Chapter 2

Whiteness filled my vision completely. I had half a mind to think I had ended up in the wrong place and was about to argue my destiny being in Hell, not Heaven, when the light changed and softened. Instead of being blinded, I was now being faced with the familiar glow of a lamp in an otherwise darkened room. I opened my eyes cautiously, wondering what I would see.

I looked about the strange room—strange in that it was not a room in my house—and felt a bit of dread enter my heart. I was on a bed, but it was neither my coffin bed nor the one in the Louis Philippe Room. This one, though similar in comfort and style, had blue sheets and a blue and white coverlet. The bedroom was a soft turquoise with white trim, while all of the furniture was a light oak. Everything seemed calming and light, but not in such a way as to make me uncomfortable. I preferred darker colours, but this was not intrusive in its current scheme.

Sitting up proved to be more difficult than opening my eyes. Though the sting was duller now, it still reminded me quite clearly of the injury to my side. Feeling my torso, however, I felt bandages wrapping firmly around my ribs. My stomach, I realised after a moment of laying still, no longer had the ache of hunger. Somehow during my sleep, I had been moved, fed, and had my wound dressed.

All thought of my being in Heaven vanishes with this realisation. If I was dead, I would not need any of this.

Finally pushing myself up into a sitting position, I notice there are windows beside my bed, but the curtains are firmly drawn. The light outside is non-existent suggesting that it was night time outside. This gave me some small measure of comfort. Night time I knew and could rely on to assist me should I need to escape. I could not remember much beyond going in the Louis Philippe Room what I presumed to now be some time ago, and passing out for some strange reason.

I got out of bed onto shaky legs. They were still tired and I knew my mind was a bit slower than I would have liked. I was thankful when I found the door to the room to be unlocked; even more so when I found myself on the ground floor of the house. From the décor and construct, I could tell it was a cottage-styled home. Likely, it only had the two bedrooms, potentially a small guest room at the back. I currently stood, looking out into the dining room with a bathroom to my left and a living room to my right. In all honesty, the layout was not too dissimilar from my home under the Opera, but it was different enough to make me wonder further where I was. A cottage could be anywhere in the French countryside. Not knowing how long I had slept did not ease my troubled mind. I feared I would not be able to make it back to Paris on my own, especially in my weakened state.

Stepping into the dining room, I kept my eyes open for any threat. I withheld a groan as I realised I had not thought to pick up a weapon of any sort when in the bedroom, yet I did not wish to return and potentially be trapped. I would have to make a dash for the front door, now in my sights as I neared the entryway to the living room.

My gaze was instantly drawn to the dying fire in the hearth. Before it sat a pair of wingback chairs, not unlike the one I favour in my own home. I was surprised, however, to see a pale hand drooping over the side of the one closest to me. I felt my chest tighten, my heart rate changing to that of preparedness to fight or flee. I pressed myself to the shadows of the room until something in my still hazy mind stopped me. I recognised that hand.

My heart nearly skipped a beat as I examined the fine, slender lines of the fingers that curled ever so slightly, the smoothness of the skin and how it shown in the firelight, and the glow through the perfectly rounded fingernails.

'Christine.' The name left me through a gasp. My knees felt weak, my heart pounded, and butterflies swarmed my stomach. How, I wondered, could I have ever mistaken that hand for anyone besides my darling love.

I hurried to her side on silent feet, crouching low as I peered around the obstructing wing of the chair. There, leaned back, eyes closed, head tilted, slumbered my Christine.

Her curls were a bit more frizzy than she usually allowed them to get and her whole posture spoke of complete exhaustion. A pang of guilt ran through me as I realised she must have been the one to look after me. This was closely followed by a blush of embarrassment, then sorrow as I remembered my "dream" from before. I had dreamt that an angel had come to me. I vaguely recalled before my passing out that I had seen Christine, but it was still a blur. I had likely been feverish because of my wound and madness.

The fact that she was here with me grounded me to the present, however. I was here with Christine and she was asleep after finding me on the brink of death and nursing me back to the state I now found myself in.

I reached out to her hand, needing to prove that this was not some elaborate dream. Here I was, living one of the fantasies I had imagined. I was in a cottage with Christine. I had the life I had wanted. She had dragged me from the hole I had called home for too long and she was here with me. I would be a fool to let her go now when I was so close to proving I could be what I had always wanted to be.

My fingers hesitated just a breath away from her skin. I could feel her warmth radiating out towards me as though she was beckoning me to come into the world of light she inhabited. I could feel the promise of all I had dreamt of just within the curve of her palm, and yet I froze. I thought of her boy, the happiness she could have without having to work or pull him along to find it. She should be with him, smiling and full of life right now, not exhausted and taking care of me. I, who has caused so much suffering in her life.

I made to stand, but my foot slid a bit, making a noise. She must have been listening for me because even that slight sound make her eyes blink open. I panicked, questioning if I should try to sing to her and lull her back to sleep while I made my exit. I hesitated too long, though, as she then turned her sleepily unfocused eyes on me. They widened when they took in my horrified face and I realised too late that my mask was not on.

I did the only thing I could think to do: I buried my face in her skirts so that she would not have to see it and cried.

'Erik?' Her voice was still slightly sleepy, but I could hear the alarm in it beginning. I cried only harder, clutching the soft fabric of her dress tighter. I was trying to convince myself that if I could just get these tears out of the way, I could tell her how foolish she was being in staying in this place with me. She should be with her boy, happy and living a life of luxury. She should be enjoying her life and having her needs put first always. I tried to tell myself that if I only reminded her of the correctness of her choice to be a Vicomtess, I would be able to let go of her again. I have tried vainly to convince myself of many things regarding Christine.

'Erik?' she repeated, her hands coming down to rest on my shoulders. I could tell she was trying to get to a spot where she could view my face, possibly to check if I was hurt. The compassion I knew to exist in her brought me even farther into despair. I would have to let go the only kindness I had ever known. Were it not for Christine, I would think there was none to be found in the world.

I felt her push my shoulders back some, but I clung on tightly to her, shaking my head and pathetically mumbling some words of plea to let me stay hidden. I knew I was being childish, but I could not find it in me to stop or care.

'Erik, dear, what's wrong?'

Her voice! So long had it been merely a haunting tone in my dreams, now once more a part of my life. I had missed her so!

'Erik, you have to tell me what's wrong,' she explained patiently. I could still hear her concern in her voice, but she was speaking more softly now.

Sighing raggedly through my sobs, I lifted my head some. I still kept the fabric shield over my visage, but she could at least hear me better. 'You shouldn't be here.'

Her hands remained on my shoulders, but I felt her pull back some in surprise. I relaxed my grip on her dress only slightly, preparing for her to leave me entirely. Surely by now she was realising her mistake and would make her excuses or just slowly slip away.

When she did not pull back any farther, I felt I should elaborate. 'You should not have come back for me. You should have left me there. You had everything you wanted.' I stopped myself from asking why she had come back, sufficing only to remind her of the life she had now left.

'Erik, look at me,' she said, her voice changing from concerned to commanding. I shook my head, lowering it again. 'Erik,' she spoke sternly, 'look at me.'

Despite every fibre of my being telling me not to, to turn away and spare her the sight of my hideousness, I could not deny her. I looked up, knowing I looked even more a mess than usual. My lack of nose meant that my sobbing had sent copious amounts of mucus pouring down my face. I had somehow managed to only wet her clothes with my tears, but those stains were enough to make me feel guilty.

My eyes finally slid over her face to meet her eyes and what I saw there nearly sent me sobbing anew. She was smiling at me with the sweetest light I had ever seen. My previous confusion over her being an angel once more made sense. How could a woman of such pure beauty be anything but an angel?

'I didn't have everything I wanted. I could not possibly leave my Angel of Music.'

Though my heart warmed at her affectionate meaning, her name for me sent me turning my gaze downward. 'I am no angel, Christine. I have proven to you many times that I am far from the seraphim you once believed me to be. I am nothing but a man, twisted, cruel, and awful. My actions were unforgivable and you made the right choice that night. We both know it.'

She pursed her lips, considering my argument. I half expected her to flee at that moment, but instead she slid down to kneel on the floor beside me and wrapped her arms about my shoulders, pulling me into her embrace. I was unaccustomed to both her closeness and her displays of affection. For all of the pleasant evenings we spent together in my home, rarely did we touch, and never without the protection of my gloves or suit. Skin had not touched skin since the night she left me. I was therefore shocked and stiff in her arms as she held me.

She hushed me gently in my ear, rubbing soothing circles into my back until my arms finally relaxed enough to not stick straight out like an automaton. I was nothing more than a limp doll in her arms as she calmed me.

After a little while, my sobs eased and I was able to think a bit more clearly. My head still rested on her shoulder, my face downturned and shaming me further by dripping tears and mucus onto her dress. Her chin was perched on my shoulder, pointy though it was, and I could hear her breathing in such a way as to encourage me to slow my own. 'Why do you always assume the worst of yourself?'

I could have laughed at her question, so wistfully and innocently asked. I felt a poisonous voice issuing from my lips; it was the one that spoke in sarcastic distain of everything and everyone around me. Any comment, regardless of its intention, was taken as an insult.

'Perhaps, my dear,' I spat, simultaneously hating myself for ruining the sweet name I had given her, 'because I have been trained by my previous actions. No matter how I tried to win your affections, or indeed anyone's, I was proven to be naught but a stain upon the earth. Each attempt I have made to be human has only shown how monstrous I truly am.'

I hid my face even more after saying this, wondering how I could ever dig myself out of the hole I had made with my cruel, self-depreciating remarks. They were rude to both myself and Christine. I was forever being unfair to the poor girl, making me wonder even more as to why she was here. I would have thought she would know me better by now.

Instead of leaving or reprimanding me, she only nodded patiently and continued to hold me. 'The world has been cruel to you, I know, but that does not mean you should let it make you so. I have seen you behave better than this, Erik. I know you only speak this way out of fear and uncertainty. I am here, and I am not going anywhere. You need not worry of that tonight.'

My tears, barely abated, started afresh. I could not fathom the words she spoke with such ease. Why was compassion so easy for her, but no one else? Heavens knew I was not very good at it. My bitterness and jaded view of the world kept me from being able to show the kindness that came so easily to Christine. It was one of the many things I had found to love about her.

I must have apologised for my ugly behaviour a thousand times before she finally pulled me back from her to meet my gaze. I resisted looking into those beautiful eyes for as long as I could, but their calm persistence won out and I dove into their sea blue depths. My limbs felt heavy again in a way they had not since my half-dead state. My head lolled forward, breaking the earnestness of our shared gaze.

'Oh, darling, let's get you back to bed. You are still recovering and need your rest.'

Had I been allowed a kind mother, I felt she would have spoken that way to me. Christine was more to me than I could say. She was a comfort when no one else dared touch my tainted flesh.

I let her help me back to a standing position and guide me to the room I had only just left. The bed was so inviting but my mind was screaming at me to demand answers to all of my questions. Beyond this, an icy fear was creeping up my spine that if I fell asleep, she would not be here when I awoke. I just knew that I would be completely alone in my home under the Opera once more if I let her do as she wished and put me to bed like a child.

I mumbled my protests through a sleepy body, fighting her pressing hands as they coaxed me to lie back on the soft mattress. In one finally moment of clarity, I snatched at her wrist, forcing my eyes open to stare into hers. I knew I must have looked manic, but I did not care in that instant how I looked.

'Will you be here when I wake up?'

I sounded like a child, but I was too tired to hate how weak I was.

She nodded patiently, still pushing my chest towards the bed and pulling the covers over my body. 'I will, I promise,' she assured in that sweet way only she could manage.

I watched her with slowly closing eyes as she took care to arrange the sheet and comforter to encase my long form. She tucked it right up to my chest, going so far as to place a hand to my cheek as she smiled down at me.

'Good night, Erik,' she said with a little tune in her voice. I could not help smiling, even as my hand reached up to take hers. I held her fingers as long as I was able, feeling their warmth in mine. The last thing I felt was a breath on my forehead and a softness touching there. I was already asleep by the time my addled mind placed the name for it. She had kissed me.