A/N: Erik has learned many things in his travels. Although neither Kay nor Leroux mention this, I feel sure that he must have visited India at some point. If not, then he must surely have read about the incredible exploits of the yogis there. Erik has always been insatiably curious, as those of us who are most madly in love with him know!
I have decided...wait a minute, what am I saying? It is my muses who have decided to have Erik's unusual suicide attempt turn into a near-death experience...
Chapter 5: The Face of His Soul
Erik closed his eyes in pain. Although his arm throbbed, it was the pain he felt in his heart that tore at him. He was too weak, however, to channel it into anger. So he resigned himself to it, this pain that had accompanied him throughout his life.
She had gone to speak with Raoul. Of course, she had to explain that she would make sure, he, Erik, was comfortable. She would also ask Raoul to leave some money for him at the inn, to cover his expenses. Then she would return to Erik's side, to take her leave of him, and continue her little journey with her precious Vicomte, a journey that would culminate in their marriage...
His mind now began a furious battle with itself. She had called him "my love", when she asked if he was thirsty, and placed her hand on his lips for him to kiss. Yet, she had been much too eager to leave him so that she could have her little talk with that hateful boy. Her apparently sweet behavior with the wounded Erik was purely an act...She was, after all, an opera singer. Did they not act as well as sing? He ground his teeth, his feelings hardening into anger, although he was denied the expression of it.
Suddenly, he opened his eyes again. His plans, he mused, must undergo a change. His original idea had been to snatch Christine from the Vicomte, and forcibly take her away. He had been prepared to fight for her, if necessary. Now he knew he could do nothing to keep her from leaving. There was nothing now to prevent him from leaving, too. He would depart from this earthly plane, by simply allowing himself to die...He closed his eyes once more, feeling his body slowly sinking into the bed, as he willed his heart to stop beating. He had learned the technique during his time in India. The yogis there could control their bodily functions at will. All he had to do was to avoid calling himself back from the abyss that yawned before him. Nature would do the rest, and he would gratefully plunge into that darkness that called out to him, so seductively...Gradually, he felt his heartbeat slowing, crawling inexorably to a stop. His last coherent thought was of his beloved. Her whispered name was his last breath, just before he lapsed into unconsciousness.
Christine walked up the steps of the inn with a heavy heart. She had not wanted to hurt Raoul. She could not fathom what was wrong with her, having left Paris with him willingly enough. Yet she knew that there had been just that little nagging doubt in her mind, that slow regret that told her she was making the wrong decision. Now, although she felt sadness for the Vicomte, she knew exactly what she wanted -- a mysterious, tormented man who wore a mask, whose soul's beauty had captured her heart...
Putting aside all thoughts of Raoul, she went up the stairs with a lighter step. He was up there, wounded, yes, but swiftly recovering. Her mind had almost snapped when she had seen all the blood. So much blood, she thought, from a wound that was not life-threatening!
As she opened the door of his room, all her senses were suddenly alert, and her heart started racing. Something was not quite right; indeed, something was horribly wrong...Rushing over to Erik's bed, she noted with alarm the sudden pallor of his features. She grasped his face, calling out to him desperately. His flesh was cold to the touch.
"Erik!" she screamed, over and over, but he did not respond. Her anguish at last spilled out into tears, great racking sobs, as she threw herself on top of him. Her tears wet his chest, which did not move with the flow of life's breath, but lay still, much too still...
She was calling to him. Dimly, from a great distance, he heard her voice, marveling at the desperation in it. He attempted to turn back from the darkness, and reach out to that voice, but he was being pulled away, away, into a pitch-black tunnel, at the end of which he could see a light of unearthly brilliance. Her voice receded even more, as he gathered speed, flying further into the tunnel. He felt as if he weighed no more than a feather. The light now beckoned, almost reaching for him, and he continued to fly toward it, with no effort of his own, but as if propelled by an unseen force. Before long, he was surrounded by its comforting warmth. The light was piercingly bright, the whitest white he had ever seen, and yet his eyes felt no discomfort.
A shape was forming in the light. It seemed that some of the light's atoms were now solidifying themselves to form a recognizably human figure. As he watched, the figure became more solid, and at last, he could see that it was a man. This man was not dressed as Erik thought an angel would be. This was ludicrous, he thought, smiling to himself. Barring Christine, when had he ever seen a real angel? Of course, he was expecting something like the images in the paintings of the great artists -- long, flowing white robes, and golden hair, framing a delicately pearly complexion. The man that now faced him was dressed in the fashion of, roughly, twenty years before. He was not young, but appeared to be nearing middle age. His eyes looked at him in a kindly manner, his mouth forming a smile beneath a neatly-trimmed mustache. Erik stared at him in wonder. There was something disturbingly familiar about this man. He could not quite think what it was. Perhaps he resembled someone Erik knew exceedingly well.
"Hello, Erik," the man suddenly said, in a clear, melodious voice.
Erik nearly jumped at this surprising greeting. "How is it that you know my name? Who are you?"
"I know the most important thing about you," the man continued, his smile broadening. "I know that you are the man who loves my Christine with a love that encompasses eternity. A love, my dear boy, that she feels just as strongly."
Erik stared at the man, his eyes widening. Abruptly, he felt a current of electricity flow like lightning up his spine.
"You are..." he swallowed, about to go on, but the man interrupted him.
"Yes, my boy, I am...Gustav Daae."
Christine was not aware of the passing of time. She only knew that she had no more tears to shed. He was apparently gone, to where she could not follow, at least, not without doing violence to herself. She was stunned, and she could feel her mind beginning to shut down. Everything was growing dark around her, her vision tunneling down to where she no longer saw anything but his beloved face. Then, even that disappeared...
She was apparently floating now, floating in the most beautiful, brilliant white light. It was all around her. Looking back, she only saw endless darkness. She was floating, flying, away from it, and her body began to gather speed of its own accord, as she felt herself blanketed in the strangest, most welcoming warmth.
She heard voices ahead, in the distance. Where was she? Into what wondrous land of her unconscious mind had she inadvertently ventured? As she got closer, she was able to discern two figures. They appeared to be human. Her breath quickened. Perhaps they were angels...
She now seemed to be standing, not far from them. One of the figures, becoming aware of her presence, beckoned to her with a very human-looking hand. As she got closer, she gasped. At the same time, the second figure turned, to gape at her.
Erik, with her father.
She stood still in shock, looking from one to the other. How could this be?
"Christine," her father called to her, with that gentle tone she had so sorely missed throughout the years.
She came forward, unable to pull her gaze from his, and he held out a hand to her.
"Oh, Father!" she cried out, and rushed into his arms, weeping.
He held her, as tenderly as he had in life, and she put her arms around his neck, hoping he would not leave her again, but knowing that he inevitably had to. As if reading her thoughts, he now gently pulled her arms down, and, holding her left hand, turned to Erik. Still smiling, Daae beckoned to him in silence.
Erik drifted over to them, puzzled. His eyes took in Christine's face, noticing how her eyes began to glow as she looked upon him. When Erik was right in front of them, Daae took his left hand, joining it with Christine's right hand.
"My children," he said, ever so softly, "it is not time for either of you to make this crossing. You both must return, for you have many years to live together. You have my heartfelt blessings."
As he said these words, he released his grip on their hands, leaving them joined together. He stepped back, and began to slowly fade, a tender smile remaining on his lips.
Christine cried out again, reaching out to him. She stepped forward to grasp him even as his form dissolved into brilliant specks of light. Erik gently restrained her. She turned to him, her expression a mixture of abject loss and soaring joy. Erik smiled at her, his own eyes moist. Lifting one of her hands, he brought it to his lips, while his eyes looked longingly into hers.
"Come, my sweet, we must return," he murmured, his heart full.
She could not stop looking at him. Indeed, she seemed mesmerized by him.
"Erik," she now said, her voice low, the wonder in it causing him to tilt his head slightly as he looked at her, confused.
"What is it, Christine?" he asked, somewhat worried.
"Your face, Erik," she said in awe. "Your face! Oh, it's so beautiful! If you could only see yourself...there is no disfigurement! You are a most handsome man!"
She brought her hand up to his face, and caressed it, her lips slightly parted, her expression much like that of a child who has discovered some hitherto unknown marvel of nature.
He smiled. "You have seen the face of my soul," he whispered, as he gathered her into his arms, bringing his lips to hers.
Christine awoke, startled, and immediately looked down at Erik. She noticed, to her great relief, that his face had now acquired some color, and he was breathing normally, his eyes closed in sleep. Wanting to reassure herself further, she leaned over and felt the pulse at his throat. It was normal, as far as she could tell. Smiling softly, she caressed his hair, pushing a rebellious lock off his forehead. Leaning over further, she kissed him lightly, then moved back.
She looked around for a chair. Finding one, she dragged it over to the bed, straining at its weight. She moved it as close as possible to the edge of the bed, and continued to look at him as she sat down. She would stay next to his side all through the night.
She now recalled the images she had seen, in that strange other world she had visited, along with Erik. Smiling in the now slowly gathering darkness, she tried to grasp them in her mind, so that she could forever treasure them. Her father had been so real...he had held her, and she could remember his voice. It had all been real. Then she remembered Erik's face. She had never seen such a beautiful face on a man before. Gone was all trace of the disfigurement that had been the bane of his existence since birth. She now compared that face to the one that lay sleeping on his pillow. She could easily picture it superimposed on the face before her. Sighing contentedly, she pulled her feet up under herself, continuing to stare at Erik in the waning light. She had seen the face of his soul. No longer could she doubt that she was truly his...