As she followed him up to the rooftop, she wondered if she were only imaging a change in Erik.
His whole demeanor seemed altered and he strode across the leads with an ease unfamiliar to Helene.
She was even more amazed when he suddenly caught her up in his arms and spun her around, his cloak wrapping around them both.
"Erik," she said, catching her breath as he set her down, "I want to make you happy."
He did not answer her, but smiled and kissed her forehead.
"Come," he said, taking her hand and pulling her with him toward the angel that stood guard at the corner of the roof.
"Erik, what on earth are you doing," she said as he lifted her easily onto the pedestal before leaping up beside her.
"There are steps in the back of the statue…I want you to see the city from there."
"Oh, but I can't! It's too high, too steep. I'll fall."
He put his arm around her, guiding her to the first step.
"Trust me, Helene. I would never let that happen to you."
She felt him close behind her, one arm steady and strong around her waist as she carefully made her way up.
A few more steps and she was standing between the angel's massive wings, clasping the iron rails for balance.
The late afternoon sun was spreading cold, clear light over the streets and glistening on the Seine.
"Oh, Erik…it's marvelous! The view…so beautiful."
He pushed her wind-blown hair from his face with one hand, still holding her tightly to him as she leaned back to smile up at him.
Looking down at her, he saw the cool air had brought a rosy glow back to her soft cheeks.
"You are mine, Helene," he said, leaning to kiss her, "mine forever."
"Forever, Erik? Are you certain that will long enough?"
She heard only a low chuckle as he kissed her again and they looked out over the Place de l'Opera. The square itself was deserted, but beyond it…out on the boulevard, they could see couples strolling.
Once again, she heard his words as if he'd repeated them then and there, words he'd spoken in his anguished confession.
I wanted to be human…to have a normal life…a wife who would love me…
For a fleeting moment, she felt a splinter of sadness jabbing at her heart.
Could ever be like that for us?
A carriage pulled into the square, its wheel jarringly loud on the paving stones.
Helene's eyes widened with horror when she saw her family's crest on the side, when she saw her younger brother help his wife step from the vehicle.
-----------------------------------
No…not
here…not now!
Helene never once imagined that her brother and Christine would come back to the old Opera Populaire.
How dare they come back here!
As she watched, the couple stood in the square, looking up at the scarred façade of the theatre as the wind fluttered Christine's garnet-colored shawl and Raoul's scarf.
She found herself praying silently and frantically that Erik would not look down over her shoulder and see them.
But she felt his fingers digging into her waist between the stays. And she saw his other hand clutch the edge of the angel's wing.
She knew he had seen them.
"Erik," she began, not really sure what she could say or do.
He did not answer her, all his attention was on the pair below.
It was impossible to hear what words past between them, but they could be seen so clearly.
She could see the emotions on Christine's face, a mix of sadness and fear as she stared at the ruin of her home, the place where she had heard the voice of an angel and, under his guidance, triumphed…where everything had gone so terribly wrong for everyone involved.
Christine leaned a little closer to her husband, said something to him.
Raoul smiled at her, one had coming to rest gently on her belly.
She's going to have a baby! I should have seen it, I should have known. That's why they came home…Raoul would want his child to be born here, in Paris.
She looked back at Erik. He still held her securely, but he seemed unaware of her in his arms…watching, silent and tense, as Raoul helped guided Christine back to the carriage.
"Please, Erik, I want to go home. Take me back now."
It was not until the Vicomte's carriage had rattled from the square that Erik moved or spoke.
"Home, Helene," he said bitterly, "To your father's house? To Sicily? Or back into hell with me?"
Quite unexpectedly, she felt his hand slide slowly up her waist to curve around her breast and he kissed the nape of her neck, his teeth skimming against her skin.
Without another word, he took her hand and helped her down from the angel.
They descended through the abandoned theatre. He said little, but kept her hand as his.
When they had crossed the lake, he lifted her from the boat and his eyes seemed to glow in the dimly lit chamber.
"Help me forget that sight."