Disclaimer: I am not Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.
Author Note: Hi all, I'm amazed at myself- it's an update that's not taken months to write! Yay!
This chapter is I suppose the start of the second 'part' to this story- all will become clear I'm sure, but I hope you like it.
On the subject of Pali... :'( I'm so sad about having written the death of a character, especially one I made myself. I've grown to love Pali, writing him and seeing all your reactions to him. However, no one can beat Nadir when it comes to being Erik's bestie, although the Vicomte is coming closer- I'm so glad you all seem to like their friendship :) .
Huge thank-you's to those lovely reviewers- phantomphan4evr, Yours Anonymous, vonny25, MissyH316, Christineoftheopera, MarilynKC, audreydianne21, TMara and Filhound.
And also thank you to anyone reading this story. After such a lousy update schedule I don't deserve any readers, so thank you massively. Erik sends you love and lassos.
NOTE: The bit in italics at the start is a dream- or rather a nightmare- not a flashback.
Twenty Six- The Truth
Christine was alone. It was the one thing she could be truly certain of, as she floundered in the clinging darkness that surrounded her. It smothered everything, that choking black, gripping onto her heart and her eyes and her hands- she could feel it, flickering and brushing against her skin, making her shiver. She stumbled blindly in the dark, bewildered and terrified. She reached out before her with trembling hands, needing to move forward with purpose and somehow get out of this unfathomable blackness- and then she felt it.
Cold. Smooth. Endless, as she moved her shaking fingertips over its immense surface. She knew, somehow, that this strange surface beneath her fingers was a mirror. But she could not see a thing, only feel.
Her ears were hurting with the deafening sound of total silence, impossibly quiet, and pressed her whole body up against that ice cold glass and clung to it, knowing only of this and herself, alone in the dark abyss. As she rested her cheek against the icy cold, she shot back, startled- she could hear voices, faint and barely even a murmur in this echoing nothingness. But it was still something, still a hint that she might not be alone. The voices were coming from behind the mirror.
She began to grope around the dark, feeling for the edges of the mirror, stumbling blindly on this urgent mission to find some sort of object with which she could shatter this mirror and break through to the voices beyond. Her mind knew that such an idea was completely irrational and impossible- for people could not be behind mirrors- but her hands still searched and her whole body was driving her onwards to break through the glass.
Finally, her fingers came into contact with rough, damp stone and as she began to claw and work free a craggy lump, her ears began to pick out and understand some of the voices- she could, if she strained hard enough, decipher some of that barely audible murmuring into words.
It was a man, mostly, but a woman too. His voice was soft and like silk, beautiful and entrancing, and oddly comforting too- as if it were familiar to her, turning mundane words into music. He was speaking now-
"You cannot know how I dreamed of this moment. How I wished that someday you might return the love I feel for you. I cannot comprehend it- I feel as if it is all a dream, and when I wake it will be a cruel fall back into reality."
It was Erik! Her heart leapt wildly as her mind seized at the revelation of whose voice it was- it meant that Erik was somewhere beyond this darkness, this void that made no sense, somehow through the mirror. This thought renewed her energy, her fingers scraping and scratching and scrabbling, until at last a lump of rock came free, fitting snugly in her curled hand. A sharp point dug into her soft palm, drawing blood, but she felt no pain.
Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand, preparing to launch this jagged weapon at the glass and obliterate it.
But then the female voice spoke, and it sounded loud and clear in her ears, perfectly audible. Christine Daae felt her stomach knot and a sharp stab of pain went shooting through her, with enough force to threaten to bring her to her knees- that voice...it was her.
She reeled backwards from the mirror, the pain in her head starting again, pounding and drumming and fighting to burst out. There was a sudden scream of horror and pain- Erik's scream. Christine felt paralysed with terror, hearing him scream like that, with such desperation and anger and fear and pure, raw pain-
"Christine!"
Her voice then, also screaming, begging and pleading and sobbing-
"Let me go! You don't understand- I LOVE HIM! Let me go- let us both go!"
And then there was the sound of a fall, of Erik screaming out again, this time as if he were being burned alive-
"CHRISTINE! NO!"
The sound of a crack, and Christine's hands flew to a place on her head where a scar was emblazoned in the skin and bone, a place that was now burning with pain and threatening to burst open. She let out an enraged sob and her hand came sailing through the air and rocketed against the cool glass, exploding through in a melodic, crystal clatter as the razor sharp pieces scattered everywhere. Some brushed her skin, some fell into her hair, some created a crunching, sparkling tread underfoot but all seemed to prick her skin with pain. A bright, brilliant light shot out of the mirror and she stepped through the broken remnants .
It hurt, this onslaught of light and emotion, her head throbbing and the light so bright she was wincing- but then it all became clear, and that hurt even more, seeing the scene playing out before her eyes; a scene she knew was just a nightmare, but something that was too real and too true to be the figment of imagination. This was an echo of a long lost past- this was real. And it was killing her.
There was Erik, held pressed against the floor of the lair of her nightmares. There was her body, crumpled, seemingly lifeless and bloodied, helpless as a cloaked stranger picked up her limp body and placed her into a boat, sailing across a lake-
Erik was sobbing- there was no mask on his face, only hideous flesh, warped and twisted and seeming to pulsate with the throbbing veins protruding from that yellowed monstrosity. Christine felt her stomach lurch in horror.
"My Christine, no..."
The truth, the memory, seared her like a flame. She broke out of the dark and into the light, and with it came a horrified scream that fell from her lips, and it went on, and on, and on...
It was raining when Erik, Nadir and Raoul arrived in the gypsy camp, the stretcher made from a door (torn from its hinges at the theatre) and the body upon it attracting much attention. Out of their tents, trailing through the miserable wet and into the cool night they came, all curious but seeing the macabre scene and the anguish upon the faces of the two intruders and not daring to say a word. The rain was cold and intrusive, and Nadir's mind did cloud with petty concerns for the cold and the discomfort, but they soon left his mind- for then he saw Rose, Pali's wife, emerge from the depths and see what was occurring.
Her beautiful face, so wise and weathered, crumpled and dissolved from adult to child within moments of seeing the body- she ran forwards and fell to her knees, cradling Pali and sobbing, rocking him to and fro as if he were a sleeping baby. Her words came in the traditional Romany tongue, and Nadir could not understand the words she cried over the body of her lover, but he did not need to- the tears and grief said enough. Raoul stood beside him, pale and solemn and covered in blood, his face white and his eyes firmly shut- his face was streaked with raindrops, also tears, and it was obvious that he was in great pain from his various wounds and blood loss.
Nadir had been horrified to see the pair of them, Erik and Raoul, stagger into the woodland, drenched in blood and looking as if they had just witnessed genocide. To hear those words come from Erik's lips- that Pali had been murdered and that Emilian had been slain- and then to hear the awful sobs had tested the limits of Nadir's strength and capability. Despite profuse bleeding and exhausted shock, Erik had demanded they go and retrieve the body, to take it back to the camp- leaving Christine under a well paid watchful inn keeper's eye, they fulfilled this demand.
As Rose sobbed and cradled the body, there came a gasp from the gypsies stood silent in the crowd- Nadir turned, and saw that it was Erik, dragging Emilian's lifeless body by the foot. His hideous face was not covered by a mask- whether it was the rain or the tears that made it impossible for a covering to stay upon his face, Nadir could not tell, but the sight was as horrifying as it was terribly amazing; Erik, looking anguished and murderous, not even looking at the dead scum he had dragged through woodland and foliage to this camp. It was evident that there were men and women in the crowd who knew what this warped deformity meant- just who this sinister man was. But surprisingly, no one let out an angry cry or lunged forward to set upon Erik, in vengeance for their slaughtered master. They merely looked upon this macabre scene with lifeless eyes, saying nothing, feeling nothing.
"Rose." Erik said in a whisper, his voice cracking. "Rose, I'm so sorry-"
"Do not apologise Erik, Pali loved you- he would not want that." Rose said in a curiously calm voice, before dissolving into tears and collapsing against him. Erik held her to him, clinging together in their grief, and Nadir saw Raoul was shaking with suppressed emotion.
"What happened?" an eagle eyed gypsy man demanded, his teeth filed into sharp pointed fangs and yellowed with tobacco. "What happened to Pali and to Emilian?!"
There was a sudden, total silence, something dangerous hanging in the air, and Nadir made a move towards Erik- the last thing anyone needed now was more bloodshed- but Erik brushed him aside, taking Rose firmly by the arm and facing the gawping, raggedy bunch who now looked upon the scene with a look of terror in their eyes as well as the expected curiosity. There was a mad look glittering in his eyes and they seemed to glow and burn in the darkness and the rain. The warped skin of his deformity did not help matters, nor did the fact that his clothes were drenched in blood- he looked like a madman.
"What happened, you ask?" he repeated softly, smoothly, before suddenly exploding. "Your monstrous, evil, villainous scum of a master murdered Pali! That is what happened! But I suppose that excites you, doesn't it- your culture has become so tainted and soaked with blood that you must look upon this as a sport! And your master is dead! He is slain! His disgusting blood has been spilt and look now who drags his worthless corpse- look what has become of the Devil's Child!"
He moved away from Rose, distancing himself from her so as to throw his arms out and then- in an act of complete insanity- he stripped off his shirt and bared his chest and arms and back to the silent crowd. Nadir flinched, as he always did when confronted with Erik's hideous collection of scars and burns and marks, each one holding a memory of pain and torture and evil. Raoul, who had never seen this myriad of marks and cuts emblazoned into Erik's pale skin, looked as if he might be sick. But Erik just laughed.
"You see what your kind did to me? It doesn't matter- these scars are nothing! They do not control me! I escaped! I lived! But Pali... Pali was one of you and he is dead and slaughtered! And he was innocent!"
The gypsies were silent- the rain seemed to intensify and for a moment all they could see were sheets of water cascading down, the trickles running over the protruding bones of Erik's chest and arms. He sank to his knees, in the ground that was fast becoming mud rather than firm soil, and there he kissed Pali on the forehead and murmured some words that no one could quite catch, though Nadir thought he saw the lips form the word 'brother'. He turned away, feeling as if by viewing and catching those words he had somehow invaded some private moment- it was lucky he turned, for Raoul was swaying on his feet and looking near dead, and he had to hurry to the Vicomte's side and hold his arm to stop him from simply collapsing.
"Come on Erik." Nadir murmured, and Erik looked up at him with eyes that were not truly seeing. "We must get back to Christine- what if she wakes up and there is no one there?"
The mention of Christine's name was enough- Erik's heavy, weary heart suddenly held the energy to start beating again, however slowly and painfully. He hauled himself out of the mud and went to Raoul's other side, so that he and Nadir had an arm each; they began a painfully slow walk, Raoul stumbling and barely conscious with the blood loss. Erik did not look back at Rose, or at the lifeless body of his friend, for he knew that to do such a thing would be to guarantee a spiral back into some fathomless pit of which he knew he would not surface.
The walk back to the inn was torturous- Erik and Raoul were both bleeding, though Erik did not show it; Nadir only knew that he was wounded and indeed still spilling that macabre liquid because Erik's lack of shirt displayed the brutal cut. It was jagged and the surrounding skin was red and inflamed; the blood seemed to weep from the ugly incision. It must hurt him, Nadir knew wounds well enough to know that, but Erik's mask-less face gave no such indication; Raoul, on the other hand, was barely awake and white as a sheet, sweating and looking nauseous. It was the shock as well as the pain and the blood loss that had affected him so- that and the fact he had never witnessed such awful things in his sheltered, aristocratic life.
The rain had stopped by the time they reached the inn, the morning sun just starting to peek over the horizon; Erik and Nadir left Raoul in the capable hands of the innkeepers wife and then retreated to a private parlour, where the innkeeper had thought to keep a fire going. Erik felt as if he were drifting, not actually existing in real space and time- he stared into the flickering tongues of flame and did not look away, even when the heat and the light burned his eyes.
"I never thought I would see you helping the Vicomte without a single scornful word." Nadir remarked in a quiet voice as he cleaned Erik's weeping wound with whiskey- it was the only spirit the innkeeper had claimed to have, and the look in his eyes when he had seen the wound had made his eyes wide with horror. He drenched a cloth with the stuff, wincing at the smell which seemed to immediately clog his nostrils, and Erik swore in Persian at the fiery sting.
"God's teeth Khan, get that mouldy rag away from me!" he hissed, recoiling sharply and making Nadir slosh the whiskey all over himself.
"Do you want that wound to become infected and poison you until you die?" Nadir asked calmly back, taking a large swig of the whiskey out of spontaneous desire- it was fiery and far too strong but he took another, feeling the warmth in the pit of his stomach ease out and dull the exhaustion that was imbedded deep within his bones.
"I know you imagine yourself to be the master of medicine Khan but grinding herbs once upon a time in Persia means nothing! And I refuse to be treated by a drunkard, which you will soon be if you keep downing that vile drink!" Erik spat, his deformity still glistening and wet from the rain in the firelight. "And of course I helped the Vicomte."
"Of course?" Nadir challenged and Erik scowled at him, prickly from the exhaustion and the overwhelming mix of emotions that were still spiralling through him and his head. "You've forgiven him, haven't you?"
"I have come to understand things, Daroga, if that is what you mean." Erik said quietly, impatiently snatching the bottle of whiskey and taking a large gulp, despite his hatred for alcohol. He gestured irritably for Nadir to start stitching him up with the sewing needle and cotton thread the innkeeper had managed to dredge up from some forgotten cupboard- Nadir washed these in whiskey too, and began the delicate work, feeling Erik tense a little in pain but hearing no hiss or whimper. Erik was too exhausted for that. "How can I possibly resent someone who has gone to every effort to understand me- and someone who has now lost all innocence and hope because of being associated with me? Yet another corrupted life."
"There is no need to be quite so pessimistic." Nadir murmured, finishing his stitches painlessly. "What has happened today is tragic, but there is one thing you forget- Christine is free."
It was those words, so strangely prophetic and filled with a misplaced sense of doom, that filled Erik's head utterly when the horridly inevitable occurred, half an hour later, when he and Nadir were collapsed with exhaustion and half asleep on the chairs in front of the fire, Erik still without a mask or shirt, his wound now throbbing a dull ache rather than stinging. They were both awoken and startled by the sound of the door creaking open, and Erik felt all his insides twist and fall away when he scrambled up and saw that it was Christine stood there in the doorway.
He honestly thought she was dead. She stood there, like an apparition, a ghost tormented by pain, for that was what seemed to be radiating from every inch of her- pain and tortured confusion. Her face was as white as the rumpled nightgown she wore, her face sweating and her eyes terrified- her hair was wild and so dark compared to the colourless skin of her face. She was crying, tears rolling from her eyes and dripping down her cheeks, but she didn't seem to notice.
"Christine-!" Erik was frozen to where he stood, the look in her eyes enough to tell him that something was not right. He took a step towards her, sensing Nadir's presence somewhere behind him, and he held out a hand to her- he realised with a jolt of surprise that he was shaking.
Surely her appearance and her distress must be nothing more than stress, the strain of the ordeal she had just gone through, with the performance? Singing onstage and the chandelier fall seemed centuries ago to Erik but not to Christine- it would still be fresh in her mind. That had to be it- but somehow, Erik could not make himself believe it.
"I'm so confused." She whispered, her voice dry and cracking on the words- she did not sound herself at all. She sounded like a child, a terrified child. "It...it doesn't make sense."
"I know. But it's going to be alright now- you're free from the clan, Christine. And I'm here to help you. So is Nadir, and Raoul. We're all here." Erik said, the words sounding so useless.
"I don't mean the performance and Emilian, I- I mean-" she seemed to falter and stumble, her fingers pressed against her temples so hard that they shook. Then she looked at him properly, her eyes studying his face, and horror dawned in her eyes and her features twisted with unspeakable rage and confusion and fear. "I knew your face was- I mean- how could I have known? How is that possible? I saw it in my head- I dreamt it- but how- that- dear God-!"
"Christine, please, tell me what's wrong!" Erik pleaded, going towards her. But this time, she flinched backwards, pulling away from him with disgust and fury.
"Get away from me- I mean it, get away from me, Erik! What are you not telling me- what are you keeping from me?!" she exploded into sobs. "I saw things- things I could not have dreamt up on my own! Memories- memories that should not include you! Why would they? I didn't know you- you met me in the clan! But that cannot be true! WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?! HOW LONG DID YOU INTEND TO KEEP ME IN THE DARK? WHAT POSSIBLE REASON COULD THERE BE?!"
Erik could do nothing save stare at her in silent horror as she cried and looked at him with eyes filled with pain and confusion and fury- all the reasoning he had ever held, all the thoughts of love and freedom and a future together, all seemed too pitiful and wasted excuses now, seeing her like this and seeing Pali's dead body behind his closed lids. This grand plan of his, this manipulative evil excuse for a solution, had only succeeded in wreaking havoc and unspeakable grief amongst all those he cared about- even the dratted Vicomte had not been spared. He could hear Nadir from somewhere behind him, murmuring soothing words and reaching out to Christine with outstretched palms, as if to show her that he wasn't going to hurt her- Christine's sense and reason had not yet returned to her, for she was still shaking with the shock and her eyes were still clouded with whatever she had dreamed about.
"Go back to your room, Christine- tomorrow, we can discuss this and we will explain everything." Nadir begged her- at the mention of explanations and that ominous sounding 'everything', Erik's stomach heaved. "This will be of no consolation, I'm sure, but I promise you that everything that has happened to you has only been in your best interests. We had to make sure you were safe and this was the only way-"
"But what is this? What have you done- or rather, what haven't you done?!" she suddenly sounded very calm, but furious, although it was clear from the wild look in her eyes that her hysteria was far from exhausted. "Do you know what it felt like, in the beginning? Can you imagine what it must be like to wake up each morning and not know who you are? And then, to find someone who doesn't seem to care about that- someone who simply loves you for what you are and not for who you might have been?! Erik, before I met you I was going to kill myself! I WANTED TO DIE! Do you deny that you used me? Do you know who I am?"
"Christine, please-" Erik barely even whispered.
"NO!" she cut him off with a venomous snarl. "Answer me, Erik! Do you know who I am?!"
"Yes, but-"
"You could have ended that unspeakable suffering. You could have brought me out of the dark- you could have told me who I was, told me that I had a life and memories and a past that was worth something! You could have ended my suffering, my pain, but you didn't. You chose to keep me in the dark and let me think I had no one." Christine sunk into the chair against the far wall, staring solidly at the floor, not even blinking. She seemed to have turned to stone, frozen there in her confusion and her anguish, so it was a shock when her head suddenly snapped up and she began to speak in a low, frantic voice, the words bitter and dark. "It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make any sense! Why would you lie to me- what possible benefit would there be to lying to me? Was it to have power- did you want to control me? Was that it?"
"Oh God, no, Christine, nothing like that! It was- I- I would have lost you!" Erik began to sob, falling to her feet and sobbing against the hem of her skirts- for some reason that seemed unfathomable, Christine felt a sense of déjà vu wash over her, to see this ugly man writhe and weep at her feet. It was so hard to make sense of it all- she tried to reach into the back of her mind, into the dark subconscious, but still she was barred from it and still she was ignorant of the past. All she knew was that Erik, this man she loved so hopelessly and this man she had thought to be the most brilliant person in the existence of humanity, was someone from her past and yet he had pretended otherwise. Who was he? "I had to do this- I saw no other way! To tell you, to tell you would have- would have meant that- that- oh Christine, I didn't want to lose you!"
"But that wasn't your decision to make." She said softly, tears streaking down her face, her anger dissolved into sadness as she looked down upon him sobbing at her feet. She was trying to be angry with him but it was so hard not to simply throw herself into his arms and weep- he had done so much for her, rescuing her from the clan and making her days in that prison so hopeful and happy. And whatever it was he had done, it did not change the fact that her heart was still frantically pounding for him and him alone- she loved him, adored him, and could not force herself to forget that when she looked down upon him like this. "I don't believe you are a bad man, Erik- I know you aren't. There...there must be an explanation, a reason for all of this, a reason that makes sense. Tell me."
He looked up at her, like a child, and Christine gently reached out and cupped his face in her hands. She had never seen him without his mask on, remembering that when she had rudely enquired about it in the woods, when he stumbled across her by the river, he had said something about a medical reason. Now she knew that he had lied- he wore a mask out of shame, and most likely had been forced into that shame by the ignorance and evil of others. Yes, the flesh was twisted and marred and hideous. Yes, it was ugly and inhuman. Yes, it would be easy to simply look upon that deformity and scream, lay blame, call insults to feel better about oneself. But for a reason that still did not make full sense- and a reason that, unbeknownst to her, had been forged in a past she could not remember- Christine felt only sadness to look upon this unfortunate scarring. She stroked it gently, her fingertips careful not to hurt him- for the exposed skull and taut skin seemed inflamed and sore- and made certain not to flinch or stare.
Erik wished that she would. For this was torture- she had not remembered anything, not truly, and that meant the worst was yet to come. How could he look into her eyes now, with her fingers caressing his mutilated flesh and her eyes so full of love and a need to be loved, and tell her what he really was- a madman, a monster, a psychotic beast who had stalked and murdered and manipulated her in a not so distant past. He knew what he ought to do, but Erik simply could not bring himself to do it! It would be like falling on his own sword, only killing another in the process- his entire being flinched away from ever having to admit that past and those wrongdoings ever again.
"What do you remember?" he asked in a whisper, and she closed her eyes for a second, trembling with the fact she was now so close, so close to being enlightened.
"Nothing. All I know is I dreamt that I was in the dark, there was a mirror, I heard voices- you and I. I would have thought nothing of it but your face-" she flushed a little, hating to use it against him, but knowing that she must be honest. "I saw your face, exactly as it is now, and that isn't possible. So it must have been a memory. And I could tell- I felt things I have never felt. And then when the chandelier fell I saw things- your face, voices, and I felt so afraid but it wasn't the chandelier or Emilian or...oh I don't know. But that doesn't matter- just tell me, Erik. I'm sure there will be a reason for all of this, and that you are acting in my interests, and I... I just want the truth. And you."
Erik closed his eyes and saw the smiling face of the girl he had kissed on the night of Don Juan. Then she faded and he knew that it was over. He took a deep, shuddering breath and reached out for her hands, gripping them within his own, trying to commit the sensation to memory.
"You will have the truth- all of it. But not today." He took a deep breath, seeing confusion and a spark of anger in her eyes. What he was about to do was the lowest of the low, but he was well used to using situations to his spineless advantage. "Christine, something awful happened, once the chandelier fell and we escaped."
"Gods teeth, Erik, don't do this now!" Nadir exploded, leaping forward and ripping Erik backwards- there was something wrong with Erik, something not quite right with his voice and his eyes and how wretchedly calm he seemed. He knew his old friend well enough to be sure that this was all going to end badly- he glanced at Christine, seeing that she watched them with scared eyes, and then he gave Erik a meaningful look as if to tell him that he knew something was amiss. Erik ignored him.
"She needs to know. He was her friend, too, and if she wants to attend the funeral then she will need to accept what has happened." Erik replied coldly, and Christine gasped.
"Funeral?" she echoed. "Oh God, what happened?" she looked around the room, her eyes filling with tears, seeing that Raoul was not present and instantly thinking the worst. "Oh, not Raoul!"
"Christine, Emilian came after us. There was a fight. We killed Emilian." Erik said in that same curiously calm voice- Christine was too upset to notice it, but Nadir was not. Christine seemed to notice the ugly wound on Erik's side then- it had ripped open when he leapt up and fell to her knees, a few of the stitches having burst open, so a little blood was weeping out again. She touched it with trembling fingers, entranced by the sight, and wiped the blood away, feeling cold all over when she contemplated that it could have been Erik who died. "Raoul was badly injured, but he is alive- he is upstairs, being nursed. He will live."
Christine nodded in relief, silly tears springing up and she wiped them away, smearing blood over her cheeks in the process- Erik felt chilled to the core to see his blood smeared on her lily white face.
"But, then who-" she began to ask, and then cut off suddenly, realising. Real tears appeared this time, and her lip trembled. "No. No!"
"Pali killed Emilian, but Emilian wounded him fatally. He died in my arms." Erik said in a numb voice, and Christine seemed to realise that this death was a greater blow to him than it was to any of them. She reached out to him and pulled his head against her, pressing his face to her womb, like a mother protecting her child. She could feel him start to sob as she stroked his hair, and her own tears dripped onto the top of his head as she rocked him and soothed him.
"I'm so sorry for being angry with you- if I'd known, I would never have demanded those things of you, not today." She whispered, feeling his hands fist against her. "Oh Pali, Pali- he was such a good man, so kind- he should not have suffered because of this, because of me! I'm so sorry, Erik, I'm so sorry!"
They stayed like that, wrapped in each other's arms, sobbing for their lost friend and for whatever the future might hold for them now, for a long time- it seemed endless. But eventually, they managed to let go, to get up from the floor, to wince at the cracking of stiff joints, to make some meaningless comment about the pathetic sunshine that lit up the room. When Christine went back to her room, she found that someone had put a small frame on her bed- she gasped when she saw that it was a small sepia portrait of her father, smiling out at her, his eyes shining so that it almost seemed as if he were ready to leap out of the painting any moment now. She held this to her chest as she sat down heavily on the end of the bed, closing her eyes, because she knew with an awful premonition that something bad was going to happen. She could feel it, dark and invasive, and it made her chest clutch worryingly.
"Please, don't let things fall apart now." She whispered to no one, not even herself. "Let us go to Paris, let Erik tell me whatever it is he hasn't, let it be alright again. I can't lose him- I can't lose him now."
It was terrifying, but Christine realised that perhaps she didn't want to know whatever past it was that Erik had held back from her- as she pressed her fingers to the back of the frame, and felt her heartbeat through it, she realised that the love she felt now was enough. She didn't need anything else- the past didn't matter, if she had a future with Erik.
But there was no time to talk about that, not today. Raoul was still too ill and weak, but Nadir, Erik and Christine all left for the camp at sunset, and entered the midst of gypsies holding their heads high. The endless rows of faces staring made Christine's legs feel heavy, tripping and stumbling as her knees caught at her long skirt, but whenever she felt that she might topple Erik's hand was already there at her elbow, catching her and steadying her. She had no words for him, for they had all gone dry and thick at the atmosphere and the thought of why they were here, but she saw in his eyes that he understood. She pressed closer to him, feeling warmth wherever his skin touched hers, and she knew she could ignore the stares and the whispers so long as she had him there beside her. It was a ludicrous thing, walking freely back into the very camp they had gone to such lengths to liberate her from, and Christine did wonder in one brief moment of panic if she really ought to be doing this, but she had loved Pali and would not let fear hold her back from this final goodbye.
When they found Rose, Christine ran straight over to her and embraced her, feeling that the wiry strength within the gypsy woman's arms had disappeared since the last time she had seen her- only days ago. How could everything change so much in such a short space of time? Christine's head was reeling with it and she could do nothing but cry with her as the gypsies burned Pali's body on a funeral pyre- someone was playing a low, steady rhythm on a hand drum, and Christine found it was comforting, if a little unusual. Even in death, the gypsy way of giving everything energy and vibrancy remained. The drum beat was a heartbeat- a sign that not all life had faded and died. She didn't want to look but it was impossible not to- the light and heat being thrown off from the burning was intrusive, invasive, and she felt as if she would not have believed that Pali was truly gone if she had not seen those flames swallowing his body.
Suddenly, Erik stepped forward- Christine didn't know where it had come from, but his violin was in his hands, and as he stepped as close to the pyre as anyone would dare his fingers began to fly; the bow caressed the strings and into the night leapt a gypsy melody. It was fast paced and had a pulse- the spark of life that Christine had learned characterised these vibrant people- but it was also sorrowful and lingering. In the firelight, it was clear that he was crying, although with his mask back on it was harder to see.
As suddenly as it had started, the melody came to a halting end, the last note shivering in the night air. Erik raised his violin to his lips, kissed it, and then threw it onto the pyre. He bowed to it, slowly, keeping his eyes on the burning instrument and the flames that danced just like gypsy girls, and then he turned away. Christine held out a hand to him, which he took, standing close to her again- she could feel it that something had changed. When the gypsies began to drift away back into the camp, the pyre still burning into the night, Erik took Christine's hand and led her into the dark of the forest. The moisture was thick in the air, the fresh smell of rain and greenery refreshing after the choking smoke of the bonfire, and Christine let the leaves and trailing vegetation brush her face, her arms, embracing this kiss from nature and loving how fresh and cool it felt against her flushed skin.
They were meandering along, aimlessly so it seemed, but soon it became apparent that they were close to the inn and that as soon as they left these trees, it would be strangely symbolic- leaving the woodland and the gypsies and everything about that life behind them forever. Erik stopped at the edge of the trees, and without warning he pressed his lips down upon her own- not sweetly, or nervously, but boldly and desperately. He clung to her, his hands trailing and touching every texture- her curls, her soft cheek, her smooth lips- with feverish desperation, as if he were running out of time, and as if any moment he would be ripped away from her. Christine pushed him away, shivering as that awful sense of impending doom washed over her again.
"Nothing will ever be so bad again." She said softly, reaching up and pushing the mask away from his warped skin, leaning in to kiss it and feeling him tremble. "I love you, Erik. And though I will need time to accept and understand this whole...mess, I know I will. I have never felt strong or brave but when I am with you, I know I can be. There is nothing you could do that would make me stop loving you."
"Goodnight, Christine." He said simply, encouraging her with a simple gesture to go inside. She obeyed the unspoken wish with nothing more than a small smile, leaving him stood there in the fringes of the woodland, watching her go and forcing himself to accept the fact that he would never see her again.
For whatever she said, however lovely her intent as she spoke those tortured words, all he could think of was what Emilian had said to him as he ranted in his murderous rage- She screamed out your name, Devil's Child! She didn't realise it, but she did- as I pressed her against the floor and invaded her, she cried out your name, and you weren't there! You didn't come! What will she think when she learns that her saviour is in fact just as hellish a beast as the gypsies who held her?
For it was true. As the Phantom, he had killed, he had manipulated, he had tortured, he had kidnapped, he had held desires that would make the world shudder with revulsion. Erik could not face that past again and he knew he could not drag Christine through that living hell either. He had broken Raoul and tarnished his innocence- he would not do that to Christine again. Not when she had this perfect opportunity to be free and live a life free from the dark as she was supposed to.
As he put the mask back onto his face, Nadir came out of the thicket, staring hard at his friend. Erik turned to look at him, but said nothing- the dead look in his usually burning yellow eyes was enough.
"You may fool her, Erik, but you certainly don't fool me. You have been acting strangely all day and I would be very interested to hear why." Nadir looked across to where Christine had gone, saw that Erik was still staring at the path she had taken, and at once he knew- and was furious. "You're going to leave. Dear God, Erik, you're going to leave her!"
"Don't speak to me as if I am a fool, Khan, I don't see how I have any choice." He said softly, offering no defence. "I can't do it, Daroga. I can't tell her, I can't show her who I really am- I can't break her like that! All I do, all I ever do, is taint and ruin and throw everyone into shadow and I can't do that to Christine, not again!"
"How utterly infantile. Today has proved, Erik, that she is going to be able to accept this! She loves you and that is enough!" he urged. "And anyway, if you do run away, like a coward, what would you do? Where would you go? There is nowhere you can go!"
"Don't interrogate me, Daroga, please. I don't know details- I just know that I need to get away from her, from here, before I can't. Before I somehow make the same mistakes and entangle myself in yet another web of deceit and lies!"
"Don't be a fool, Erik. Because I can tell you exactly what will happen! You'll go off somewhere, hide away from all humanity, and make yourself miserable pining for Christine Daae until the day you die! And because I always follow you, you'll make me miserable too!" Nadir ranted, with a hint of desperation tainting his voice.
"Well, you needn't come with me."
"Even if I wanted to, I couldn't, not yet! For if you do go, I will be left with the predicament of Mademoiselle Daae to manage! You can't just leave her, Erik, you're not that cruel!" Nadir was fuming, but also scared that Erik truly meant it this time- he hadn't become hysterical or mad with rage, which usually meant he was deadly serious. "I can't believe you would really do this to her, after she has been so forgiving! She'll think you've abandoned her!"
Erik sighed and straightened up, turning his back on the inn and those who were inside- Christine, and also Raoul.
"Better she thinks that and moves on with her life. I want her to be happy, Khan- and happiness will never be found with me."
Without another word, he turned from Nadir and went to the stables, where his horse was waiting, saddled and ready. Nadir wondered if he ought to run after him, to hold him back and start shouting like madman to bring Christine down to the courtyard- would the coward leave her so easily if he had to look in her eyes as he did it? But Nadir knew he could not do that.
He followed him into the stables, and stood in the doorway, eyes hard as he watched Erik mount his horse and lead him into the courtyard.
"There are times, Erik, when I come to a point and I greatly dislike you, even hate you, and I believe you are the worst specimen of humanity. Now is one of those times." He said coldly. "I hope you fail, whatever it is you're trying to do. And then, I hope you come to your senses and come back to Christine, because what you are doing to her now is far crueller than anything you ever did. She wants you, she loves you, and once again you are making a decision for her and ruining things."
"She doesn't know what she wants, Khan, that is the point. She certainly won't want the Opera Ghost." He laughed then, in a bitter sort of humour. "Don't you see, Khan? I'm finally doing what I never had the strength to do before. I am removing my shadow from her life, and you will see- she will flourish!"
"And you won't be there to see it." Was all Nadir could say, closing his eyes and turning away. "Go away, Erik. I can't be bothered to waste any more time on you, not now. I just hope you realise what you have done before it is once again too late."
Upstairs, Christine picked up the portrait of her father again and walked to the window, to examine his face again in the moonlight. The pearlescent shimmer seemed to make his eyes sparkle and she smiled- she had missed seeing his face, scared she would forget it. She assumed that it was Erik who had given her this and she wished then, with a muttered curse to her own stupidity, that she had through to mention it to him, to tell him just how much it meant to her to have this.
Suddenly, there came the sound of furiously paced hooves against the cobbled stone of the courtyard below, and Christine dropped the picture frame in startled astonishment. She glanced out of the window and saw a figure riding off into the night, and her heart knotted tightly within her chest. Carefully, she bent down to retrieve the frame, cutting her finger on a razor shard of glass, gasping a little as she saved the sepia portrait from damage. But there was something else nestled in that deadly nest of glass and now her own blood; Christine found a small folded scrap, tucked up inside the frame, and she knew instantly what it would be- it was that awful sense of doom again, this time swamping her and making her whole body tremble. With tears flowing down her cheeks, she unfolded the note and immediately ran to the window, now sobbing- but he was gone.
'Our tangled lives are distorted with echoes of the past- we will never be free of them. It was a beautiful dream, but now I wake and I know- dreams can never be true. Erik.'