Christine dans Deux

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One
Chapter Twelve – Home Again

I see nothing for a moment, but I feel Erik's hands holding mine. I blink my eyes and after a moment, sight returns. We are together! It worked! I lean forward and rest my head for a moment on his chest. I hear the steady pounding of his heart and it comforts me. I realize that we are lying naked together in a bed. The room is dark and the silence around us tells me it is the silence of night. The feel of the mattress is familiar and I snuggle closer to his warmth.

"We are in my bedroom." I whisper.

"It is still night here." Is his reply.

"Yes, I know. So, dearest, how should we spend the time before the sun rises?" I tease.

I feel his silent answer as he presses the hardness of his body against mine. He covers my face with kisses as I do the same to him. And as we move our lips to drink from one another's mouth, he covers my body with his. I reach my hand down, grasp him and guide him inside. Our breathing quickens and we are simply a man and a woman for a time.

Much later, we whisper to one another words of love and explore one another's body with gentle caresses. The passion takes us again.

Much, much later.

"We need to sleep sometime, mon chére cœur. I'll take first watch."

"Oh, thank you, Erik. Look down towards the foot of the bed do you see the amber light?" Not needing a response, I continue. "That is a clock. It's 4:00 a.m. Wake me at 6:30 a.m. Trystin will probably wake at 9:00 a.m. so I will let you take your turn until she wakes up. All right?"

I can feel him nod his agreement. I am so very tired. Exhausted and happy. I settle into his arms, close my eyes and for a time, I know no more.

And from the darkness out of a mist, comes a small black boat. There is a man standing on the stern using a long pole to propel the small craft forward. I hear music and suddenly I am not watching the man from a distance, I am lying in the boat and looking up at him. The boat is gently, but insistently rocking. I ask him if he can pole more gently so the rocking will stop, but the rocking continues. And then I gasp as the boat begins to shake. I open my eyes and find it is only poor Erik trying to wake me. I look at him sheepishly.

"Oops! Sorry!"

"No, I am the one who is sorry. You were so peaceful, I hated to disturb you. I normally need very little sleep, if any. However, you have found a way to make me sleepy."

I giggle and he kisses the tip of my nose.

"Good night." He murmurs already slipping into sleep.

"Good night, my love."

I do not leave the bed, nor let go of his hand. I lie in the slowly fading dark replaying our lovemaking in my mind. The constant wonder I feel as he anticipates an unspoken desire. Never had I thought that lovemaking could be so joyous and so complete. Our bodies moving with a perfect choreographed rhythm. So in tune and so in sync. I found no need left unsatisfied and could feel no need in Erik either. I smiled at the sleeping face next to me and blew him a kiss. I knew that to touch Erik when he slept would awaken him immediately. Too many years of being hunted, afraid and alone. Two nights of love could not heal those wounds, but I would be grateful if the fates would grant us the time together so I help could heal them. As the day dawned and the light left the grey tones and moved into the gold of morning. Erik turned in his sleep and I could see his chest and arm emerge from the sheets and comforter. A sudden thought came into my mind. Does he have clothes? Very slowly I raise myself to a sitting position and try to see if (like my nightgown on the den floor) any of Erik's clothing made the transition with him. I see my nightgown lying on the floor next to (what I always considered) my side of the bed and there lying neatly folded on my bureau are all of Erik's clothes. Good thing, too. While I had never gotten around to packing up my husband's clothes, but they would have done Erik no good. My husband was the same exact height (but not weight) as myself (5'2") whereas I guess that Erik is mostly likely 6'2". Not a close fit by any standards.

My mind wanders and I find (much to my surprise) that I am not at all sleepy. I'm much too excited to sleep. Excited both by having Erik in my bed and by having Erik in my world (if that makes sense.) Not wanting to disturb his rest, I compose myself and while not taking my eyes off Erik, I begin to write (in my mind) the true story of The Phantom of the Opera.

When at last it is almost 9:00 a.m., I gently place my hand on his arm. As I suspected, his eyes fly open in alarm. He draws back from my touch and springs from the bed. By the time his feet hit the carpeted floor he is fully awake. He turns his eyes to mine and I see he is horrified by what he considers his rude behavior.

"Come, dearest, no offense taken. Please come back to bed. Trystin does not knock before she enters my room, nor is my door all of the way closed. If she awakens, I would prefer she not receive a lesson in male anatomy today."

I cannot help the grin on my face, but the grin turns lustful as my gaze drops. He notices and shakes his head.

"Are all women of your time this uninhibited?"

"I honestly don't know. I was really very lucky to have a mother who gave me a very positive attitude about sex. She once said to me that after having her sixth baby, she'd lost all sense of modesty. After having all those people watch as you give birth, she couldn't be bothered worrying over what other people thought. She said that if you'd seen it before, you knew what it was so no big deal. If you hadn't seen it before, you didn't know what it was so again no big deal. She had so many funny sayings. I miss her terribly."

I pause, remembering.

"I know you do. I can feel your sorrow." He says simply and slides back beneath the sheets.

"Dearest, I need to ask you something, but first I am going to tell you some things. When I was ten, I worked in my father's office. He is a doctor. Medicine has come along way since 1870. When I was older, I worked at a newspaper as a photographer and on some assignments I freelanced for the coroner's office. I've seen some pretty horrendous things. Anyway, please do not take offense. There is a reason for what I'm about to ask. Were you born this way? And if so, has it become worse over the years? And, lastly, does it cause you physical pain?"

He is silent and I worry that I have spoken too much, too soon. I turn my gaze to the ceiling afraid that I have hurt him.

"I was indeed born this way. No, other than growing with me as I grew, it is much the same as always. And, the only part that can cause me pain is my eye. It often becomes very red and tired. I have to take great care that it does not become infected. Why do you ask?"

I nod my head as he has just voiced my one concern for his condition.

"I ask because I believe that doctors in my time could help you. There are doctors that perform reconstructive surgery on people born with cleft palates and all other sorts of conditions. I've seen some amazing things. I am only concerned because I know you are always aware of your appearance and since it seems to matter to you, I thought I would let you know that something could be done about it."

More silence.

"Have you ever seen anyone like me before?"

"No, but I've seen people who are much worse. And the doctors were able to help them."

"So, people in your time do not believe deformities are a sign of the devil?"

"No, dearest, we now know that the thing that causes these things to happen are inherited from our parents or caused by exposure to different types of chemicals. And while it is difficult for some people to look at a person with a deformity, as a whole society does not ostracize them from the general public. Most people try to help … if help is wanted."

"I will think about what you have said. Are you offering to take me to your father for an examination? You would let your father know that you care for me?"

"Erik, other than wishing to remain here in bed with you forever, the idea of being able to be with you anywhere makes me happy and proud. Of course, I would bring you to my father. And I definitely want him to know that I love you. He will be very happy for me. Remember, he knows how it feels to lose a spouse. He will be happy that I've found love."

His eyes shine and he is unconsciously shaking his head back and forth and back and forth.

"You really do love me, don't you?"

"Oh yes, I do. And I am going to tell you so many times and show you in as many different ways that I can think of until you truly believe it. And then, once you believe me. I will tell you again. Erik, I love you!"

I scoot across the bed and climb on top of him. I look deeply into his eyes. I smile and proceed to kiss him all over his face. I feel him swelling beneath me and cannot resist. I rise above him and then slowly lower myself onto him. I sit motionless atop him and then flex my inner muscles. He groans. I remain motionless and continue to tighten and release, tighten and release, tighten and release. Over and over. We remain still our eyes locked on one another the only sound is our ragged breathing. At last, his eyes close, his back arches and his head tilts back. He thrusts up into me and we climax together. A small cry escapes my lips and I am taken away by wave after wave of utter and complete pleasure.

After a time, I come back to myself and find that he has lifted me from my perch and placed me next to him on the bed.

I turn my head to meet his gaze. We stare at one another for a long time. I smile weakly and sigh happily.

"We just may be a perfect match." He says.

"Christine, I …" his voice trails off. After all we have done with and to one another; it seems strange to hear the embarrassment in his voice.

I, on the other hand, am now complete. He has called me by my name for the first time. Yet, I feel discomfort emanating from him.

"What is wrong, my love?"