Thank you to Stars Landing for the review! I am also happy and grateful to receive constructive criticism :)
Chapter 9: Beneath a Moonlit Sky
[featuring "Unspoken Secrets" and "Memories of That Long Ago Night"]
~ Spring, 1908 ~
Christine lazily dropped a hint of her improved health, and much to her annoyance, Erik summoned for a doctor the following morning. After the examination deemed Christine fit for travel, she waited patiently for Erik to reassure her of his love and beg her to stay, which he had yet to do during her time at Mazandaran. But Erik did no such thing; instead, he passively sent Raoul a telegram alerting the vicomte of his wife's recovery.
Weeks passed without a response, but Christine's heart sank when her fate arrived in an envelope at the breakfast table. She set the unopened letter aside, but after several days, its contents had to be revealed so necessary arrangements could be made.
Christine found Erik waiting in the foyer, and he offered his arm so they could take their daily stroll through the garden. The fresh air had been beneficial to Christine's recovery, but had it been worth it? Her mind didn't process the silent walk to the garden until the brisk salty air hit her face when they stepped onto the terrace. Christine subconsciously gripped Erik tighter as they ambled wordlessly through the maze of blooming hedges until they found a bench in the shade of a fruit tree. She and Erik stared pensively onto the Long Island Sound.
"Do you enjoy sailing, Erik?" Christine asked when she noticed a boat on the horizon. She couldn't stand the silence with Erik when they usually spent hours in deep chatter, but today she only wanted mindless small talk.
"No, I'm afraid I do not," he admitted. "I get…seasick, so I avoid boats as much as possible."
"Ah. I see." Christine paused. "Erik, I suppose I ought to tell you I received a letter from my husband a few days ago."
"Is that so?" Erik's ears perked up.
"Yes. As of yesterday, Raoul is on an ocean liner to New York. He should be here sometime next week," Christine explained sadly.
"Well. How long do you three intend to stay with me until you embark for Paris?"
"Actually, Raoul made arrangements for us to stay at a hotel in Manhattan."
"Ah. I see." Erik tried to hide his disappointment. He'd invited Christine to his home, selfishly hoping to maximize his time with her while she remained in America; but Christine's departure from Mazandaran was inevitable, and when the time came he'd have to let her go.
"I suppose we could write to each other," Christine whispered.
"Yes. I suppose. Remind me to provide you with my proper address," Erik replied.
Christine nodded and they returned to silence. They had too much to say to each other, but none of it could be spoken aloud. They'd played at happy families, never crossing the line of social impropriety no matter how much they longed for each other. They got caught up in their fantasy, daring to believe it was real, but their games of make-believe were coming to an end.
Christine's steamer trunk was packed with the summer clothes she'd brought to America nearly a year ago. Her traveling outfit was laid across a sofa in her dressing room, ready for her to don in the morning. Everything was prepared for her journey home, but Christine could not sleep. She tossed and turned, unable to find comfort in the mountain of pillows. There was something she had to know.
Christine rolled out of bed and wrapped her negligee over her nightgown Her bare feet pattered across the cold tiles of the loggia overlooking Erik's fantastic atrium. Her hand reached for the door to Erik's room.
"God dammit…" Christine muttered when the knob wouldn't turn. The door was locked.
Christine returned to her room and crept into the hallway as silently as possible. It would be difficult to explain to the Girys if they found her creeping around at night. She tread noiselessly through hallways dappled with moonlight streaming through latticed windows. She arrived in the main foyer and crossed the landing of the bifurcated staircase to the opposite wing of the house. Here, Christine was even more silent as it would be especially difficult to explain to her son why she was creeping around at night. Christine smiled when the brass door knob of Erik's room turned easily in her hand and the door creaked open. She was careful not to trip over Erik's piles of books as she walked to the doorway of his bedroom. His bed was unmade, but it was empty except for Ayesha curled up at the foot of the bed.
Erik poured over a composition as he sat at his desk in the tower. His fine tuned ears picked up a sound on the staircase, and he turned to face Christine, a vision in white against the moonlight streaming through the windowed walls.
"Erik, I couldn't sleep…" she murmured. As she stepped forward, her negligee slipped off her shoulders and fell in a puddle around her feet. Erik wondered whether he was hallucinating the angelic woman walking toward him until her soft hands brushed against his face. Her hands were warm with exception of a cold band of metal on her left hand. When she reached for his mask, Erik ripped her hands from his face and held them in front of her.
"Your husband…" he whispered. The pale moonlight illuminated her golden wedding band in the dark night.
"Damn him!" Christine hissed as she tore her wrists from Erik's grip. She ripped her wedding ring off her finger and stepped onto the widow's walk to throw the ring as far as her arm could manage. It could've landed in the Long Island Sound for all she cared. She wished it had, though she doubted she had enough leverage to fling the band that far.
"I don't belong to my husband." Christine sighed gently as she wrapped her hands around Erik's neck again. I belong to you.
"True, but you have a duty to remain faithful, just as I have a duty to respect your marriage," Erik replied solemnly.
"Tell me then," Christine said haughtily. "Since you apparently have more respect for my marriage than I do, why did you summon me from across the ocean?"
"Because...I uh...I wanted to hear you sing?" Erik answered sheepishly. Christine frowned, recalling their kiss in her dressing room after she sang the aria Erik had written for her. It was the first time he'd kissed her since her arrival to America, despite there being plenty of previous opportunities to do so.
"You don't love me at all…" Christine whispered as realization sunk in. "You don't love me! You objectify me! I'm just a voice to you!" Christine had thought she and Erik were two strands of the same soul, but he was just like any other man who gawked at her onstage or confined her to the home until she needed to be shuttled around on the arm of an aristocrat. Christine had thought she could be her true self with her Angel of Music, but Erik was just like every other man.
"That's simply untrue." Erik spoke warmly, trying to comfort her without touching or looking at her.
"Well if it's untrue, why do you allow my husband to retrieve me like a piece of lost baggage needing to be claimed?" Christine wailed.
"Because you need to return to your life in Paris."
"But why? Why do you keep deciding my fate for me? You did it beneath the opera house, you did it the night you left, and now you're doing it again! Don't I have a say in my own life?"
Erik remained silent. Christine continued, "The one night you treated me like a woman, you ran away in the morning like you were some demon who sinned against a goddess, but I am no more a goddess than you are a demon. We are two people who-"
"Enough!" roared Erik, springing to his feet. Christine stepped back in fear and Erik took a deep breath to compose himself. "Christine," he began through gritted teeth. "Perhaps we made a mistake in the past-"
"A...mistake?"
"Yes. I'm sorry, but it was a mistake. You should've never...I shouldn't have...We...It was just a mistake, don't you see?"
Christine bit her quivering lip and averted her eyes to the ground in shame. The night she spent in the arms of her Angel of Music had been the single greatest night of her miserable existence, and Erik thought it was a mistake.
When Erik saw her crushed expression, a long sigh escaped his lips as he sank defeatedly into his chair. He should've never dragged Christine to America. She would've been safe; she never would've gotten shot if it hadn't been for him and his careless mistakes. But here was his chance to do the right thing for once in his life, to fix the mistake he'd made that long ago night.
"Christine," he said firmly. "You are asking me to help you deceive your husband, and my answer is no."
"Where is all this good conscience coming from all of the sudden?" Christine scoffed. "You've certainly changed a great deal in ten years!"
"Yes, I have," replied Erik. "As have you, Madame de Chagny."
Christine gasped. Erik pursed his lips and pretended to review the sheet music on his desk to hide his face from her. She scowled at him before descending the spiral staircase leading down from the tower.
"Wait!" Erik called when Christine reached the bottom. She looked up hopefully toward his silhouette at the top of the stairs. Through teary eyes, she saw the shimmery lace of her negligee float down like a silvery spectre in the moonlight. It landed in a wrinkled mess on the bannister.
"Good night, Madame de Chagny," Erik said gruffly before turning away. Christine ripped the garment off the bannister and angrily threw it into Erik's bedroom. She'd like to see him explain that if anyone found it, but of course no one would find it; the entire household was banned from entering Erik's bedroom, even though the master apparently left his door unlocked into all hours of the night. Christine exited his chambers by way of the atrium loggia and paused in front of her bedroom door.
She had her answer. Raoul had been right. No matter how easy Christine made it for Erik to have her, he'd turn her away. She'd thought Erik of all people could save her from her unhappiness, just as he'd done at the opera when he was her Angel of Music; but he abandoned her whenever she needed him most. Christine tightly gripped the railing of the loggia and gazed onto the eternal paradise beneath the glass ceiling. For a brief moment, she felt the fleeting urge to jump. It was the type of passing notion one has when they stand on the roof of a tall building or at the railing of an ocean liner and picture themself bobbing in the waves below. Nonetheless, the eerie thought sent a shiver down Christine's spine. She hastily stepped away from the railing and fled to her bedroom. She locked the door behind her and quickly pulled the covers over her head.
Erik: It was a mistake.
Gustave: ...
Gustave: You know what, Dad? I came out to have a good time and I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now.