, which was as carefully applied as usual. A fedora rested neatly on top of his head, casting a faint mass of darkness on Erik's face. The white mask covered half of his face.
"Yes… people usually don't," he replied simply.
Christine remained silent, focusing her attention on simply trying to control her breathing. She shifted her gaze, finding the phantom's stare unbearable with the increase of unspoken tension. Even so, she felt his eyes piercing through her.
"I see that you are thrilled with your new life," Erik began, his voice once again completely steady.
Christine became aware how pathetic she must look. Crying her heart out at the old opera house… of course she must transmit the image of a truly unhappy woman.
Erik continued. "Apparently your choice proves to be for the better of both of us."
She brought her head up again, only to find a bitter smile lingering underneath his mask.
"My life is quite comfortable," she replied with what little pride she could muster.
The phantom looked as if he was going to contradict that statement, but decided against it. Finally he settled on, "I hope it remains so."
With a slight tip of his fedora, the figure turned, his majestic cape flying behind him, and proceeded out of Box Five.
"Farewell, Vicomtesse," he muttered.
The phantom stormed through the opera house, blind to anything in his path. All he could think about at the moment was his lair.
He descended into the increasing darkness, subconsciously turning at various corners. Deeper he went, away from the life above the ground. Down another staircase, he made his way effortlessly through the cellars. Soon, he was surrounded by complete darkness. Still, he plunged on. After years of living beneath the building, the many passages became awfully familiar.
Finally, a lone ray of candlelight greeted him. Ducking into the last tunnel, he stepped into his dwelling. Only when he reached the shelter of his organ's presence did he allow for his composure to drop. Staggering toward the wall, he leaned his head against the cold stone, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. His thundering heart betrayed any reassuring thoughts he kept repeating.
"Christine," he moaned, sinking toward the floor. "Why did you return?"
The past few months were hell for Erik. For weeks after Christine's final rejection, he retired to his solitude, feasting on his pain alone. The only activity that Erik could still correctly perform was composing his music. He would spend hours in front of his instrument, trying to pour all of his anguish into the pounded notes, until exhaustion would pull him into a deep sleep.
His routine was interrupted by an uninvited visit from Nadir. Not hearing anything from the phantom since the fire, the daroga ventured to Erik's place, the two men reuniting after over a year of separation. Nadir forced Erik to eat and retell the events that led him to his current state.
After a few days, Erik abandoned his sorrow and became the distant soul that he once was. Nadir persuaded Erik to finally leave his lair and seek something in the outside world. Beginning to get fed up with the daroga's constant comforting suggestions, Erik was ready to do about anything in order to ease Nadir's worried mind and let him be. Digging out his elegant clothes and usual mask, Erik left his lair for the first time since the day of Don Juan's opening and only performance.
Christine was merely a poisonous memory that proved to Erik that he was absolutely alone, born into this world to experience eternal loneliness. Christine was simply a punishment for allowing himself to experience any true human emotions. Agreeing to a contract that Nadir brought in regarding the foundation work for a future structure, Erik decided that a new, if tedious, life would be constructed on the his past life's ashes. True, his life was now without a goal, but his stubborn personality clung onto his pride. No matter the circumstances, he must continue to toy with his genius ideas and sell them to the world.
So, for the first time in seven months, Erik left his lair. The past was just that- in the past. Yet is seemed as if the devil's embrace never weakened on the man, for he had not preceded a few steps through the ground level of the Opera Populairé before a wretched sob slit his conscience. Frowning, he paused his departure. The opera house had been deadly silent since Don Juan. No human sound had reached his ears until now. Erik waited for a minute's time, helplessly attracted to the soulful despair.
Suddenly he grew annoyed with the broken cries, cursing their presence, their bold existence in his house. He followed their echoes, hunting down the source. The chase ironically brought him to Box Five. Smirking, Erik pushed aside the remainder of the curtain and sarcastically invited the inhabitant to leave, a venomous aftertaste following the flavor of pure honey that generously coated his words.
Nothing prepared him for what he saw inside.
Those thick brown curls tumbling over her shoulders, tangled yet so perfect. The frail form kneeling on the floor, her shoulders- thinner than normally- sticking out gracefully on top of her body. Then she turned. The wide eyes, their usual summer sunlight replaced with a dull winter cloak, bulging in horror. Her face, covered with the salty glaze of heated tears.
No, nothing could have prepared him for her return.
His heart abruptly stopped beating, then dived into an unnaturally fast rhythm. Christine…here, a step away from him. Why?
Erik's shock and surprise quickly transformed into anger as he sat on the floor of his lair. He repeatedly pounded his hands against the dirty floor, much like a toddler experiencing a tantrum, stopping only when the skin burst under the continuous forceful pressure.
"Whatever God exists, will you ever stop?" he roared. "I finally decide to move on, only to step into her presence again! Were the years of burning desire painfully hidden inside me not enough for you? Was finally revealing myself to her innocence not big enough of a mistake?"
The phantom of the opera crawled toward his organ. Pulling himself on top of the bench, he poised his hands above the humming keys.
"Was her betrayal of love not enough?"
His fingers tensed, raw blood still gently seeping through the fresh cuts.
"No? You must send her back? Why? Simply to torture me? To prove to me that her body is real, that she still lives, while I died? I died seven months ago!"
Erik lowered his arms and pointed to himself with a shaking finger, presenting his body to an unknown being. "This is simply a walking carcass, roaming through the rest of life without any ambition or the slightest care as to what will happen. You don't understand, do you?"
He now growled the words, each syllable lingering in his throat before erupting into the air. His words originally intended for God seemed to be aimed at a different object now. "I couldn't care less what life throws at me next. The sooner it ends, the better. You did this to me!" he spat. "You made me realize that there is truly nothing in life worth living for. I was foolish to ever think otherwise."
Once again, his arms rose. Without the slightest hesitation, Erik's hands fell against the keys, his fingers producing the opening chords of an unwritten symphony. The phantom played, blood mixing with tears, creating a strictly wicked composition that reflected nothing short of his heart. Hell's duet of vengeance and despondency awakened, and as his soul finally broke, he pounded harder, determined to project his hateful notes to the heavens above.
After her tears stopped flowing, Christine remained in Box Five, numb and silent. Finally, when her knees began to scream for a change of position, she got up and walked out of the opera house, not murmuring another word or shedding another glance at the building.
Automatically, she halted a carriage, named her destination, and sat still until the last buildings of Paris vanished from view.
Satisfied? She asked herself in a harsh tone. You do have a talent for improving a situation, my dear.
Her frown turned into a childish pout as a light drizzle began to fall. The sky was painted in grays, completely covered with dark clouds.
That is what you wanted, isn't it? She went on. A final goodbye? Now, the truth is perfectly clear.
However she imagined Erik after all those months, it was not in his former isolated manner. Of course, she didn't expect him to lay himself at her feet and beg for her acceptance, but he seemed so… normal. Definitely not the destroyed man that haunted her dreams. Why, he had treated her as if nothing ever happened between them, as if she were any other woman. He wasn't mad, he didn't seek revenge; he was oddly silent and in control of all his senses. His lack of emotions was the most disturbing part. He had always radiated something- disapproval, yearning, discomfort, love- and now, nothing.
The angel has dismissed you.
His presence did shock her, but it was perfectly acceptable. The opera house, burned or not, was still his property and he had every right to inhabit it.
The brougham reached the Chagny property. No more tears came that night, no remorseful emotions visited Christine. She stepped out of the carriage, paid the man, and entered the household.
"Yes, I had a lovely lunch," she lied easily when Raoul anxiously inquired about her day.
After explaining that the weather made her feel rather tired, the Vicomtesse said nothing else and retreated to her bedroom. A slightly confused Raoul joined her minutes later.
That night, Christine reflected the lightning outside.
A/N: My apologies for the ridiculously long wait for this chapter! We had a medical emergency in the family, which took toll on all of us, and then I had a rather annoying writer's block. Good news is that I have a rather nice chunk of the next chapter drafted, so that shouldn't take too long. :-) Also, sorry for any confusion with the spacing of this chapter. The horizontal lines won't stay when I update, and my other methods won't work either. Please bear with me.