Chapter Nineteen – Le Fantôme de l'Opera
Paris Opera – Late July 2005
Erik Destler stands rigidly before her, his eyes wide at his own stupidity for not using the proper prosthetics. "Erik!"
"Christine, I can…" but he is cut off by shouts of "Seize him!" from on and off stage. Out of the mayhem below, Christine can hear the screams of Missy, Madame, Webber, Carla and the rest of the cast and crew.
"Where is André?" Webber's voice.
"Erik! I knew it had to be!" Carla. In her efforts to make out the shouting, Christine hasn't noticed that Erik has turned around, wrapping his arm around her waist and has begun to drag her across the bridge, down the ladder, and off the stage. Christine tries to protest, but Erik's gloved hand is over her mouth in an instant. As if in a dream, Christine hears the rose in her hair drop to the floor as they run.
Erik leads her through her dressing room and into the passageway beyond, not bothering to shut the mirror behind them. Christine trips over her own feet as Erik, his hands still on her waist and mouth, practically drags her down the dark stairway, the torches blazing to light around them.
When they reach the gondola, Erik nearly throws her onto the seat, shoving off fiercely from the dock. Christine looks up at him from where she sits and sees his eyes alight with fury, his hair wild as his arms work to move the gondola. Deciding it's better to keep quiet, Christine bows her head silently and tries to hold back the tears she's dying to shed.
The portcullis rises as they draw near in the gondola, rising eerily out of the dark water like the gates to hell. They are barely past it when Erik drops the pole and jumps out of the gondola into the water, splashing water everywhere. He extends his arms to Christine, and she reluctantly takes them, allowing him to lift her from the gondola. Erik carries her bridal style above the water and Christine buries her head in his shoulder, grabbing at the fabric of his jacket like there is nothing else to cling on to. Her corset stings like hot knives on her middle from Erik's harsh grasp, and she gasps for breath.
Once on the shore, Erik deposits her on the organ bench and disappears into the chambers beyond, out of Christine's sight. Knowing that he isn't present to see her cry, she lets loose, streams of tears falling from her eyes. She wipes them away, trying to maintain composure, burying her face in her hands. How? How could he do this to her? Erik her friend. Erik her lover. Erik her confidant.
He reappears at the door to the rest of the lair, his coat discarded and a glass of brandy in his hand. Christine stares up at him, seeing that his expression has softened a little, but is still perfectly evil. Erik walks over to her, shoving the glass in her face. "Drink this. It'll calm you down."
In an instant Christine is at her feet. "There is no way that I'm taking alcohol from you, you scoundrel! You bastard!"
Erik withdraws his hand with the glass, chuckling slightly. "Names don't scare me, mon ange."
"Don't you dare call me that," Christine says, half snarling. "You have no right to call me that."
"Have it your way," Erik responds nonchalantly, lifting the glass to his lips and downing the brandy in one gulp.
"You're disgusting, Erik Destler. Dishonest, impure, and disgusting."
Erik lets out a laugh that makes Christine shiver. "I'm a man, darling," he says, patting her shoulder, but Christine jerks away. Erik makes an exasperated sigh and moves to return to his chambers when Christine lets out a little gasp.
"Why?" Erik turns to her, and by his expression she can tell that he hasn't really understood her. This time she nearly shouts. "Why?" Almost taken aback by her own words, Christine covers her mouth with her hands, tears rolling down her face. "How could you do this to me?"
"To you? Christine, I did this for you! I did it because I love you, Christine!"
"This is how you prove you love me, Erik?" She shouts back in retaliation.
"Listen to me, Christine!" Erik comes over to her side, kneeling before her and taking her hands, but she pulls away, producing a long sigh from Erik. "You don't know what it's like to watch someone you love act like you don't matter, like someone else is more important! I loved you from the moment I met you, Christine, and you loved someone else! I couldn't take it, Christine, I just couldn't!
"And then you said you loved me. You said it to me and you meant it! But then you went back to him! You went back to a rich snob who can't offer you anything but money! And it's reduced me to this!" Erik stands abruptly, acknowledging himself. "This…this monster."
Breathing heavily, Erik returns to her side, crouching down and putting his hands on her knee. "I'll tell you anything you want to know about this, Christine. Anything at all."
"Tell me it wasn't you." Erik looks confused, his eyes searching her for hidden meanings. "Tell me it wasn't you who killed my grandmother." Christine looks into his eyes, those wicked eyes that looked at her from behind a mask, those beautiful eyes that looked at her when he comforted her.
"I can't do that, Christine."
"Yes you can!" She cries helplessly. "Tell me it was anyone else, Erik, please."
"You wouldn't believe me. It'd do me no good." His voice is raspy and labored, his chest heaving. "Christine, I did it for you, I told you that."
"How can you say that, Erik? How can you say that when you acted so hurt by her death? You caused it, you son of a bitch!"
"Christine, I…" But her hand has already connected with the side of his face. "What're you…"
"You deserved that, Erik Destler! You goddamn deserved that!" Erik shrinks back a little, embarrassed and weak looking. "I gave you my heart and this is how you repay me? I loved you!"
Erik stands up, his face twisted into a livid expression. "Christine, what did I just hear? Past tense? I was talking present."
"I don't need a lesson in…"
"Naïve little Christine, you said that you loved me. Why not love? Am I not worth it?" Erik's voice is very gentle, though his tone is harsh, the sound of it biting at her ears. To think I was enamored with that voice.
"Well, right now you're…" but Christine is violently cut off at the sight of Erik's hand flying to the waistband of his pants, drawing out a pistol and pointing it into his own temple. "Erik! What the hell are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing, you whore?"
"Erik! I'm sorry! Now put the gun down!" Christine reaches out for him, but he backs up.
"You're not sorry, you conniving little slut!" Erik snarls at her, his breath heavy and uneven. "You've never been sorry! I'll give you something to be sorry about, Christine Landry!" Christine cries out as he puts more pressure on the gun, pressing it against his head.
"Stop it! Please! Erik, don't do this!"
"Why not? Why, pray tell, should I not pull the trigger? You're making it awfully easy, presently."
"Just stop it! I'll do anything, just don't commit suicide!" Erik's eyes are alight with an intense fire, raging without a limit.
"Then say it!"
"Say what? What could I possibly say?"
"Say that you love me! And mean it!" Christine stops cold. He'll never believe her. She takes a step back and stumbles on a rock, coming close to falling over backwards, into the water of the underground lake.
"Erik, stop it…"
"Christine, must I remind you that this is no time for stalling? Give me an answer!"
"I can't!" She shouts, her voice growing hoarse. "I can't do that! And Erik, I know that you can't pull that trigger."
"Yes I can! I've got nothing to live for! My father could care less, you clearly don't love me…."
"Don't you talk to me about loss, Erik Destler! The only mother I ever knew was taken at the hand of someone I trusted, and that same night he…he…"
"Go ahead, Christine. Say it," Erik says, a sneer spreading across his face at mention of their intimacy. "What've you got to hide from dear Richard?" Christine nearly shrieks, whirling around where she stands only to see Richard walk up on the bank, his pants soaked from the knees down, his face showing his anger. "Monsieur Colville, it's lovely of you to join us."
"Pull the trigger, Destler," he says through gritted teeth. "I dare you."
"That's quite a tempting proposal, Colville, though I must decline at least for the moment. If I pulled the trigger now, I wouldn't get to hear Mademoiselle Landry's wonderful little confession." Christine looks to Erik, terror and hate in her eyes.
"Christine, what's he talking about?"
"Nothing," Christine replies, bowing her head and putting her knuckles to her mouth, playing with her lips. She shivers when she feels Richard's hands on her arms from behind. "Really," she says, looking up into his face.
"Christine, really. Just tell Pretty Boy here that you made love to me. It's nothing to be ashamed of." Richard lets go of her arms before Erik even finishes his sentence.
"You liar!" Richard shouts at Erik. "You damn liar!"
"Ask her yourself!" Erik spits back. "Go on, you slimy little coward."
"Christine…is that true?" She looks away, angry at Erik for telling him, angry at herself for doing it. "Christine, answer me!" Richard runs to her, turning her around, putting his hands on her arms and shaking her. "Tell me the truth!" Christine nods sadly, and Richard lets go as if he's been burned. The three stand in silence for what feels to Christine like hours.
"Well," Erik breaks this silence, his voice a little too cheery, "now that's settled, let's get back to where we were. See," he says to Richard, "your darling little Christine and I were just having an argument, but she can inform you of that herself." Erik looks Christine in the eye, and every particle of her being loathes him for making her go through with all of this.
Christine feels Richard's eyes on her, just like they'd fallen on her during her audition. Her voice choked, she begins, "He wants me to tell him that I love him and mean it or he pulls the trigger. But he'll never believe me!"
"Maybe I will, little Christine," Erik says coolly, his voice calmer now. "But you're trying my patience and are on my last nerve. Say something!"
"I've told you enough, I can't!"
"You want to play games, Christine?" She stares up at him, wondering what he could possibly mean. "You sure sound like you do!" he shouts angrily, drawing another gun and pointing it directly at Richard. "Say it! And don't you try and move, Colville," Erik barks, taking notice of Richard's attempt of escape from the gun's line of fire, "or a bullet's going to be in your skull so fast it'll make light speed seem slow."
"Erik, please! Let us go! Let yourself go!"
"Don't you want to hear your options, mon chéri?" Christine doesn't respond, but Erik continues. "Well, here they are. Option A; you say you love me and I can tell that you mean it, I drop both guns and let you go. However, Monsieur Colville over here won't be able to find it in his heart to love you again, seeing as you betrayed him for a murderer. Option B; you say you love me and I can tell that you're lying and I pull the trigger on my own gun. You'll live with the guilt of my death and Richard will still hate you. Or Option C; you continue to stall like you're doing now and I pull both triggers. You'll be forced to have more guilt in that moment than many people have in their lifetimes. And you'll have to live with it until the day you die." Erik pauses for the effect. "Make your choice."
Christine swallows hard. How can she possibly do this? But she begins anyway. "Neither one of you knows what it's like to stand here right now. Neither one of you understands having the fate of your loved ones resting on your shoulders and your honesty. I never meant to hurt either of you with my actions. But what's done is done."
Slowly, Christine continues, her voice shaking. "Oh, Richard, I'm so sorry," she says genuinely, walking closer to Richard, touching her hand to his arm, and he doesn't move away or shudder. "I never meant to do you any harm. I didn't mean to bring this about. I'd never do that. But I couldn't stop myself. I was in love with two different people, not to mention lives."
"You're stalling." Erik's voice comes like a knife through Christine's sentiments, rattling her and scaring her. "It's not working."
"Let me finish!" She shouts back, surprised at her own daring. "Erik, you have no idea how I felt the first time I met you." Taking a deep breath, Christine turns back to Erik, seeing how his body quakes with anger, fright, and determination. "I thought you a conceited, lonesome, obsessive oddity. I was wrong, horribly terribly wrong. I was so scared to take up lessons with you. But mostly I was afraid that things would get personal. But Erik, whenever things happened that I couldn't explain you were the voice of reason. You didn't let your life interfere with helping me. You were my strength when I was weak," she says, her voice barely a whisper, though she knows that Erik can hear the words, "and I love you for that."
Christine waits out the moments, long and heavy. She waits to hear Erik's voice, to hear someone come to their rescue, to hear a gunshot, anything to stop the deafening silence. "Do you mean it?" Erik's voice, once beautiful but now reduced to a hoarse murmur, penetrates Christine's eardrums. "Do you mean that, Christine?"
Looking up at him, Christine nods gently. In an instant, Erik has pocketed one of the guns and used his free hand to grab her waist, pulling her towards him and kissing her fervently. Christine responds almost instantly, placing her right hand around the back of Erik's neck, drawing him ever closer.
The kiss intensifies as Christine presses her lips even harder against Erik's. As if in a trance, she senses Erik drop the other gun to the floor, moving his hand to cradle her cheek. And then a gun goes off.