"Helene, it was a dream…only a dream."
"Yes, that's all it was, Erik," she interrupted, shrugging off his hand, "only a dream. I wanted to believe that you could love me."
"No…you don't understand," he said, sliding the ebony pin from her hair so gently she hardly felt his actions.
He paused to lift the black veil from her head. He let it fall onto the glass lid of the casket, the sheer darkness obscuring Theo's face.
Then he drew her necklace from his coat pocket and draped it lightly around her throat.
"No, Erik…I don't want it. You cannot buy my forgiveness."
He ignored her protests and secured it around her neck before reaching down and taking both her hands again.
"Listen to me, Helene. Christine was my obsession and I loved her. Do you hear me, Helene…I loved her. That night you left me, I finally understood that. I dreamt that she came to me…I saw her waiting for me at the portcullis.
As he went on, he slowly dropped to his knees behind her. Without letting go of her hands, he wrapped his arms around her tense body.
"She came to me as a bride. And I turned from her. You see, I thought you could never replace Christine."
He took a deep breath, leaning forward to rest his chin on her shoulder.
"That night, I realized my mistake. She could never replace you. Helene, I love you."
"No, Erik…don't say that to me again. I might believe you."
He turned her in his embrace, saw her eyes were shining with tears.
He kissed her, heedless of the dead multitude that surrounded them. Indeed, those gaping, leering reminders of mortality seemed to only heighten his sense of desperation.
"I need you, Helene. I need you."
He felt her respond to him slowly, reluctantly wrapping her arms around him and pressing her damp cheek against his mask.
"Erik," she whispered after a long time, "I am going home. Come with me."
He rose, pulling her up with him, and kissed her again.
"My carriage is waiting outside," she said, taking his hand and leading him towards the stairs.
The Capuchin monk met them at the entrance. He barely concealed his surprise or his disapproval.
The Comtessa had come to the vaults alone to visit her husband as she did from time to time when she was in Palermo.
And, now, she was leaving in the company of a most curious gentleman. If a man in a black mask outside of Carnevale could be considered a gentleman.
And just how had that man entered the catacombs? Brother Silvestri had been on duty at the door all afternoon…he had not seen this stranger before.
The masked man pressed several gold coins into the monk's palm and helped the Comtessa into her carriage.
His eyes never left her face.
In the depths of the vaults, Helene's veil lay forgotten on her husband's casket.
-------------------
As Erik handed her into her carriage, she noticed an unfamiliar black valise strapped beside her own trunks. And, on the seat inside, she found his violin case lying beside a portfolio.
She looked at him questioningly and he laughed.
"My dear, you forget that in Persia I was called the Trap-Door Lover."
"Is that all you took with you when you left Paris," she asked, settling into her usual seat in the corner.
"Yes," he answered, climbing into the carriage beside her, "that was all I took."
He laid one hand on her knee as the vehicle began to move.
"I have missed you, Helene."
She said nothing, but stared out the window as the carriage rattled through the piazza. How could she begin to tell him how much she had missed him, how many morning she'd awaken alone…so desperate for the sound of his voice, for his arms around her.
"Erik, in the catacombs, you asked me to forgive you. Now, it's my turn to ask you to forgive me."
He reached for her, to draw her close. But she caught his hands and held him still for a moment.
"Let me finish, Erik. I promised you that I would never leave you. I broke that promise. Can you ever forgive me?"
"Well, I am certain I can think of a suitable penance for you, my dear," he said, pulling her onto his lap.
She gasped as he slid his hand beneath her skirt and petticoats, his lips against her neck.
"Erik, this isn't the time or the place…"
Even as she tried to weakly protest, the carriage lurched on the rough pavement and she clutched at his waistcoat.
"Yes, Helene," he said, unfastening his trousers and turning her so that she was straddling his lap, "this is the time and the place. I did not follow you here to sit and chat with you, to play at cards or…"
She did not let him finish, but pushed her fingers beneath the edge of the black mask and eased it off his face.
She wanted to cry out as her body welcomed him so eagerly, but his mouth was on hers, muffling her moans.
For a moment, he did not move, let the motion of the carriage rock her against him.
"Erik…Erik…I have missed you."
He kept her steady with one hand, bracing himself against the wall of the carriage with the other as he thrust into her over and over.
She felt herself close to collapsing when her body shook with both their releases.
She let herself go limp in his embrace, hardly feeling the ring that he slipped onto her fingers as she closed her eyes.