Chapter 29- Never land

With one look back over her shoulder Christine began to climb the stairs, they creaked under her feet and made her heart stop. She looked back into the living room to see Erik still sleeping and she continued up the stairs slowly. As she reached the top she took a deep breath and surveyed the surroundings. It was dark and dusty, the hallway was small and there were two rooms, one on her left and one to her right. She reached out and grabbed the handle of the door to her right, tried to push. It didn't yield.

With a quiet sigh she turned and stepped towards the other door, reaching out she gave it a soft touch and with a squeak. Stepping inside she noticed that the moon lit the room perfectly. She thought that it might be Erik's favourite room in the house.

Her eyes drifted to the piano at the far side, made of mahogany, beautifully sculpted. She walked to it and knelt beside it, running her finger along the grooves of the leg. They curled and waved and kissed the floor. The piano looked like it weighed nothing.

She stood and rubbed her finger against her thumb, dust. She moved over to the seat, which was covered with a white cloth, and looked at the keys, which were left in the open. She touched the top of one gently, careful not to press it down. Again she rubbed her fingers together. More dust.

The piano had not been played for a long time.

Christine moved away from the piano and tiptoed slowly across to the other side of the room. There propped against the wall was a violin, again made with such care to detail. It was out of its case. It looked lonely.

'What are you doing here?'

Christine jumped, nearly screaming, and spun to face Erik, whose face was painted with anger. He glared at her from the door way, his shirt open and hanging off his shoulders, his hair ruffled and messy but his eyes were bright and furious. She swallowed hard, watching him seethe.

'I…' she began, gulping down her fear. 'I couldn't sleep.'

'Did you try?' he asked but didn't allow her to answer. He stepped aside so that the door was free and held his arm out in front of him. 'Get out.'

'Erik…' she said but the look in his eyes stopped her. She walked forward slowly, carefully and then moved past him, as she did he clicked the door closed behind her. 'I just wanted to see your house.'

'You've seen it,' he growled.

'I'm sorry,' she said softly.

'Don't come up here again,' his voice was hard. 'Everything you need is downstairs.'

Christine started to walk down the stairs, her heart was sinking low into her stomach, which was flipping in somersaults. He followed her down, she could feel his eyes on her back as she reached the bottom. When she got back into the living area she turned and faced him, he stopped and stared at her.

'Don't angry with me, Erik,' she said softly, letting her eyes do her pleading. He looked at her before walking past her to his jug of water. 'Please…'

'I'm not.'

'You look angry,'

'I was,' Erik said, taking a sip of water. 'Now I'm not.'

'I just…' she said. 'Well, its such a shame.'

'What is?' he asked, no emotion.

'That room up there, the instruments, you know, not being used.'

He looked at her and offered her the water, she shook her head, declining politely.

'They are used,' he said and she looked at him.

'The dust…'

'You've been here,' he said. 'Ill. I will play… when you're better and I'm not disrupting your sleep'

'I'm better now,' she said, her tone full of a hope she hadn't felt in a long time. Erik looked at her.

'You're not,'

'Okay, but I'm not asleep,' she said. 'Erik…'

'Stop,' he said, anger rising in his throat. Christine blinked at his sudden change of tone.

'Stop…' she repeated and he glared at her.

'Saying my name,' he said. 'Stop.'

'Why?' she asked, fighting her tears away, fighting the lump from her throat. He was so angry.

'Because I asked you to,' he said quickly and turned his back on her.

'So what am I to call you then?' she asked, frustration over taking her sadness.

'Don't call me anything,' he said simply, his voice levelling.

'I need to call you something,'

'Christine,' he said sharply. 'Do you have any idea?' his eyes glowed, but not with anger. 'Do you know how it feels when you say my name? It's like… my name on your lips hurts my own ears, Christine.'

She stared at him, unsure how to respond. Wondering if she should respond at all. She wanted to tell him how her name sounded on his lips, that it was heaven, that she had missed it with all of her soul. She wanted him to know that her name hurt her too when he said it in such anger, in such pain. How he could cry it without shouting it.

Instead she said nothing and simply looked at his face, covered with that ghostly mask.

'Just, refrain.' He said and stalked up the stairs out of her sight.