He plays a melody,
Going to tear me all apart,
The silence is broken,
No words are spoken,
Just as I walk to the door,
I can feel your emotion,
It's pulling me back,
Back to love you
Caught up in the middle,
I cry just a little,
When I think of letting go,
Caught up in the middle,
I cry just a little,
When he plays piano in the dark. - Brenda Russell.
Chapter 46- Shock
After the shock had warn off Christine had nestled herself under his arm and walked back to the house tucked up in his warmth. The sun was all but down now, peeking its top only slightly over the flowing hills on the Horizon. Surrounded by hills and wooded areas was how she had always pictured Erik living, even while he was secretly residing under the opera house. She thought like this because of his love of solitude, his cravings for his own company. The hills blocked some light, but not all, and the trees cast ominous shadows across his lawn, which rocked with the breeze and, like hands, they touched his house.
As they arrived back to the garden she appraised it properly for the first time. She noticed that although it wasn't a big house, or an imposing house, it was certainly a suitable and comfortable premises. The house was tall, but not wide, with few flowers surrounding its outskirts. The windows were small but somehow caught all of the light from every angle and exposed every glint of the simmering sun. She noted the perfectly painted white of the door frame and around the windows. There were no cracks in the paintwork and the windows sparkled as if they had never been rained on. The inside of the house was equally impressive in its colour and cleanliness. It was not particular bright inside and there were no mirrors to reflect the light around the room. However, somehow the room managed to be beautiful.
Perhaps it was like Erik.
Erik was not perfect or brightly coloured, he didn't shine like a knight in armour bounding in on his white stallion.
He wasn't Prince Charming to her Cinderella; he wouldn't rescue her from her ills, her demons. He was her demon and her every pitfall. Somehow Erik managed to plunge her into her minds own hell but, then again, most of the time it was place she needed to be. She realised that if he had never driven her into her own self, into her ills, then she would never have grown or learnt to love the way she had finally learnt she could love. Still he was beautiful. How could she ever deny that she loved Raoul? She had loved him when she was a child, she had loved him when she was a girl and she now loved him as a woman.
But not the same way she loved Erik.
Everything in her mind yelled that he was wrong for her, that he was heartless, cold and manipulative. Her mind reeled after meetings with him when every time he would both confuse and exhilarate her soul. Her mind was strong but it was not nearly as strong as her heart.
Not anymore.
But still her mind drifted to Raoul.
Drifted to Raoul above fields and clouds.
They drifted to Raoul over the cool spring evening and they fixed on him. Christine realised that she was concerned for him, for how he felt about her. She wanted to be sure that he was alright, that he was well and on with his life without her. Something told her that none of these wishes for him were correct. She pictured his strong features, his strikingly sharp eyes and his light, soft hair. Oh how she loved him.
But she loved him a million ways she could never cope with. Most of the time she loved him the way she would have loved a brother or sister, sometimes the way she loved Meg or even Madame Giry. She cared, she even awed, respected and admired. What she never felt for him, though, was passion.
Not the passion she held for Erik, never had she loved Raoul with the pure and raw emotion she now realised she loved Erik with. The difference between her feelings for Raoul and those for Erik could be summed up simply.
If she were with Raoul she could learn to love him with her heart, her mind and even her soul. She could train the cells of her body to crave him and want him, make her mind question him and listen to him. Given enough time she knew that she could make her soul long for him. The difference between them was that although she could make her soul want to be with Raoul and love Raoul she could never turn him into her soul.
The difference was that Erik was her soul.
Erik watched her from the comfort of his seat which was placed comfortably next to the fire. Christine was in the kitchen moving around, making dough, rolling pastry and mixing with large wooden spoons, in big bowls, that he had forgotten he owned.
She was cooking for him because she was worried about him.
He smiled at the thought that he might look unhealthy and then glanced down at himself. His arms were thick and strong, his chest and shoulders were broad, his legs were powerful. Generally, he felt that he ate well enough but obviously it wasn't quite the way Christine wanted him to eat. Erik knew that he didn't eat much and the concern that Christine was showing for him was enough to curb his temper and force him to allow to her fuss over him for a while.
He had lit the fire which was burning with intensity at his side and slowly his eyelids began to feel heavy. He blinked them open and watched Christine wander towards the back garden with arms full of washing. They closed again and slowly the sounds of the room stopped sifting into his mind as the warmth of the fire and smell of good food sent him in to a long awaited sleep.
What eventually woke him was the scream.
He shot bolt upright, looking around and started to reach for his sword but as he looked around further he realised that he was too late.
On the floor next to the door was blood which spread like paint up the door and across the wall on the far side of the room. His heart thudded in his chest as he groped for the weapon that wasn't there, that was in his room upstairs.
He knew now that it was all over.