Author's notes: I have a major test on Monday, so no more updates till then. Wish me luck! By the way, here is the update – it's the first lesson, hopefully it's good.
EDIT: Thanks to H. Sibelius for the review and the correction. I´ll stick with simply "dark brown" :-) Oh, and by the way, I just browsed the phantomoftheopera . com sorting thread and you found outyou thought I was like Kay´s Erik (I´m TheAngelsRose there), so I have to thank you for making me happy - in the middle of studying math, it really made my night. (And yes, I´m quoting Erik again. :-)))) )
H. Sibelius – (cheers)
longblacksatinlace – And that's just the beginning… read on!
Enrinye Must you keep reminding me of that, Z? Well, maybe she's not a psycho, but she's a spoiled brat. I don't like her. And yes, he was there, but had no real interaction with other characters. I hope I got him right in this chapter... just don´t sue me! Heh. Thanks and read on.
Mina – well I'm certainly not going to have him end up with Luciana – that would be a B-A-D ending. :-)))
starnat– yep… but it'll be okay… I hope. Read on!
X X X
Chapter VIX X X
The day after the conversation with Luciana, Christine found a rather quickly scribbled note hidden among her sketches, informing her only that she should go home earlier and get some sleep, so she would be well rested for the first lesson. It seemed that anything could mysteriously appear or disappear when it came to Erik, so finding the note didn't even startle her anymore. But she did as she was told to, leaving the site earlier than usual. She also wanted to see how Luciana was doing – the last encounter left her worried.
When she arrived back home, the Italian girl was apparently trying to cook something. Christine held back a sigh – Giovanni had told her that Luciana seemed to be convinced that she was able to run the house on her own, but she had never quite believed that it would come to this. She had actually dismissed the housekeeper in the morning, but Christine didn't tell Giovanni, partially because she was mentally elsewhere, partially because she tied to distance herself from these things.
Luciana noticed her when the door closed, smiling from the kitchen. "Welcome back home! You're early." she was about to frown, but waved whatever she was about to say off. "All the better – you can be the first to try my soup! You wouldn't believe how hard this cooking thing can get."
"I'm sure it's delicious, but I would like to get some sleep – I'm afraid I am unused to midnight escapades." The added explanation was to sate Luciana's curiosity and hopefully wipe the frown from her face.
"You're pretty pale – certainly some food would do you good." she insisted.
But Christine laughed. "Luciana, I am Swedish! I'm always ghost-like – it runs in the blood, I suppose. I can't say I'd look healthier after eating, even if I would eat all you've cooked thus far."
"Point taken." With a sigh, Luciana nodded. "I'll let you off this time. But tomorrow you'll have to eat something!" A mischievous scheming smile accompanied that statement. "I'll save some for you, I've made enough to sate even Papa's appetite, which is saying something." Again, she frowned, "Could you by any chance be able to tell if Erik will like the food?"
The question startled Christine a bit, but then she shrugged. "Considering I never see him eat, I can't say. But it looks good." She added to lighten the mood a bit before biding her cousin goodnight and heading for her room.
All in all, she got about two hours of sleep. A light sleeper, even the slightest disturbance from downstairs was more than enough to wake her up. Judging by the noises, Erik had arrived, closely followed by Giovanni, who had to calm Luciana after the boy quickly slipped from her grasp and into the safety of his cellar, taking only a very simple meal with him, not even sparing her or her "work" as much as a second glance.
Naturally, that wasn't at all to her liking.
Christine could hear the wailing all the way upstairs, Giovanni's futile attempts to soothe his daughter's temperament and Luciana's angry screams full of self-pity. At the point when she couldn't bear to hear more, because the screams had turned into anguished cries and then faded into pained whispers, she decided it was a good moment to fulfill the later part of the instructions, so she snuck downstairs, unnoticed not because of her own stealth, but because of the situation and cautiously slipped into the cellar.
"Erik?" she called softly, since her conscience was telling her that sneaking in like a thief wasn't at all right, especially when there was no way she would remain undetected – Erik's reflexes and senses were almost abnormally good.
There were many shelves and desks around, containing various objects – some books, music sheets, many sketches and plans, plus things she assumed were the "metal gadgets" Luciana mentioned. While certainly not a science genius, Christine saw that it had to be a study of some sort, because there were similarities in the construction of some of the machines…
"You're early." The sound of a candle being lit echoed in the silence of the cellar. Christine turned in time to see the light bathe the room in gold. Much of the shadows disappeared and she finally relaxed as Erik placed the candelabra on one of the less covered desks.
"There is too much noise up there."
Turning to her for a brief moment, Erik smiled bitterly. "These things do happen. The mademoiselle is rather… emotionally unstable, it seems. Not that I have anything against your cousin." He added a bit hastily and began searching for a particular music sheet.
Looking at her feet, Christine nodded, almost timidly. "I know. I worry for her. She has changed since the last time I saw her… and it is almost frightening to watch. I understand you two don't have the best of relationships." She was almost sure he snorted quietly, even though he had his back turned to her. "And though it isn't my concern… I am sorry for her behavior."
"You are right – it isn't your concern." The undertone wasn't all harsh; rather, it was almost pained. This obviously wasn't a topic to be discussed at this time.
And it was true – the last thing Erik wanted to talk about right now was the person creating the ear-piercing shrieks that often distracted him from his work, even late at night. It pained him to see Luciana depressed and anguished like this, but she had no idea that her own pain was but a fraction of what he felt. The frivolous child was simply hurting herself – he was doing nothing. If she simply understood that he didn't come near her not because he wouldn't want to, but because he knew she was far out of reach, the image of innocence he could never touch, perhaps she would stop pestering him.
But that would require her to either see what lied underneath his mask – which would scare her out of her mind and force him to leave the house – or learn of his past, in which case he would also have to leave, because Giovanni wouldn't let a murderer stay under his roof. He trusted the elderly mason, true, but knew that no matter how good his intentions might be and how much he might care for a boy who seemed to be but a gypsy street urchin when they met, the moment he would reveal either of these secrets, the dream he was living in, the dream that he was accepted and loved, would fade and he would once again be alone.
Then there was… her.
From the moment Christine Daaé entered his life, nothing was the same. There was something… some pain that tugged his heart each time he saw her, some illness that invaded his mind each time she spoke with him, threatening to attack his sanity if he didn't… he didn't know what to do to stop the… the virus that was spreading quickly. Yes, love was a sickness without a cure – even he, with the entire gypsy healing knowledge and his own skill wasn't able to think of a cure for it.
After the end of August, she would disappear from his life permanently and hopefully Luciana will also return to that school of hers. Then, he would be free of the pain and emotion and will finally be able to get over what happened during the year. Life would go on.
But the conversation about Christine's father caught his interest. Ever since she had arrived, he was ensnared by her voice. She had a voice like an angel and with the proper training, she could astonish the world. It was an impulse that he offered her vocal training, a mistake that he knew he would regret when she would disappear forever… but he wanted to savor each and every moment of her presence while he could. And he offered to help her so that he would be able to be satisfied that he had created something beautiful, that for the short time of a few weeks before she would return to the surroundings of mediocre singers and teachers, his life and his work had a purpose.
Erik finally found the sheet he was looking for, handed it to Christine and sat at the spinet, waiting a few minutes, watching her read the notes and lyrics and memorizing where she should breathe or pause. When she nodded that she was ready, he played the introduction flawlessly on the spinet, knowing the melody by heart – it wasn't too difficult and some parts had to be repeated several times.
It required quite a range, however and Christine had to be stopped several times in the first part alone. As a whole, she got the song well enough for the first try. But what he wanted to find out with this first lesson was if she would be able to follow his instructions – which were certainly different compared to what the musical teachers usually required of her, he imagined – and adjust her voice according to them. If not, then the lessons had no future and it would be better to end them before they even began. The thing was, he wasn't entirely sure if that would bring him relief or dismay.
But, both fortunately and unfortunately, Christine had proven herself an obedient pupil, if not a bit timid, submitting to his wishes easily. It took her a while to understand what he wanted her to do, at first, but once she got used to the strange (at least seemingly strange) methods that sometimes had nothing to do with the technique, she was able to adapt to them fairly easily.
The lesson took about two hours – not that either of them noticed – before Christine could start to feel a bit tired. It was already quite late, but both of them were too immersed in the music and the lesson to care about the physical world. When it began to show on her voice, however, Erik proclaimed that he didn't want her to damage her voice by the sudden "vocal shock" and almost commanded her to get some rest.
"We shall continue tomorrow, at the same time."
"The same song?" Christine asked after nodding.
"Only once you have mastered the basics can you progress to the higher levels, Christine. Think of your training as a building. You cannot simply start from the top. If you keep up and continue progressing as you have today, however, I believe you will one day be able to sing even the grand arias without problems. But first, you must pass through these trials."
Again, Christine nodded, bade him goodnight and turned to leave. Once she reached the top of the stairs, however, she hesitated, debating with herself if she should really do what she was thinking about. After all, it was not a thing to be offered lightly. Then again, she wanted to show him that she appreciated that he was taking the time to instruct her. Besides, she doubted that he would damage it in any way…
"Erik?"
Although a bit surprised that she was still there – he assumed she wanted to be away from the dark (and him – he was a strict teacher) as soon as possible – he turned back to her, putting the papers he was about to sort out away. "Yes?"
"I was just wondering…" There was still time to back out of this… but no, that would make her seem silly. "I was wondering if you happen to play the violin."
His surprise growing, Erik nodded. "I do, yes, but I have no such instrument here. The spinet is the only instrument I have found in the house. Why do you ask?"
"I… well, I have told you that my father was a violinist. When he died, I didn't inherit much, but I got his violin. I have it here, I always carry it with me. I was wondering if you would wish to play it, since you are so musical." A smile was forming in the corners of her lips. "And if you keep this up, that spinet won't last very long."
He was almost stunned now – from what he had heard, Christine's father was her whole world before he died and even now, she still seemed to be mourning. To entrust him with such a personal object as the violin of a famous player was brave of her, to say at least. And, as a tiny part of his mind reminded him, it showed that she trusted him more than he knew.
"Christine… while I won't deny that it would be wonderful to play such a quality instrument, are you certain about this?" Why was he even asking that! Such an offer was not to be refused or questioned! "I know your father meant a lot to you and if I would somehow damage the violin… it isn't my intention to upset you."
"Damage it?" She was laughing! "From what I have seen, I would say you would rather cut your arms off than damage anything that has something to do with music!" Then she finally smiled. "I know you will be careful."
Still a little stupefied, he nodded and thanked her. Christine almost bolted from the cellar, heading for her room and returned a few minutes later, along with a violin case, which she handed to Erik, begging him to be careful with it. When he opened it, he found within it a dark brown violin with several hand-carved decorations. It was clearly used, but certainly didn't look old or unplayable. In fact, if he didn't have a good eye and didn't look closely enough, he would say that it was brand new.
He glanced at Christine before even touching the instrument, brushing his fingers against it only after she nodded in approval. Gently, he took it out of the case, still admiring it for a few minutes before he even began thinking of what to play. By then, Christine silently stood up, preparing to leave – she didn't want to disturb him now, especially when she knew the violin was in good hands.
But Erik noticed her leaving and looked up sharply. She really had to trust him to leave him with such an object. If anything, it was polite to thank her.
"Christine." His voice rang out strongly, despite its newfound softness. Christine turned and her jaw almost dropped to see him looking at her with such immense gratitude. And if she were standing closer, she would be able to see the beginnings of tears in his eyes.
"Yes?" It was a whisper, choked by the realization that he was actually crying… or almost crying.
His attempt to smile through the tears was quite successful. "Thank you."
"No… thank you. For being my Angel of Music." Christine finally regained enough of her senses to smile.
"Would you like me to play for you?" he suddenly asked, before she could move even an inch.
Staying was a bad idea – it was late, she had to get up in the morning and Giovanni or Luciana could get worried when they wouldn't find her. But the sight of Erik like this wasn't something that was seen every day and she couldn't bring herself to ruining the moment of joy. While her mind screamed at her that she was supposed to flee as far as she could if she was to defend herself against this emotional assault, her heart took away her strength. She nodded and sat down at the chair opposing his.
The sudden rush of happiness that flooded Erik's senses seemed to wipe all memory of the torture that he went through in the past months. He hadn't played the violin for so long… but music wasn't something he could forget easily. His mind was searching for a song that would show just how grateful he was for this gesture better than words could and not give away all of his emotions. And he found it, one of his own compositions that reflected the situation perfectly.
He began playing - the violin was of high quality, he would almost say that it was guiding his fingers – and soon also began to sing, softly at first, then with greater strength. Sometimes he would find the courage to look at Christine, who was staring into space with a dreamy flicker in her eyes. But he saw that she was acutely aware of her surroundings, of his presence… and yet she smiled. As the melody progressed, she leaned back and closed her eyes.
By the end of the song, he saw that she was asleep on the chair. She slipped as she stirred in her sleep, but Erik quickly caught her, deciding that it wouldn't be good if she spent the night down in the cellar – fearing for her health and his own sanity. He gently picked her up, as if she were a china doll. Even if she weren't so light, he would have had no problems in carrying her up the stairs and into her room, where he laid her on the bed.
It took him a few minutes to tear his gaze from the sleeping angel – she didn't flinch under his icy touch. And, after a fight with his common sense, he stroked her cheek lightly before retreating – he didn't trust himself to stay any longer, lest he would do something very impulsive.