Chapter Thirteen – Music of the Night

The Destler Mansion – July 2005

"No! It wasn't me! No!" Christine awakes to the sound of screaming. It is the middle of the night, she's sure, but there is obvious movement beside her. She sits up, holding the blankets around her, and sees Erik thrashing around, still asleep. "Stop! I didn't do it! I'd never do it!"

"Erik!" Christine places her hands on his bare shoulders, holding him down and shaking him awake. "Erik, wake up!" He sits up sharply, his breathing heavy, and he doesn't seem to notice that Christine's there for a few moments. When he does notice, he throws himself into her arms, nestling his head against her neck. "It was only a dream, Erik, that's all," she says soothingly, stroking his hair.

"Oh, Christine," he whimpers, and she feels a few tears on her bare skin, slipping down onto her chest. Christine leans over Erik's shivering form and kisses the top of his head tenderly.

"It was a nightmare, Erik," Christine assures him, "only a nightmare." Gently, Christine helps him to lie back down, hoping he'll fall asleep again, this time more soundly. She brushes his dark hair back from his face as she lays the blankets down over his muscular form. Pressing a soft kiss onto his cheek, she moves to fall back asleep when his voice comes to her, soft and gentle.

"Christine, I'm sorry I woke you."

"It's not a problem, Erik, really. Do you think you'll be able to sleep now?"

"Probably not, especially after a nightmare. I never was a good sleeper." Christine sighs tremendously.

"Well then," Christine replies, pulling one of the many comforters off of the bed and wrapping it about her, "we'll have to see to it that you do." She moves swiftly over to the piano, sitting down on the bench, the blanket falling to reveal her unclothed back. Setting her fingers to the keys, she begins to play. "Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses…slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor."

"Grasp it, feel it, tremulous and tender," he joins her. Erik stands up and pulls a blanket around himself as well, walking over to join her. "Turn your face away from the garish light of day. Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light and listen to the music of the night." She stops playing as he sits beside her. "Where did you learn to play?"

Choking back tears, she says, "Grand-mère taught me."

"Oh, Christine," he sighs, taking her into his arms, letting her cry, and she complies willingly. His hand cups her chin and tilts her head up to look at him. Slowly, Erik kisses away the tears on her cheeks, then proceeds to lavish her lips with his own. Christine bends into him, placing her hands on his shoulders and pulling him towards her hungrily.

Erik stands and picks Christine up, his arms under her shoulders and knees, when they hear a noise, undoubtedly footsteps, coming down the stairs. He grabs a pair of sweatpants from his drawer as he ushers Christine into his closet. "Be silent," he says to her, and she complies. The sound grows ever louder, and she hears the door of Erik's room crashing open. "Father?"

"Erik!" The voice doesn't sound much like the André Destler Christine knows. "Do me a favor and," he hiccups, "let me use you're room."

"No!" Erik retorts almost instantaneously. "Get upstairs! You're slobbering drunk and I'm not taking care of you. Let Carla do it."

"Erik, please…"

"No!" Again, Erik replies rudely. "I cannot help you when you're like this, Father. Elle Landry is dead and you go out and get drunk while her granddaughter was here crying to me for hours! How could you? You should've been helping her, not getting intoxicated for your own pleasure." Christine hears the door slam and then Erik opens the door to the closet, letting her out. Immediately she falls into his arms.

"Erik, you didn't have to speak to your father that way," she says meekly, snuggling her small body into his, loving the feeling of having his strong arms surrounding her. "Really, you didn't."

"No, Christine, I had to. He had no right to go out drinking tonight of all nights. You deserve better." Erik shakes his head solemnly, and Christine takes it in her own tiny hands.

"Erik, I don't need any better. I've got all I could ever have asked for." But that isn't true. Christine wishes she could've told Erik about Richard without fearing him, wishes she could tell Richard that she no longer loves him, wishes that she could find out why this Phantom is haunting her, killing her loved ones. She fears for the lives of everyone around her, everyone she holds dear. Erik, Richard, Missy, Madame Garnier are all targets for their love of her. Christine shudders at the thought of it, and doesn't realize she's crying until Erik's finger touches her cheek, wiping the tears away.

"Whatever's the matter?" She crumples in his tight embrace, feeling like a small child.

"How could I have been so stupid? Now you're in harm's way!" Christine knows that she doesn't have to say any more. Erik understands her completely, and he picks her up again like a groom would to carry his bride into their room on their wedding night. Gently, he lays her down on his bed and lies down beside her, propped up on his arm.

"Listen to me, Christine. You are too smart, too beautiful to fall for his tricks. He wants you to think he'll come for those you love so you don't love them at all, and then he strikes, takes you for himself. Christine, I have no worries. You're strong and you're going to get through this show, whatever it takes." He moves in closer, kissing her tenderly and pulling the blankets over them.

"Oh, Erik, I wish he was more like you," she replies softly, pressing her body against his and holding onto him. She falls asleep soon enough, not realizing that teardrops are falling into her hair.

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