Disclaimer: I don't own PotO, or Jane Eyre.
I sat perched upon my organ bench, glancing at the angel laying lax on the chair to my right. The ending notes of my song had died off, and all was quiet except for the gentle rhythm of her breaths. Debating whether or not to help her stir, I leaned forward, and whispered:
"Christine?" She took no notice of my attempt to wake her. I sighed softly. "Angel?" Still, nothing. I continued to gaze upon her, noting the way her light strands fell in waves across her ivory flesh, and how reachable her small fingers seemed.
Not knowing how long it would take her to wake fully, I shied away, and decided for her sake not to be here when she gained consciousness. Taking my leave, I fled into my room, sat on the lid of my confining bed, and let out a shaky breath.
How can I let her go? I thought. More than unwanted, my mind answered: How can you not? But would she come back to me? After all, she had stayed this long, and hadn't complained after the initial shock of our first meeting. Good, sweet Christine. But there would be terms to her departure, ones she would either abide by, or face the grim consequences.
At breakfast I said nothing to her of my plans, instead remarking on her radiant appearance, to which she answered with a blush. When she had finished her meal, and I had put down my tea, I could do nothing but hold her gaze. I realized then just what would happen if I let her go, and my mind conjured up pictures of thick darkness and world where I would once again be utterly alone. I was not prepared for that existence anymore.
I stood. "Come, Christine," I told her, "Let us sing together." She followed obediently.
We spent the rest of the day with one another, toying with classical pieces, and putting the final touches on Faust. I told myself I had merely lost track of the hours, but that her freedom was still imminent. And yet, for that day, as with all days, I could not get enough of her song and smile, and I selfishly went around any opportune moments to tell her she could leave. When I knew the Paris sky was growing dim, I turned to her with a fresh idea.
"Dinner will be ready shortly," I informed her. "You may wait in the drawing room, if you wish." She nodded gratefully, stretched her arms, and left to sit on one of the larger divans.
I took my leave by walking through one of the numerous hidden doors, where I found myself in the kitchen.
"Dinner is served," Erik said, bowing slightly mischievously.
I nodded warily, and placed my hand on the sleeve of his coat. His eyes darted quickly to the contact before he led me along into the dining room. I stood still in the doorway for a moment, before I breathed:
"It looks beautiful." The tablecloth was white with lush embroidery filling in the edges, and upon it sat the most elegant china and alluring meal. He pulled out my chair, and I seated myself, fingering the red rose that lay across my plate.
"Wine?" he offered, and I nodded, quietly thanking him as he filled my glass. All was eerily silent as I picked and chose from the various dishes, and I looked up, once again disappointed that he refused to eat with me.
"Erik…" I began cautiously, "Will you not eat something?" He shook his head almost sadly.
"No, my dear. I will take my meal later. I do not wish to embarrass you."
"You won't," I persisted, then: "You're so thin, Erik." I blushed deeply, not knowing if I had offended him, and covered up with: "It…it would please me to know you are eating." His demeanor was so serious that for a moment I was frightened. Golden eyes pierced into mine as I tried to stare unflinchingly back. Finally, he said softly:
"Very well, Christine. If you wish it." I breathed out in relief. Erik reached a slightly trembling hand across the table, took hold of a plate, and covered it with one of the sautéed fish. He picked up his fork and knife, but when the fish was on the end of his silverware he froze. Darting his eyes to me, his face was furrowed in pain from the fear of rejection, and I tried to smile back encouragingly. In one swift motion his eyes were squeezed shut and the food was in his mouth. Although he looked like he was having trouble keeping it from slipping through his lips, the food went down, and I smiled brightly.
"It's delicious, isn't it?" I asked. He could only nod.
I did not look up again until the end of our meal, and found Erik to be silently crying. Surprised, I asked if anything was wrong. He did not answer the question, but instead said:
"Christine, you once told me that if I let you go, you would return. Will you hold yourself to that promise?" Not daring to believe, I replied carefully with:
"Yes, I said I would…"
"Then you are free to go, for a time."
"F-free?" I stuttered. "How…how long is a time?"
"There is a masked ball on the next night. If you keep your word, we will meet then. And you will, won't you, Christine?" My heart thudded—slow, loud, and pounding. Freedom! I was almost afraid of the chance to escape, afraid that I wouldn't return to him. But I knew, deep down, that I could never leave him—not like this, not during a test of loyalty—especially after all of the pain I had caused him. No…
"Yes, Erik. At the masked ball." He nodded. Out of his coat he produced a long wooden box, and opened the lid for me to see its contents. Inside was an unusually large brass key, and I glanced up at him, puzzled.
"This is the key to the Rue Scribe," he explained. "When you…return, I will greet you at its gate." I took the case in my hand when he offered it, and nodded. I tried to think of something to respond with, any sort of parting sentiment, but I only got as far as opening and shutting my mouth unintelligently. With some effort, he told me softly to get my coat, and I did so obediently.
The journey up the first five levels of the Opera House was spent in a heart-wrenching silence that neither of us could seem to overcome. When we finally reached the gate I took out the key, but before I could stick it in the lock Erik startled me by grabbing the bars and holding them shut.
"First," he demanded, "promise me you will not seek him out."
"W-who?" I asked, feigning ignorance. Perhaps if he believed I hadn't thought of Raoul… but his stare hardened, daring me to play games with him.
"You know very well who! Your darling Vicomte! Swear to me, Christine, that you won't so much as speak to him!"
My mouth parted, and I stared at him with wide, skeptical eyes. Why would he forbid me from seeing Raoul? I understood his jealousy, but Raoul was leaving! These few days of freedom could very well be my only chance to give him a proper goodbye.
"I…" His fingernails dug with a frightening intensity into his palms. I shivered, and, suddenly afraid, cast my eyes down.
"Swear to me."
"I swear, Erik," I spoke softly to the ground. "But he is only a friend. Why keep me from at least saying goodbye?"
"Because, my dear, you could merely start out to say goodbye, and realize you do not want to him to leave, after all. Then you might break your promise, and that would certainly put you in dangerous circumstances." My head snapped up at the threat, and I searched his eyes for any truth to the words. Would—would he hurt me?
"Fine, Erik," I said, somewhat warily, drawing my cape over my shoulders. "I won't see him."
To my relief, he removed his hand from the bars, and moved to let me pass. As I began to walk, however, I felt a hand tug at my skirt. I turned back and saw Erik staring sadly and pleadingly into my face.
"I love you, Christine," he whispered, and I was no longer afraid or upset, but full of pity. It seemed, for a moment, that we were any other couple, and he was simply apologizing for whatever lover's quarrel we may have had. In an act of comfort I put my hand on the sleeve of his arm, and gave the slightest hint of a nod. I think he knew I would return.
My little apartment was untouched. The only difference I found upon entering was the slight coat of dust that glazed my furniture. I sat on the edge of my bed and rested my chin in the palm of my hand, my eyes falling over the contents of my room. I sighed softly, and thought ironically that freedom was overrated. However, I do not believe I had ever appreciated the sun so much as when I stepped out of the damp cellars and felt its warm rays pouring onto my face.
When I had finished my musings I got restlessly to my feet and headed for the door. The day brilliantly sunny, and I undid the clasp of my shoes, letting my feet brush across the clean grass. I decided to sit on the little bench that ran at the side of my door, and took up my book.
"On this arm, I have neither hand nor nails," he said, drawing the mutilated limb from his breast, and showing it to me. "It is a mere stump—a ghastly sight! Don't you think so, Jane?"
"It is a pity to see it; and a pity to see your eyes—and the scar of fire on your forehead: and the worst of it is, one is in danger of loving you too well for all this; and making too much of you."
"I thought you would be revolted, Jane, when you saw my arm, and my cicatrized visage."
"Did you? Don't tell me so—lest I should say something disparaging to your judgment."
…
Later that night I put on my ruffled nightgown, and slipped under the covers in my bed. I rubbed my head against the pillow, trying desperately to get comfortable. Yet the house seemed darker, lonelier, and colder than it ever had, and tears threatened to spill. I tried to imagine I was in a familiar underground lair, with candlelight glowing at my bedside, and music lulling me to sleep. But when I opened my eyes, neither was there.
"Oh, heavens!" I grumbled softly, snuggling deeper into the blankets even as I frowned. Sighing, I sat up, and rubbed my arms before going to stand by the window. From behind the glass I looked up at the stars, not quite as bright or as many as one can see from the roof, but they reminded me of him. They reminded me of the ring on my finger, and the promise to go back.
After a few minutes of this wistful gazing I went hesitantly back to my bed, this time for the rest of the night.
…
In the morning I woke to the sun's rays falling unwanted onto my pale eyelids. I groaned, and passed a hand over my face before giving into the daylight. After getting dressed and rummaging through the kitchen, I thought absently that there was nothing for me to do. Erik had assured me my absence at the Opera House was a solved matter, and I was allowed nowhere near Raoul. I thought of poor Mama Valerius, who I had not been able to send a message to for over two weeks, and quickly retrieved my ink and quill. On the paper I wrote only a small note with little detail:
Mama,
Please do not stress over my absence. I have been with my angel of music—here I cringed, but thought that perhaps it was not so great a lie—and I will come to see you as quickly as I can.
Christine
I prayed that returning to Erik at the ball would allow him to trust in me, so that I could go freely to see Mama Valerius. I longed to see her that day, to confess to someone of these last frightening weeks, but the ride to and from alone would not give me enough time to return for the masque.
I mused on the ball, and doubted if I was to be led arm in arm by Erik around the hall. That would arouse only more suspicion about any connection I had with 'Opera Ghost,' and surely he would not want that stain on my career. Would he even come at all? My thoughts suddenly turned to an image of dancing with his deathly visage, as the onlookers stared in horror, but I shook it off with a shiver. His face turned instead to Raoul's, handsome and alive and laughing. I smiled for a moment, but when I saw him running in terror towards my carriage I frowned. What he must think! I had an idea then, frightening and uninvited, and it stuck with me until I walked with hesitation towards my desk. Taking up a quill, my fingers froze just beyond the paper, and black dots began dripping onto the pure parchment. My hands were shaking visibly as I scrawled this:
My friend,
Go to the Opera's masked ball on this night. At midnight, be in the little drawing room behind the fireplace of the main lobby. Stand near the doorway that leads to the rotunda. Don't tell anyone in the world about this appointment. Wear a white domino and be well masked. For the sake of your life and mine, let no one recognize you.
Christine.
I folded the letter into an envelope, and quickly lit a candle to warm the wax on. Pressing hard, I made sure the letter's seal was secure before I grasped it in my hand. I had made my decision, no matter what it could mean for me, and I knew what to do.
…
Once outside I was startled to see the carriage that had taken me to my flat yesterday now waiting lazily in its previous spot. As I approached, a tall, bearded man stepped down, tipping his hat before telling me politely that my carriage was ready. I quietly thanked him before stepping inside.
Letting me off just before the steps to the Opera House, I was forced to make the remainder of my journey alone. The hands that clutched my letters shook with fright, and I had to breath in deeply before continuing. Dismay began to grow when I found no postman in sight. I wanted badly to run to the post office, but my fear of running into Raoul kept me grounded. So I kept my eyes peeled for any man in the usual mail-carrying suit. I didn't have to wait long, however, before one came walking around the corner, and I jogged up to him almost ecstatically. My letters were sent; there would be no turning back now.
The gate to the Rue Scribe stood shadowing the dirt road. I breathed in, took out my key, and turned it in the lock. The bars swung open with a sickening screech, and I closed my eyes while I waited for it to pass. I have to do this, I told myself. Erik will never let me alone at the ball if he believes I will still run from him. In the darkness, the hall seemed longer and denser than ever, and I hardly had enough breath to say:
"Erik?" No answer. "Erik? It's-it's Christine." Still, nothing. I walked farther from the light, and parted my lips.
Angel in heaven bless'd, my soul longs to rest with thee!
I strained my ears just enough to hear a soft rustling. He had heard.
She was gone. Gone. My light, my goodness, my angel. Gone.
I sat on the dark bank of the Rue Scribe, unwilling to do anything but wait for her return. There had been times before when she had left, yes, but it was during the months I had tutored her. Never before had I been with her long enough to feel the weight of her absence destroying me. Never had I needed to see her so bad.
I looked into the darkness, and thought of how I missed her light, her glowing presence. I missed her graceful blushes and kind smiles, and the way her eyes sparkled when I sung to her. I missed the one who was inhuman enough to look past my face.
I let my head fall into my hands. "Christine…Christine…" Words. Murmurs. Was I imagining her return so vividly that her voice resounded fresh in my ears?
"Erik?" I immediately jerked up, but made no move to stand. Surely I had gone insane…
Angel in heaven bless'd, my soul longs to rest with thee!
I was sobbing now. Her voice! Her precious, glorious voice! I walked dazedly towards whatever awaited me at the gate, be it the real flesh of my angel or the madness that filled me now.
I was startled by the ghostly figure that glided deeper into the darkness, the creature so reminiscent of my Christine.
"Erik?" She asked tremulously.
"I am here, angel," I told her. Real or not, I was suddenly content beyond my ability to describe. At the sound of my voice she seemed to go limp with relief, and I was assured it was she. But…
"Christine, is something wrong?" She shook her head unconvincingly, a small, strained smile beginning to appear.
"No…I-I was just…lonely, I guess. I thought I would return earlier…" I was skeptical, but would not touch on a subject she obviously did not wish to discuss.
"Christine," I said warily, "I gave you your freedom. You do not need to come until tonight."
"I know," was all she said before coming to stand at my side. At a loss for words, I could only hold out my arm as her guide. Laying her hand on the arm of my coat, she walked more gracefully than I had ever seen her through the dark. As tears began to form and fall across my pale visage one thought repeated itself in my mind:
She had come home.
A/N: Okay, here's the deal. A severe case of writer's block prevented me from completing this revision, and I know it has taken me forever, and I'm really sorry. Hopefully you all haven't forgotten about this story, lol. Anyway, I took a lot of Blaze's advice, and went back and corrected a lot of my mistakes. Hopefully it's better, and even if it's not, I am soooo never touching this chapter again. ;)
Here are the replies from last time:
Miranda—That was really nice of you to email when you could have not reviewed at all, so thank you! Wow, you certainly hate Susan Kay, but it's all good because just reading your review of Phantom has made me hate her as well. Erik is basically selfish, lusting after Christine because she looks like his mom, is more in love with his cat than her, and shoots up? Wow, she certainly has him in character, doesn't she? Haha, read Fred Forsthye? That's a good one. Like I'd ever pay money for THAT gosh-forsaken novel. Isn't it about Erik going to Manhattan and falling for a blind girl or something? You're right, punjabs for them both, it's proper justice. Oh, and I can't tell you how much better I felt after reading your review! After Allegratree said she'd cry if I ended it E/C, I thought, well, is everyone else going to stop reading, too? I'm very happy to know others will stick with me if I don't end it with Christine running off with the frill-loving fop. shudders C/R…bleck…
Allison—Thank you!
Quiet2885—You know, I really feel like hugging you. As for Raoul being in here, Yeah, that freak enters in the next chapter, unfortunately. groans I do NOT want to write about him. But, alas, I must.
Reading Redhead—Thanks so much! I'm glad you liked the song, too. I was reading Jane Eyre and when I came across it this little Erik light bulb went off in my head. ;)
Mini Nicka—Where is it going? Well, if I told you that, it wouldn't be secret, which it is. You'll just have to keep reading. ;)
Mornel—Thank you!
Cmdr. Gabe E—Wow, thank you! And if I must update, then…well…here it is!
Allegratree—Thank you so much! Oh, and yeah, I usually make quite a few grammar errors, sorry about that. You're going to hate me for this, but despite your efforts I'll probably still end it E/C. But don't worry, it's not going to be dramatic or fluffy, it will almost be subtle with the way I've planned it. But…sniff…you can stop reading if you want…
Wendela—Yay, my fic's a flower! Oh, I have a question about Kay. Why didn't Christine stay with Erik if she was willing to have his child! I am so confused…
Everspring Native—Wow, I can barely think back to the first chapters, but I'm pretty sure they were bad, so just…try to forget my mistakes, lol. Oh, and I hope that if you continue reading you'll find this story agreeable. Thanks for reviewing!
Blaze—Yay! I was so happy when you reviewed! Thank you so much, it means a lot to me for you to say I've improved, so I hope I haven't fallen too far with this last update. Haha, you know, I was considering the whole, 'Erik jogging ahead of Christine' thing, and while I knew it was unlikely, I put it in there so that she could fall behind near the exit doors. About Erik watching Christine…um…I have no excuses. cough I tried to put into this chapter why Erik loved Christine instead of lusting after her, although of course he finds her attractive, and I don't know…I think it just came out annoyingly fluffy, lol. Oh well. "Who? What? Huh? Me?" Haha! I'm glad Christine's confusion was amusing. ;) 8 INDIVIDUAL PROJECTS! Sheez…I'm glad you reviewed at all, then. Good luck with those!
LudivinePHlover—I saw your stuff, and reviewed three, I think. The Raoul one was my favorite, very amusing!