Chapter 11
Erik splashed his way across the lake in the gondola to his "lair". He had taken to calling it that, as "apartment" reminded him of a small cramped space, and "home"…. Well, together Erik and his aunt had traveled a lot, and Erik wasn't sure if he had ever had a home.
Angry ripples circled from the pole as Erik stabbed it through the water. Upon reaching the shore, he leapt out and stomped across to the swan bed he knew was meant for Christine.
Slowly he sunk down on the edge of the bed, his head bowed in thought. He had done exactly what he was afraid, somewhere in the back of his mind, he would do.
Except… Why! Why him? And why her? And why everything, Erik thought with a frustrated sigh. Erik began to mindlessly hum a melody while he thought, his brain clicking into furious gear for the second time in the past 6 hours.
"I know I have begun to love her…" his fingers absently tracing the pattern of the feathers on the swan bed. "But maybe it's only a – a side effect, from being back here and-" His mind reeled, abruptly casting out any ideas that Christine could only be a passing fixation.
"No," he gasped aloud, and the shock of what he had just realized sent him falling onto the bed. "I have fallen in love with her, and it won't matter what time we're in…" Erik stared hopelessly up at the ceiling, his knees hanging over the edge of the bed, until he fell asleep.
Christine joyously woke that morning to realize it was a Sunday. The end of her first week in 1863! The old clock on the wall said 8:30. The outside corridor was silent, as was the roof above, and Christine drank in the quiet.
She quickly dressed and let her memory guide her out the dormitory, around the creaky floorboards, and into the rain-caused fog.
Christine took in a big breath of air, reveling in the freedom of being outdoors. Where to go first? Hunger gnawed at her stomach, and she headed towards the bakery.
Two croissants and a very milky coffee later, Christine was beginning to feel overwhelmed by all the familiar newness she was surrounded by, and decided she wanted to be alone. Without thinking, she began moving in the direction of the cemetery.
Upon reaching the solemn rows of gravestones and monuments, Christine gave an unconscious sigh of relief. Even as a child, she had found walking through a cemetery comforting, and more interesting than being in a park or playground. She would read the inscriptions on the stones and wonder what that person had been like, whose lives they had affected.
Christine let her feet carry her to where she knew her father's tomb would be, and she sank down on the steps in front of it.
By now, Christine had allowed her other memory to take over, and the rush of sadness she felt threatened to overcome her. Maybe, in some part, Christine felt surprise at feeling such strong emotions as these, but because her two memories had not yet combined, at any one moment she would either have one or the other.
Small teardrops trickled down her cheeks as she stared at the cold and unfeeling tomb which held her once warm and loving father.