Chapter 32

What mad fear has come over you?

-Il Tabarro, Act I

In the wake of Romeo et Juliette's success, La Carlotta was mercifully silent; the managers did not, for the time being, renew their harassment over the Vicomte's absence.

Président Trochu had attended, and stood to applaud her.

Most welcome of all to Christine, Erik voiced his unqualified approval of her performance - not just of her beauty and sweetness as he was normally wont to do, but also of her singing. This was a rare thing, and therefore all the more precious.

Everything was delightful. Everyone whose opinion mattered to her in the slightest - and even some individuals who did not - was happy.

It was too perfect, Christine mused fretfully one night as she and Erik rode quietly back to her appartement, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder.

Something had to happen.

And soon enough, something did.

"I have something to give you," Erik said to Christine, the evening before the masquerade ball. They were standing together in a deserted service corridor of the opera house, heads together, like two spies conspiring.

The impression of intrigue was lightened as Christine smiled brightly. "How lovely of you."

He pursed his lips. "Well... you may not be very pleased with it, I fear. This is not a gift, exactly. It is something I wish I did not have to give you."

"What is it?" she said, looking confused.

He handed her a box, small enough for her to close her hands around it, but unexpectedly heavy. "It is a small pistol," he said uncomfortably. "You-"

"-What?" She shook her head in bewilderment.

000000

He frowned. "-I trust I need not explain why it is important for you to have this. Indeed, I have neglected you by not giving it to you before."

"I rather think you do need to explain. Do you expect me to-"

"-You never know when you may need to defend yourself," he said, "Especially if we are to be in public together."

"-But we are always in public together-"

"-You may keep it in your handbag. it is small enough that no-one will be the wiser," Erik pressed.

Indeed, it could have fit in the palm of her hand.

This did not console her, however.

"I would," she said, her mouth pressed in a stubborn line. "I would know."

Erik's frown deepened. He eyed her as though sneering at her moral reservations, and looked about to say something scathing.

Determined not to be caught on the defensive, she demanded, "Where did you come by a gun? I notice you neglected to mention that."

"You are quite right. It is better you do not know."

"Oh, this is admirable!" she cried, flinging up her hands and turning away.

He said nothing.

His silence infuriated her. And yet, she found she did not have the energy to keep asking. Two months ago she would never have stood for that kind of response. She would have demanded an explanation. But now she let the matter rest. Her association with him was changing her.

She shoved the uncomfortable thought away.

"What if I... suppose I did forget myself so completely as to use it," she said presently, turning round. "Wouldn't they be able to identify the bullets? Wouldn't they be able to trace it back to me? What then?"

He looked up, torn between admiration and surprise. "How did you ever come to...?"

"Really, Erik, I survived a war."

"Well, then. Happily, no, they would not - I scrubbed the barrel with acid."

"A charming way to spend an afternoon."

He glared at her.

Christine looked down at the pistol again, and for a moment, though she hated herself for it, she tried to like the thing, or at least accept it.

Tiny and delicate, it did not seem like a weapon. With its pearl handle and scrolled, gold-hued barrel, it was like a pretty toy. But still, it seemed to emanate some malevolent fact, its size and impracticality only made it seem more foul. As though it were no weighty matter, as though firing off a bullet at someone were as simple as waving a fan or taking a spritz of perfume.

It was not an honest hunting weapon. This was too small for that. It had been made with only one purpose in mind. There was only one prey it could fell.

An ominous chord sounded in her mind as she studied it.

"It is curious that such a vile thing can be made so beautiful," she said in a haunted voice, eyeing it with repulsion.

"I thought if it were beautiful it might distress you less."

"That was kind of you. But I still... I hate it." She sighed. "I am sorry."

"If you associate with me you may not be able to afford to have such morals," he said. "You carry the dagger; why are you refusing this?"

"You know I hate that too. Besides, this is different - a gun is a cowardly weapon. One may kill someone without... without even looking them in the eyes. It is depraved."

"I carry a revolver; am I a coward?" he cried hotly. "Am I depraved?

"For you it is different - you have good reasons," she said. "But if I were to, that would be-"

A thrill of fury shot through him. "-Oh, yes, you are too exalted to descend to such a level, naturellement-"

"-I said nothing of the sort-"

"-Why must you be so superior, Christine?"

"Superior?" she cried, wounded. "Not everyone has the luxury you have of-"

"-Luxury?" she cried. "What luxury do I have? I know the risks! I lived in danger long before I came to know you, as I have told you many times. I know the risks and I accept them!"

At last the anger went out of him. "Forgive me," he said quietly. "It is simply that... Were something to happen to you, I could never forgive myself."

"What reason would you have to blame yourself?" she said. "The fault lies with others."

He was silent.

"Unless..." Christine swallowed. "Perhaps it is yourself you do not trust?" she ventured at last, timidly.

Making this suggestion had terrified her, but she had no idea the magnitude of the tide it would unleash. To her horror, Erik broke down sobbing, one hand braced against the wall, trying vainly to shield his face from her with his hand, so she could not see his tears.

She let out a little whimper of surprise. "Don't-"

"-What if I am what people say?" he moaned.

"What?" She wanted to throw her arms around him, kiss him, hold him, but to her surprise and dismay she found she was rooted to the spot.

"A monster, Christine! A man as hideous as this is capable of anything."

"You are raving. Cease this nonsense, for pity's sake-"

"-God only knows!" he cried. "The most vile things. I am not normal! I am depraved! What if I hurt you?"

"You would never think of hurting me!"

"How can you be sure?" He looked up at her with haunted eyes, at last letting his hand fall from his face for a moment.

"Do you suppose I would have engaged myself to you if you were that sort of man?"

"How would you know?"

"How would I know? Do you have no regard for my own judgment, then?"

He shook his head, unable to accept this. "Everyone who has been kind to me... I have repaid them wretchedly."

"What do you mean?" she said. "You have not repaid me wretchedly. You have made me happier than I have ever been."

"But Madame Giry-"

Christine felt a flare of anger at the name. "-Madame Giry you have helped and watched over all these years. Think of all you have done for her. She has no right to begrudge you anything."

Another stubborn shake of his head. "If I had any concern for her I would never have come back to this place... and yet I repaid the only person - save you - who was ever kind to me by continuing to haunt her."

"She would not see it that w-" Christine stopped as she recollected that Madame Giry's benevolence toward Erik was not all they had imagined it to be. The look on her foster-mother's face when Christine had told her of their engagement still haunted her.

Fortunately, Erik was too embroiled in his own despair to notice.

"In the same way, if I had any regard for you I should never have inflicted myself on you," he said. "I should have gone far away."

"What utter nonsense! How can you say such things-"

"-It is a fine way to repay you for all the happiness you have given me."

"On the contrary!" she protested. "Having you 'inflict yourself on me' - if that is what you call our engagement - is the best thing to ever happen to me." He looked at her with red, brimming eyes.

"You have always treated me as though I were a princesse," she said. "You have never behaved wrongly toward me."

"I suppose... but what if... what if..."

"Do you want to hurt me?" she asked rhetorically. "Has the thought even so much as crossed your mind, Erik?"

"Never."

"Well, then," she said resolutely. "As a matter of fact, this speaks well of you."

"What?"

"It is the people who never imagine that they are culpable who are the worst offenders," she said. "The ones who commit all manner of horror with a silent conscience, who flatter themselves into thinking that they are doing good. All of us are capable of evil - it is only the ones who recognize it, who examine themselves, who may escape it."

At last he sighed. "Very well," he said irritably, snatching it back.

Christine allowed herself a small smile.

Little did she know how much she would later wish she had accepted.

CHAPTER 32 ENDS HERE.

A note on this chapter: I've felt for a long time that Christine would believe that no human being is morally superior and our character has a lot to do with the life we've lived ('pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known?'). I'd been planning all along to have her mention that, since it would presumably be her reasoning for not questioning Erik too much about his past and believing that whatever he's done (within reason!), he has the potential to be good in the future.

Thank you so much to Syri Reed, Charlotte, and the mysterious anonymous guests for your lovely reviews. This is like theatre... people clap for you and you never know who they are... they just melt back into the night like a phantom... whoo... :)