Chapter Summary: Christine. Erik. And a confrontation that allows the healing process to begin.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
"Christine," Erik tried again, taking a single step forward and freezing as the woman before him took two steps backward - away from him.
"You," Christine repeated, unable to find other words. Her mouth and opened and closed as her mind desperately tried to comprehend the vision before her. "You."
Erik took the hat from his head, running the brim through his fingers. "It is me. It is your angel. Your Erik." His words were softly spoken in an attempt to ease the shock of his presence. "I mean you no harm."
Christine eyes were wide and frightened, like those of a deer facing the end of an arrow. "How? How … how … how …"
"Antoinette," Erik paused and cleared his throat. "Madame Giry told me where to find you. I need …"
"That is not what I meant," Christine spat at him, her words cutting him off, anger quickly replacing fear. "How dare you stand before me, living and breathing when … when …" She turned her head away from him for a brief moment. When she turned back, anger blazed in the depths of her dark eyes. "How dare you live when Raoul is dead? How dare you!"
"Christine," Erik reached out a hand for her.
"Why are you not dead!" she screamed at him.
Erik drew his hand back and stood very still, somewhat stunned by the anger he saw in his angel. "I am not dead because Antoinette found me in what was left of my … home … after the mob destroyed it. She pulled me from its depths and has been struggling to teach me to live in the world."
Christine looked at Erik from head to toe, examining him almost as if he were a piece of meat at the local butcher shop. "She should have let you die."
Her words, the soft anger in them, cut through Erik like nothing else could. "Perhaps, she should have," he agreed, refusing to allow himself to feel any anger toward the woman before him, "but she did not. And now she has been gracious enough to tell me where you were so that I can …"
"Can what?" Christine interrupted him.
Erik drew a deep breath to steady the agitation he could feel growing in his breast. "I came to speak with you." A pained frown crossed his face. "I came to apologize for all that I have done to you and …" he faltered, "and to him."
"Say his name," Christine ordered softly.
"I … I … I… " Erik stuttered.
"Say his name!" Christine shouted. "Say it!"
Erik drew himself up, straightening his shoulders. "I came to apologize for all that I have done to you and to Raoul."
"And what makes you think I would wish to hear anything you have to say?" Christine asked, her tone imperious.
Erik did not know the woman before him and his agitation began to overwhelm him. "Pray forgive my impudence, Vicomtess," he hissed, spitting out the last word. "I shall trouble you no further with my presence."
Christine watched as he took a step forward and she quickly turned her back on him, her hand reaching for the door to the parlor. She smiled at Marie and Marcel who stood at the bottom of the staircase, wide-eyed and worried; there was no friendliness or compassion in Christine's smile. Her hand slowly closed the door, turning the key, the loud click of the lock echoing about the still parlor. Christine turned back to face Erik, her hands behind her back, closing over the key. "How does it feel?" she wondered.
"How does what feel?" Erik was confused.
A smirk curled the edges of Christine's lips. "How does it feel to be locked in a room with a crazed person and no way out?" She laughed at the expression on his face. "Not a very pleasant feeling, is it? Wondering what will happen to you, the fear pounding at your heart, causing it to race."
"Christine," Erik said as he took another step forward.
"If you move another inch," Christine said, "I shall began screaming and then I shall claw your eyes out." Her lips curled again. "I doubt there would be any who will fault me for killing the dreaded Opera Ghost who broke into my home, attempting to spirit me away, yet again."
"I. Came. To. Apologize." Erik repeated, struggling to hold back his temper.
"So you have said," Christine replied, cocking her head to one side. "Why now? Why not two years ago? Why not when my marriage was announced in all the papers? Antoinette knew you were alive; would it have been so hard to give her a letter for me?" She paused, her eyes growing wide in false innocence. "Oh, that is right; Raoul is finally dead. Now I am a widow with no one to love. Have you come to apologize or claim that which you tried to steal before?"
Erik did not understand what had happened to his beloved angel; he placed his hat back on his head. "This is futile. I should leave." He was stunned when Christine rushed at him, tearing the hat from his head and flinging it across the room.
"You will do no such thing!" she screamed, her chest heaving as she drew deep breaths. "You are going to stand here until I am finished! You are going to stand here and listen to every word I have to say!" Christine stared angrily up at former teacher, the man who had once professed his love for her. "You tried to kill Raoul once and I would have sacrificed my own life to save his for I love him that much!" Her mouth turned down into an angry frown. "I did not have that chance this time. Those … men … succeeded where you failed. They accomplished what you could not – they murdered the man I love, my best friend, my husband," her voice lowered to a whisper, "the father of my child." Christine pushed her finger into Erik's chest to emphasize her next words. "And you are going to stand here and listen to every detail of what Raoul had to endure."
"I do not …" Erik tried.
"But you did," Christine corrected him. "You and your actions placed such a deep fear within my heart that I could not bear to tell Raoul I was carrying our child for fear I would fail him." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you remember your punishments whenever I failed to do as you ordered?" The smirk returned to Christine's lips at Erik's pained reaction. "I thought as much," she whispered. "And because I could not tell him, Raoul thought I was falling out of love with him. He thought there was another person in my life. I am sure he thought it was you." Her eyes flashed with bitter anger. "Your ghost would never leave us alone and because of that, my husband is dead and I must bear some of the guilt for his death." Christine spat out her next words. "So you will stand there and you will listen and I am sure you will find great enjoyment in the details of Raoul's death. Or, perhaps, it will just be jealousy you feel because those men did what you could not."
"I do not wish to hear this," Erik told her and found tiny hands pushing against his chest, shoving him backward to land awkwardly in a chair.
"Do you want to know how they waited for him in the woods where he loved to ride?" Christine asked, staring down into Erik's startled face. "Do you want to know how they sent his horse home with a note demanding money for Raoul's safe return?"
Erik tried to straighten his body from the tousled position into which it had fallen.
"Sit!" Christine ordered him, watching as he grew still before continuing. "Shall I tell you how they assured us that they truly had Raoul? Do you want to know of the envelope that they sent us containing his bloody hair? Or perhaps it would gladden your heart to learn of the second package they sent – the package containing Raoul's shirt? Would it please you to know that his shirt bore long slashes along both arms and across the middle; knife slashes whose edges were lined with my husband's blood?" Christine paused, her nostrils flaring. "I think you might enjoy it more to know that there was the mark of a branding iron on the back of Raoul's shirt."
Erik was horrified at the words coming from his angel's mouth and could find nothing to say in return.
"Or the fingernails? Did Antoinette mention that part?" Christine wondered. "Did she tell you how I went out to the back portico one morning and found a package on the chair where Raoul would love to sit? Do you want to know that the package was soaked through with his blood? Do you want to know that when I opened that package I found five of my husband's fingernails inside of it? Fingernails that those men tore from his hands?" Christine took a single step backwards, allowing Erik to struggle into an upright position.
"I never meant …" he began and shook his head. "I would never have done those things."
Christine paused in thought for a moment, allowing Erik to slowly rise to his feet. "No, you would not have," she agreed before growing angry once again. "You would have slowly strangled him before my eyes! You would have allowed me to listen to him struggle for breath, watching him turn blue before falling limp and dying."
Erik, too, was angry. "I would not have done that!"
"You wanted to! You tried to!" Christine shouted back before growing eerily calm. "Do you wish to know how they finally killed him? Shall I tell you that the police have reason to believe that those men surrounded my bound husband with dynamite? That they lit a fuse and fled, leaving my husband to blown into little pieces?" Christine fixed haunted eyes on the fallen angel before her. "Do you wish to know that there was a coffin but that we could only bury pieces of Raoul? Do you want to know how much it hurts to know I never got to say goodbye to him? To see his face one last time? To whisper in his ear that I loved him?"
Erik shook his head. "I would not wish such hurt on you."
Christine ignored his words. "Do you wish to know that I secretly looked at the police report on my brother-in-law's desk when no one was aware?" Christine placed a trembling hand to her lips as she felt a familiar nausea begin to roil in her stomach. "Do you know they could not find my husband's head? Do you know they only identified him by the ring they found on a partial hand?"
Erik turned his head away.
"Would that I could do that!" Christine yelled and grabbed Erik's arm, forcing him to turn his attention back to her. "Would that I could turn away; but I cannot! I shall never be able to turn away! I shall carry this knowledge, this guilt, this grief with me until the day I die! And nothing you can say will ever be able to change that!"
There was a long moment of silence in the room as man and woman studied each other, each alone in their anger, each unwilling to compromise. The long years of lies that led to the bitterness between them prevented either of them from being able to truly reach out in comfort to the other.
It was Erik who finally broke contact, lowering his eyes. "I did not like Raoul," he admitted aloud for the first time. "I hated him for all that he had, all that he was. He could have had anything in this world that he wanted and he had to take the one thing that I wanted. I could not forgive him for that." He raised his head. "And I could not forgive you for wanting him in return." Erik sighed. "But that time has passed and I am not that person any longer; that is why I came today. I came to seek your forgiveness so that I can move on with my life."
"And if Raoul had been alive," Christine wondered bitterly, "would you have asked his forgiveness, as well?"
"I do not know," Erik replied truthfully.
"You do not know?" Christine stared at Erik for a moment, breathing heavily through her nose, trying to compose the rage that boiled the blood flowing through her veins. "My husband died alone and in pain. He died despairing of our marriage. He died thinking I did not love him." Christine closed her eyes, lowering her head. "Oh God, Raoul," she breathed softly. "He died without knowing he was going to be father." She opened her eyes again. "He was tortured and cut and burned. He was left alone in that place, watching as the wick shrank, knowing he would be blown apart." Christine raised a furious visage to the man in front of her. "And you do not know if you would have sought his forgiveness?" She was angry and incredulous. "I cannot believe you!"
"I would have," Erik relented in the face of Christine's despair and anger.
"It is too late!" she told him with a shake of her head. "It is too late," she repeated. "Raoul is dead and I hope you are finally happy!"
Erik took a step forward, his hands held out in supplication. "I am not happy," he told Christine. "I would not have wished this for you … for him."
Christine moved away from the outstretched hands, walking across the room to the door, unlocking it and holding it open. "It does not matter any longer," she said softly and turned to look at Erik. "I think you should just leave."
"Christine, please," Erik pleaded. "I am sorry. I did not …" his words were cut short by the look that passed over Christine's face.
"Oh God," Christine breathed, her hand tightening on the door, the color draining from her face.
Erik moved quickly across the room as Christine began to sink to her knees, a single hand reaching for her abdomen.
"Not the baby," she whispered in a terrified voice, pain etching her ghostly features as an invisible demon reached in, twisting her insides into a knot. A wail escaped Christine's lips the likes of which Erik had never before heard. "Not my baby, too!"
Marcel and Marie entered the room just as Erik was lifting Christine into his arms.
"What have you done to her?" Marie demanded.
"Do not ask foolish questions!" Erik told her. "Someone must go for a doctor!" Erik looked at the two faces before him. "Quickly!" he snapped.
"Not my baby," Christine kept whispering, her fingers clenching and unclenching with each pain that ripped across her mid-section. "Not my baby."
Marie turned frightened eyes toward her brother who was already halfway out the front door. "Marcel …" she said.
"I will be back as quickly as possible," Marcel shouted as he slammed the front door behind himself, the sound of pounding hooves echoing down the drive heard a moment later.
Marie turned her attention back to Christine.
"Please, God," Christine whimpered, beads of sweat beginning to accumulate on her forehead. "Do not take my baby, too." She turned to look at Erik. "I am sorry. I am sorry. I did not mean it - any of it. I forgive you. I know you never meant to hurt me – to hurt Raoul." Her fingers gripped tightly to the front of his shirt. "Do not let them take my baby! Not my baby!"
Erik looked at the terrified woman cradled in his arms and did not know what to say, what to do.
"Upstairs," Marie ordered, taking charge. "Now."
Erik did not hear her and continued to stare at Christine. He watched as she winced, arching her back as another pain stabbed at her.
"Now!" Marie said as she grabbed at Erik's arm, pulling him back to the moment.
"Yes," Erik breathed softly, following Marie up the stairs and into a bedroom. He gently placed Christine down as Marie crossed the room to the dresser, coming back with a damp cloth.
"Not my baby," Christine kept whispering as Erik held her hands, Marie wiping the sweat from her face. "Please do not take my baby."
An hour later Erik paced back and forth outside the closed door to Christine's bedroom, perfectly aware of the glares he was receiving from Marie and Marcel. And not caring. He paused in his meandering to stare at the closed door thinking that, if he just looked long enough, his gaze would be able to bore through the solid wood to see inside. Erik could not stand the silence beyond the closed door, could not stand that he had been ushered from Christine's side upon the doctor's arrival. He could not stand the guilt and responsibility he felt for her collapse. Erik shook his head; all he had ever brought to Christine was sorrow; and all he had ever wanted for her was to be loved and happy. Erik felt as a hand grabbed at his arm and he raised his head to look at Marie.
"If she loses that baby," Marie hissed, "I will kill you myself."
"You need not take such an action, Mademoiselle," Erik told her. "If Christine loses her baby, I shall do it for you."
"Good," Marcel muttered under his breath. He did not know who this strange, disfigured man was but he did not like him. He did not like the way he had barged in, demanding to see the Vicomtess. And Marcel most certainly did not like waiting with him outside the closed door while the doctor attended to his sister's friend.
Erik turned to him, an angry retort on his lips, the sound of an opening door stopping him. He turned his face to the man who came out of Christine's bedroom. "Well?" he demanded.
The doctor eyed Erik suspiciously. "Are you the one who upset her?" he asked.
Erik did not have time for the man's inane questions. "Did she lose her child?" he snarled between clenched teeth.
"Monsieur Coulliard," Marie asked in a far gentler tone of voice. "How is Madame?"
Alain Coulliard turned to Marie. He had first seen Christine a week ago when Marie and her sister-in-law had brought the young woman to his office in the city proper for a consultation. He had listened in wonder as Christine told him her whole story and Alain – who had been treating various members of Boulogne-sur-mer for close to twenty years – had agreed to take on a new patient. "She is fine," he told her.
"What of her child?" Erik nearly shouted, his exasperation growing by the minute.
Alain turned back to him. "She did not lose her child," he said and watched as the anger and exasperation and fear fled from the three people around him. "But," he cautioned them, "this was a warning for her. She can have no further upsets if she is to carry this child to term successfully." His eyes narrowed at Erik. "I should not have to tell you how much this baby means to a young woman who has recently been widowed."
Erik shook his head. "You do not, sir," he said and swallowed his pride. "I am sorry. I am just …" he shook his head. "I am just worried for her."
Marie, too, relented for Christine's sake. "We all are," she said as she nodded her head toward Erik before turning back to the doctor. "What do you need us to do?"
Alain heaved a sigh of relief; at last someone was taking charge, making sense. "I am ordering Christine to bed for the next two weeks. I do not want her walking anywhere. I want her quiet and I want her resting." He smiled at Marie. "That will mean chamber pots," Alain told her; he knew of the money. "Shall I send a nurse to stay?"
"That will not be necessary," Marcel piped up before his sister could. "Bettina and I have small children; we are used to such things. I know she will want to help."
"And it does not bother me," Marie told him with a smile. "What else do you require?"
"I have a list of things I am going to insist be done for Christine," he told them and turned to Erik. "But first she is asking to see you."
Erik let out the breath he did not realize he was holding and moved toward the door to Christine's bedroom. He found himself stopped by the doctor's hand on his arm; Erik met the man's eyes.
"It is against my better judgement to send you in to see her," Alain told him, "but she is insisting." He lowered his voice. "I do not know what you did but I will lay odds that you are the cause of this near tragedy. Do not let it happen again!"
Erik nodded at the doctor. "It will not," he assured him quietly and moved past, opening the bedroom door, stepping into the room and gently closing the door behind him. "Christine?" he asked.
Christine lay on the bed, propped up by pillows. She had her head turned to look out the windows toward the ocean off in the distance and her hands were resting gently over her abdomen. "I am sorry," she whispered without turning her head.
Erik quickly crossed the room, standing by her bedside. His heart was breaking that she would not turn to look at him. "It is I who need to beg for forgiveness." He shook his head. "I was being selfish in thinking that I could see you after you lost the man you loved." A part of Erik was surprised at how easily those words slipped through his lips. "All I really wanted to do was just to apologize for everything I had done to you and to Raoul." He held his hands out helplessly to her. "I never meant for this to happen."
"I know," Christine whispered. She turned her head back but would not look at Erik, instead fixing her gaze upon the plastered ceiling. "Your apology is accepted." She finally turned to Erik. "Thank you."
Erik hesitantly lowered himself to the bed so that he could sit next to Christine. "I thought you happy and safe with your Vicomte," he began. "I had never thought to see you again." He managed a funny little smile. "I have been trying to build my own life in the world and I thought I was doing well at it until I heard that Raoul had," Erik knew he had to say it. "That he had been murdered. I knew it was too late, then, to apologize to him but I knew that I needed your forgiveness." He reached out and laid a hand on Christine's arm. "I want you to know that if I could trade places with Raoul, I would willingly do so." He sighed, shaking his head. "I owe it to Raoul for all that I stole from you both to ensure that you have a healthy child and I will do whatever it takes to see that such a joyous event comes to pass." He gently squeezed the arm he held. "I would give anything to make you happy, to see you smile."
Christine sniffled. "I want what you cannot give me."
"You know I would give you the very heavens, Christine!" Erik exclaimed.
Tears formed at the edges of Christine's eyes. "I want my husband back," she whispered as the tears slipped from her eyes. "I want my husband back," she repeated as a sob escaped her lips.
Erik reached down to draw Christine into his embrace.
"I want my husband back!" she wailed as the pent-up tears of a long month finally broke free. Christine buried her head in Erik's shoulder, her fingers digging into the back of his shirt. "I want my husband back," came the muffled words distorted by her sobs.
Erik could do nothing but hold her close as Christine cried out sorrow drawn from the very depths of her soul.