Pain, emptiness, anger, hurt and disbelief; every possible emotion that Erik could have imagined coursed throughout his body. Here was the one person who had given him a second chance at life and now it seemed that the gods saw fit to take her away from him. It was as if they were toying with him once more, allowing him a momentary hint of happiness only to remove it in the next instant. This time though, Erik refused to believe the vision presented before his eyes. Marie-Christine's lifeless body floated in the same water trap that almost claimed the life of the Vicomte de Chagny. For all apparent purposes, she appeared to be dead and yet Erik somehow knew . . . that she was not. She was teetering on the brink, but had not yet gone to the other side.
Pushing the wave of emotions aside, which sought to overwhelm him, Erik turned his attention back to the water trap and found the release mechanism for the grate. It slowly began its ascent. Erik did not have to wait long before he was able to jump into the water and retrieve Marie-Christine's limp body. As he pulled her to the cold floor, he noticed she was not breathing. Erik immediately began to try and breathe life back into her unconscious body. He hoped it would work.
She needs air . . . let me give her mine.
He placed his lips to hers and blew air into her lungs. Nothing happened. Her chest did not move at all. Erik was dumbfounded. Then it dawned on him. He pinched the bridge of her nose, closing the air passage and placed his lips to hers, blowing yet another "breath of life" into her body. He would pause and repeat them same process. She did not move. He then turned her on her side and began to slap her on the back, wanting to rid her body of the polluted water. He would then alternate between the breaths of life and the slaps he gave to her backside. All the while, he prayed that she would live. His prayers soon were answered.
Marie-Christine's eyes fluttered slightly and she began to cough up the water that had filled her lungs. Erik turned her on her side so that she spit up the remaining water.
"Marie-Christine," he whispered, his voice quivering somewhat.
"I . . . sorry . . . I should have . . . listened," she murmured before losing consciousness once more.
"It's okay. I'll take you back," he assured her.
Erik knew he was far from being home free. Scooping Marie-Christine up in his arms, he began his trip back to his lair. Although it only took Erik minutes to make his way to the water trap, the return trip seemed much longer. The weight of Marie-Christine's drenched body slowed Erik down somewhat, but he soon made it to his home.
Once he returned, Erik made his way to the bed chamber. He quickly stripped the wet clothes from her body. The smell of the stagnant water almost made Erik retch. She was cold to the touch; like ice. The bluish tint around her lips worried Erik. Her body then began to shiver; the coldness had obviously permeated throughout. He looked around, seeking to find a solution, something that he could use to bring her body back to its normal temperature. Finally, Erik knew there was only one way to warm her body and thereby save her life. He placed her in the bed and then stripped off his own wet clothing. Erik joined Marie-Christine in the bed and drew her near to him, covering the two of them with thick warm blanket. Erik began to rub her body vigorously with his hands, seeing if he could improve her circulation and therefore chances of living. He held her close to his body, wrapping himself around her as tight as he could, and hoped that the warmth he possessed would be enough to raise her body temperature. As he saw color begin to come back into her cheeks, Erik knew things would be a little bit better. He couldn't have been more wrong.
Within the hour, Erik had to contend with a fever that raged throughout Marie-Christine's body. He did his best to contain the fever, placing cool washcloths against her face and gently running a sponge over her petite frame. He would hold her when she had one of her delirium fits and sing gentle lullabies to help her rest. He had no medicine and could only manage to create a small but weak broth which he fed to her in her semi-conscious state. As he watched his angel of mercy, only one thought seemed to cross his mind.
Please God . . . let her live. Take my life, but do not take hers.
For the first time since he'd met Marie-Christine, Erik was at his wits end. His books could provide only so much knowledge. All that was left for him to do was one thing . . . pray
A few days later, someone heard him . . . someone from above. Marie-Christine awoke. She looked around, her eyes rapidly blinking and trying her best to focus. She was unsure at first of her surroundings. There were candles everywhere and a sandalwood scent filled the air. She seemed to be shrouded in what were black gossamer curtains with sparkled as they moved. It only took a few minutes before Marie-Christine realized where she was . . . Erik's lair. She was beneath the Opera Populaire. Her eyes continued searching, seeking and finally as she looked over to a small chair, she saw something or rather someone familiar.
"Erik?" She called out, a slight rasp in her voice. She tried to sit up but found that her body refused to comply. She was weak from the fever that had ravaged her petite frame.
Her voice caught Erik's attention. He stood, a small crick emanating from his body. He groaned as he stood up.
"How do you feel?" He asked as he sat at the edge of the bed, concern quite evident on his face.
"I'm thirsty and I . . . my goodness! You look awful." she responded and then paused, realizing Erik must have thought she meant his face.
"No . . . I'm sorry . . . I just meant . . .," but Erik placed two fingers to her lips.
"It's okay. I thought you were going to die . . . just like . . . Christine . . ." Erik cut himself short. He quickly picked up a nearby glass of water and offered it to Marie-Christine.
"Here . . . drink this," he said as he held the glass to Marie-Christine's lips.
Marie-Christine took the glass in hand, her unsteadiness balanced by Erik's strong arm. When she was finished, she raised her hand.
"Erik?" she began, her voice still weak.
"Yes?" he replied.
"Um . . . what happened to my clothing?" Marie-Christine knew she was wearing no clothing under the heavy blanket that covered her body.
"I had to burn them. I'm sorry. The water you fell into was polluted. There was no way I could really save your clothes." Erik turned away for a moment, rummaged through a small dresser, and then faced Marie-Christine.
"I realize this is nowhere near the finery that you might be accustomed to, but I hope these will do for the moment until I can acquire other garments for you." In his hands were two items of clothing; a shirt and a pair of pants.
Marie-Christine smiled at the gesture. "It's fine Erik. Let me try them on." She began as she made her way to the edge of the bed. Erik placed the clothing at the side of the bed and turned his back to allow Marie-Christine to dress. A moment later, he heard his name.
"Um . . . Erik?" she called, her voice barely audible.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
"I . . . need . . . your help." Marie-Christine explained. Erik was uncertain as to what she meant, and then it dawned on him. She was still weak and when she tried to stand, she found that she could not. She sat at the edge of the bed like a small helpless child.
"I understand." Erik took the shirt in hand and gently helped Marie-Christine into it, guiding one arm and then other into the sleeves. He then fastened the buttons in the front, focusing his attention on the clothing and trying not to stare at the beautiful vision presented before him. He smiled.
"Are you actually smiling?" She asked as he finished the last button.
"I was just thinking . . ." he paused.
"Yes?" she continued.
"I just found it amusing that it seems now I am the caretaker and you are the patient." He explained, a now prominent smile adorning his face.
"Oh," was the only answer Marie-Christine responded. Erik's face immediately changed to a look of worry.
"I've offended you. I . . ." but Marie-Christine placed her fingers to his lips.
"I appreciate all that you've done," and with those words, she kissed him once more. Her lips brushed against his. Marie-Christine's touch was soft and sweet.
For a moment, Erik was at a loss for words. "Well, let me help you with these," he indicated as he held out the pair of pants. Marie-Christine stood and placed one leg and then the other in pants, all the while, she balance against Erik's shoulders. Once she had both legs in place, Erik drew the pants up to her waist. Both smiled as they realized one thing. The pants were rather large and Marie-Christine was equally petite.
"Oh my," she laughed. "How should I?"
"I think I have a solution," Erik offered. Allowing Marie-Christine to rest at the edge of the bed, he turned back to the small dresser. He seemed to be searching for something. After finding what he needed, Erik helped Marie-Christine to stand. He produced a small rope in hand and proceeded to lace in through the loops of the pants. He tied the two ends together, allowing his hands to rest for a moment at the front of her waist.
"Thank you," she whispered with a slight quiver present in her voice.
"You're . . . welcome. Shall we?" he asked as he offered his arm.
Marie-Christine's curiosity was piqued. Erik led her into the main cavern of his lair and guided her over to a small desk. Marie-Christine's eyes widened as she noticed there was some food on the desk.
"It's not as nice as the meal you had prepared for me," Erik began.
"It's perfect," she assured him. Erik's meal consisted of some cheese, a small bit of meat and a tiny loaf of bread. Marie-Christine sat down and found herself famished so much that she practically forgot her manners. Erik allowed a small laugh to escape his lips as he watched this petite young creature eat like a ravenous lioness.
"You should do that more often," she told him.
"What?" he asked.
"Laugh . . . it's good for the soul," she smiled in return.
"When I have a reason . . . then I will," he promised.
"You have me," Marie-Christine countered.
"Indeed I do . . . Indeed I do."
And so it began. Each day, the two of them found themselves falling into a routine of sorts. Erik would care for Marie-Christine, not allowing her to stray too far from his sight, fearful that she would fall prey to one of the many traps he had laid out during his time at the Opera Populaire. Marie-Christine offered little objection, as she was still weak from her fever. Even after their third day, Marie-Christine found that she was tired yet again. She did her best to stifle a yawn, but to no avail.
"You should rest," Erik told her.
"I know but . . ." Marie-Christine began.
"But what?" he pressed.
"I was thinking. Is it wise for us to stay down her much longer? Surely someone would come back and find us here?" She sat back for a moment and waited for an explanation.
"Well, I can tell you this. The passageway they took to here before has been sealed. While you were with fever, I took the precaution of reworking and sealing various passageways so that curiosity seekers may receive more than they ever bargained."
"Erik, you won't kill them will you?" Marie-Christine asked; a fearful tone present in her voice.
"I will do nothing to them," he assured her. Marie-Christine seemed satisfied with his answer. He did not tell her though that it would be the foolishness of the curiosity seekers that might get them killed. He had decided some obstacles were in order to turn away most, but for those who persisted . . . well . . .
"And you my dear need to rest," Erik reminded her as he helped her to her feet. He gently guided her back to the bedchamber, allowing a slight smile to cross his face at the sight of Marie-Christine in a pair of his pants and shirt. Although they dwarfed her in size, one thing was becoming readily apparent. Erik was becoming more and more drawn to her. Christine was still in his mind, of that there was no doubt. However, Marie-Christine was right about one thing. Somehow and someway, he had to move on and let go of the pain. Sighing, he came to realize that it was far easier said than done, but Marie-Christine's presence did help somewhat.
Erik's musings were interrupted as they reached the bedchamber. He helped Marie-Christine into the bed, pulling a small blanket up and over her body. Erik was about to leave when Marie-Christine made one request.
"Erik?" she whispered.
"Yes?" he replied.
"You do sing am I not correct?" she asked as her eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment.
"I have not sung since . . ." Erik stopped, pushing back yet another memory of Christine.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have," Marie-Christine responded as a small tear cascaded down her cheek. She felt bad for forcing Erik to relive yet another painful memory.
Erik shook his head. "No . . . you were right . . . close your eyes." Marie-Christine did as he asked. He then sang her a lullaby, something he had heard long ago. Erik didn't know where he had heard the song but it had done the job. Minutes later, Marie-Christine was fast asleep.
For the remainder of each day, Erik found himself at his organ, thinking of his music. He had yet to play anything, the memory of the fiasco of Don Juan Triumphant stilled burned in his mind. Although, that did not stop him from contemplating a new direction, something called . . . hope.
Marie-Christine, in the short time he'd known her, changed so much in Erik's life. He still couldn't believe how someone as kind as her would take him in without as much as an objection. Erik could not also fathom how he could find someone so talented, caring, beautiful, and . . . trying. Oh she was indeed trying. Never in his life, had Erik met a woman who dared to challenge him when he tried to push her away. It was as if she would not allow him to use his disfigurement as a crutch and expected him to behave in a civil fashion.
Erik allowed a small chuckle to escape his lips as he contemplated all that had transpired in that past days. Yawning, he realized that it was getting late. He needed to sleep. He would join Marie-Christine. Her presence offered him a sense of comfort he had not experienced in his lifetime. Soon though, he did need to think about . . .
Shaking his head, Erik realized that those thoughts could be dealt with another day. He stood up and turned towards the bedchamber. Upon entering, Erik could not help but marvel at the sleeping form in his presence. Although dressed in man's clothing, Marie-Christine's beauty could not go unnoticed. Her lips that he had touched not too long ago, seemed to call to him. He remembered how sweet and tender they were, so inviting. He longed to taste the sweetness again. Erik sighed as he sat at the edge of the bed and removed his boots. Tomorrow he would need to take care of many things, but for the time being . . .
Sleep was what he needed.
Erik woke with start. Something was not quite right. He looked to the left side of the bed and saw that Marie-Christine was absent. Panic set in and yet Erik knew that she was not in any imminent danger. He did not know why, but . . . he knew. Erik swung his legs over the side of the bed and found his boots. Once he put both on, he walked out into the main cavern. To Erik's surprise, Marie-Christine was at his desk. She appeared to be slumped over.
A small sense of fear crept into his body as he approached Marie-Christine. As he got closer, Erik's fear quickly subsided. Marie-Christine was asleep. In her hand, though, was something unexpected. It was a sketch of . . . him. Erik gently pried the paper from her delicate fingers and studied the artwork he now held in his hands. She had drawn a picture of him but not as a monster, but rather . . . a man.
Erik's thoughts were interrupted as Marie-Christine woke.
"Erik?" she asked; sleepiness still present in her voice. She stood to face him.
"This is . . . so . . ." he tried to tell her what he felt but was at a loss for words.
"This is you," she told him as she stood from the desk. Marie-Christine leaned her head on Erik's strong shoulder.
"This is what you think I should be?" he asked, unsure of her response.
"This is what I know you are," Marie-Christine told him as she placed left hand around his waist. She allowed Erik a moment to look at what she had done. The drawing was unique in that she drew Erik without his mask. Granted, his deformity was present in the artwork and yet there was something else.
Erik continued to marvel at the object he held in his hand. Although he tried, he could not stop the one lone tear that gently cascaded down his unmasked cheek. Marie-Christine caught the tear as she turned Erik's face to her.
"I'm tired," she told him.
Erik understood. He turned and the two of them returned to the bedchamber. Once inside, both climbed into bed and soon the two of them were deep into each other's embrace.
Later, that night, Erik woke, but this time things were different. He turned and saw that Marie-Christine was still sleeping. Erik quiet got up from the bed and found his boots. He put a coat on that was in his small armoire and soon he was back in the nighttime of Paris.
Erik had one thought in mind and yet he did not know how he was going to achieve what he wanted. He wanted to buy an outfit for Marie-Christine. It wasn't that she didn't look quite beautiful in his clothing, but Erik felt he needed to do something in return for all that she'd done for him.
As Erik made his way further into the city, he saw that there was still a small shop open. As luck would have it, the night was cold and so Erik could bundle up once more and still fit in with the public. Erik entered the shop and saw that it did indeed possess that which he needed. He walked over to the small section of the store reserved for women's clothing. Once there, Erik realized he had a small problem. He did not know what size was Marie-Christine. Erik looked around and saw one young woman at the front counter. He wondered if he could ask for her help without drawing too much attention to himself.
Just then, his thoughts were interrupted by a voice.
"I cannot believe my eyes . . . I thought you would have learned a lesson by now."
Erik froze, a sense of panic filling his soul. He turned and . . .