"Christine, please join me by the table. I would like to examine your wound once more," Erik called to her from the dining room.
Christine placed a ribbon in a page of Les Trois Mousquetaires to mark her place and sat in a chair that Erik pulled out for her. She winced as he removed the bandages that wrapped around her head. She reached back a hand and felt the dried blood that had clumped in her curly brown hair.
"It seems to be healing nicely. How do you feel?" Erik asked as his hands fell from her head onto her shoulders.
"Much better, thank you," she replied, turning her head to look at him. Erik looked back at her with an excited yet nervous look.
"Erik, what is it?" Christine giggled.
"Christine, come with me. I wish for you to hear something," Erik said, moving in front of her and extending his hand.
Christine stood and placed her hand in his. She followed him to his organ where she lit several candles, as he sat and prepared to play. For a moment Erik's fingers hovered above the keys. They seemed to hesitate, unsure of themselves, unwilling to connect with the ivory that lay before them. When they finally met, their union produce the most beautiful melody that Christine had ever heard. It wrapped itself around her and made time stand still. It spoke to her soul in a way more meaningful than words. The music seemed to last forever, but for Christine it was over much too soon. More than anything she wanted the music to continue.
"Did you enjoy it my dear?" Erik asked apprehensively, looking down at the keys. "I wrote it for you. I wished to express the way I feel every time you look at me, and words simply weren't enough."
When Erik looked up at Christine, she had tears in her eyes. "Erik, I…it moved me so deeply. I don't know how to describe it..."
Christine took a deep breath as she leaned down, placed her hands on Erik's face, and kissed him. She pulled back, puzzled, when she felt his lips go stiff against hers. His whole body seemed tense. His eyes searched her face. She kissed you. There was no coercion, no life held in the balance, no pity. There was nothing but the kiss. Of her own will, she put her lips to yours.
Christine stared at Erik as he stood and approached her. His eyes fell upon her mouth. He wanted to feel her soft lips against his once more. Tentatively he raised a hand to her cheek and pulled her in for a kiss. It was soft at first, but as Erik felt Christine respond to his touch, it became deeper. Erik was surprised when he felt Christine pull back once more. Their eyes remained locked together as she took hold of his hand and led him from the room. At first he was unsure of what she was doing. But his breath came at a quicker pace as he realized she was taking him towards the bedroom. He stood in awe as she timidly removed her dress, standing before him in only her slip and corset. He kissed her passionately as he lowered her onto the bed. As his hands began to explore her body, he felt her hands fall upon her chest. Suddenly Erik felt Christine push him away. She sat up quickly, her eyes red with tears.
"Erik, I'm sorry. I can't. I just…I can't," she said through her sobs.
"There is nothing to apologize for my love," he said soothingly as he wiped the tears from her eyes.
Christine stood and hurriedly put on her dress. "What a silly woman you must think me," Christine laughed quietly through her tears, trying to regain her composure.
"Not at all my love. As I have said, you have been through a severe trauma. I'm sure you will require some time to become adjusted to our life once more," Erik said reassuringly, trying to mask his disappointment. She kissed you, but she couldn't bring herself show you the love a wife has for her husband. It's still there, Erik realized with horror. Somewhere deep inside, the Vicomte still has a hold of her. No matter. She was yours before he came, she shall be yours once more.
Christine sat on the bed and took of both of Erik's hands. "I should like to venture from our home for a bit. Perhaps we could take a ride through the city?" Christine asked, her voice once again steady.
Erik could not risk being seen, let alone with the missing wife of the Vicomte de Chagny. He was sure by now that the insolent boy had realized Christine's absence and had gone to the police. "I'm afraid that's quite impossible my love. You are not well enough yet."
"Oh, Erik. You do worry about me too much. I'm really feeling much better."
"I said no," Erik replied in a commanding tone.
"Erik I really think you're being…"
"Do not contradict me, Christine," Erik said as he pulled his hands from hers and stood. "All that I do is for your well-being."
Christine looked down at her hands and spoke softly, "I understand." She stood and picked up her book, carrying it with her to the bedroom and closing the door behind her.
She will become accustomed to her new life. You must be patient.
Erik's thoughts were interrupted when he heard someone approaching his home from the Rue-Scribe side. Erik recognized the pointed hat and the form that drew near him. "Why daroga! What a pleasant surprise!"
"I have not come for pleasantries, Erik. I demand to know what it going on," the Persian replied curtly.
"What do you speak of, daroga?"
"Do not feign ignorance with me Erik," he replied threateningly. "I was reading my paper when I came upon these reports." The Persian opened a newspaper that he held under his arm. " 'Return of the Mysterious Opera Ghost. A confidential source has discovered that the Phantom of the Opera, a legendary figure of the Opera Populaire, has begun making demands of its owners, Monsieurs Andre and Firmin.' A copy of the letter you sent is here in print. But more disturbing than that is this- 'Christine, Vicomtessse de Chagny, believed to have been murdered'."
Fools. So they believe she is dead? Erik thought bemusedly.
The Persian continued, "Were these not enough to arouse my suspicion, your appearance surely is. What gives you occasion to be in high spirits? When last I saw you, you were on the point of death from sorrow."
"What do you suspect me of, daroga?" Erik asked, suddenly becoming very serious.
"To be honest, I'm not sure. I could never hope to understand you fully, and I don't entirely know what you are capable of," the Persian answered, looking Erik directly in the eyes.
Erik hesitated for a moment, glancing behind him at the closed doors of his bedroom. He began in a low voice, "You must understand daroga, that none of this came about by my planning. I was taken completely by surprise; something that doesn't happen often in my theater. One night as I wandered the hidden passages, wallowing in my suffering for the only love I had ever known, I came upon a curious sight. Before me, in the dressing room where I once gave her lessons, stood Christine. Imagine my surprise to find her, when I believed that I should never see her again. Against my will, her name escaped my lips. But she did not even recognize her own name. She has no memory of anything, daroga. Now, don't you see? How can I send her away once again, when we have the chance for a future together?"
"You cannot play with her life this way, Erik. She is not yours. She never was."
"Mademoiselle Daae and I are perfectly happy here."
"She is not Mademoiselle Daae any longer. She is Madame de Chagny. She has a son, Erik."
"A son?" Erik said to himself, looking down at the floor. Christine, his angel, was a mother?
"Look at me, Erik," the Persian said forcefully, placing his hands on Erik's shoulders. "She is a wife and mother; her family grieves for her. If you truly love her, you will tell her the truth. How can you subject her son to a life without his mother?"
"I wish the child no harm, but you cannot expect me to send her away again. She has returned to me for a reason, surely you must see that."
"Erik please…"
"I fear what should happen to the Vicomte, should Christine be taken from me again," Erik interrupted, his menacing eyes boring into the Persian's. "Do what is best for yourself and all others involved, daroga. Return to wherever it is you came from."
The Persian removed his trembling hands from Erik's shoulder and turned towards the lake. He had helped the Vicomte risk both their lives once before, but he wondered if now the cost was too high. He stumbled his way towards the boat, his eyes locked with Erik's which glowed forebodingly in the dark. As he rowed away, the Persian realized that he would never again lay eyes on Erik or his underground home.