Act Three: Faust

Chapter Two

As I returned to consciousness, I did not open my eyes, to some extent from disappointment that I had woken up at all. While still between true wakefulness and oblivion I tried to piece together the events that had led to such a state. I could recall broad moments with ease, but could not string them together coherently. A mad dash to my room, the flash of a knife against my flesh, endless pacing as if emotion could not be contained, and above all the sight of Erik crashing through my flimsy barricade.

Part of me was upset that I had fainted; the sinful, unnatural part of me wanted to see his panic, grief and hate and to relish the thought that I caused his suffering. The other part of me was thankful that I was not alert to see the pain in his eyes. If I saw his tears, I too would cry and that would be the end of me. I could never leave him then.

With my eyes still closed, I opened the fingers of my hand and felt about. I did not have to reach far before they came into contact with something hard. As my senses became alert I could feel that my body was being held against another, with one hand at my neck and another at the small of my back. The shared heat of our bodies warmed my cheeks. The scent of stale breath, the whiff of cologne and the strange metallic odor of blood assaulted my nose.

I opened my eyes and was not surprised to see that it was Erik who was clinging to me. He had brought me to the overstuffed armchair that resided in the corner of my room. My head rested against his shoulder, and his head had fallen forward almost covering mine. His mask was tilted to one side, exposing only a corner of one closed eye, and his hair lay disheveled against his forehead. Beneath the lower edge of his mask, the skin was slick and wet. One of my hands crept up to touch the liquid but I already knew what it was. Pressing two fingers against the top of his chin, I felt his tears brush against my flesh.

One of my fingers was halfway resting on his bottom lip and, out of some bizarre fascination, I moved it upward and pressed it over the rest of his lips.

Erik stirred and then sat upright, jerking us both forward. My hands were tossed back and both of our limbs became tangled in each other at the sudden movement. I managed to regain my composure and sat up straight, only to realize I was still sitting on Erik's lap. He looked up at me with a painful and pleading gaze.

"Christine."

I moved off of his lap and stood before him. A flash of red on my wrist caught my eye. It was not from blood, but the cuff of Erik's jacket. It had been torn off and the ragged edge still remained. I wriggled a finger underneath the fabric to find other layers of the cloth wound around my wrist. My eyes fell to the floor and noticed the garment of Red Death, now ravaged and ripped. I looked up to notice Erik's eyes staring at my wrist.

"I'm sorry. I didn't have any fresh bandages," he explained, as if that mattered.

I shook my head slowly, cursing myself for being so stupid. I wondered why I had really put the knife to my wrist. Did I only do it to threaten Erik? To scare him or hurt him? Or had I really wanted to end it all? Either choice was a childish one. No, I hadn't wanted to kill myself. If I truly did, I wouldn't have hesitated.

My eyes fell to Erik's form as we both looked at each other in uncomfortable silence. He was in his shirt sleeves, still wearing the scarlet trousers tucked into his black boots. But there was another splash of color that caught my eye, one that was out of place. On his left side a large reddish brown stain started at the front of his stomach and stretched around to his back.

I gasped and my hands flew to my face. I couldn't have …

Tear at my heart … or I shall end my pain with a sword.

In my madness I had stabbed him. I had threatened him before and to my complete amazement, I had remained true to my word. I fell to my knees and a harsh sob lept from my throat.

"My God! I've hurt you!" Erik fixed me with a stunned expression which gave way to one of embarrassment as I moved to his side and started to tug at his shirt.

"Christine!" he brought his hands down to mine, trying to gently lift them away. I would not let him. I instead I grasped his hands even tighter, pressed my head to his chest and started to cry.

"Please." I begged. I managed to pull myself away and then straighten legs to elevate my kneeling form. My fingers worked quick and pulled the ends of the shirt from under the waist band. I pushed up the stained fabric to examine the result of my attack. A wicked gash curved against pale skin of his side. Dried blood was spread around it, sticking to his flesh. The cut had begun to scab, but still looked red and raw to my untrained eye. I reached a finger to lightly touch at the wound and felt him flinch. My touch had been enough to break the scab and fresh blood started to pour once again from the spot.

"It's not deep," he explained.

My tears increased. I stood up and went to the wash basin on my dresser. I saw the surface was wet with small puddles of water. The water in the basin was already murky with blood. The pitcher nearby still contained fresh water. I reached into one of the drawers and withdrew a handful of delicate lace handkerchiefs. I balled up the cloth in my fist and submerged it into the pitcher. After dipping them in water, I returned to Erik's side and without another word began to clean the wound to the best of my abilities.

We did not need to speak. Within the silence we expressed our regrets to each other. I pressed the damp cloth along the length of the gash to stop any further bleeding, all the while biting my lip and shaking my head. I cursed Erik and I cursed myself in turn. I had harmed him while he, even in his anger, had not sought to inflict any pain on my person. He could have easily knocked me unconscious and carried me back to his home. He did not. Now because of my stupid actions he had given me another reason I could not leave him. The guilt of what I had done wouldn't leave me. I washed his stained skin of his torso, ignoring the incredibly awkward position I was placing us both in. Erik's hands hovered above mine, desperately wanting to stop me.I felt his flesh pulse under my fingertips with each inhale of breath.

I returned to my dresser and looked for something suitable to use as a bandage. I flung aside useless corsets, underpinnings and gloves until I happened on a collection of scarves tucked deep inside a drawer. I withdrew a long cream colored one and rushed to chair. I knelt before Erik and reached for the buttons on his shirt.
His hands shot out like a cat pouncing on a mouse to stop me. "Christine, don't."

I struggled against him. "Erik. Please you're hurt. You're bleeding." I wrung the scarf in my hands, desperate to bind it to his body. "I've hurt you. I-I c-could have killed you! It's all-all my fault." I was stuttering like a pitiful fool. I managed to push his hands away. I tugged his shirt upward to expose his stomach and started to slip the scarf around his back.

Erik pressed a finger to my lips. Our eyes met. I could only imagine how wretched I must have looked to him, red faced and blubbering. The finger pressed on my lips was trembling along with the rest of him.

"Oh, my Christine," he whispered, leaning forward. With shaking lips he pressed a kiss to my forehead. His other hand came to the back of my head and pressed me forward with such intensity. We both quivered and cried together as if in some strange and sorrowful duet. I brought my hand up to grasp the folds of his shirt to pull him closer.

Erik's tears were stronger than any chain and once again they had bound me to him.

Erik left the house to fetch bandages despite my protests. When he returned he, as before, cleaned the cuts on my wrist. Thankfully I had not done much damage to myself or Erik. My strikes were wild and produced a fair amount of blood, but not lethal. I was lucky. I tried to recall if I had fainted from the sight of blood or at the moment when I had struck.

Erik retreated to his rooms to dress his wounds. I changed out of my stained ball gown and into a simple frock. When he reemerged, I was at a loss as to what to say to him. I sat in one of the long chaises and curled up against its plush cushions. I stayed like that for hours it seemed. Erik had brought me food and tea which I refused.
I was drained. Not sleepy or tired, just completely emotionless and stiff. Not good for anything but lying like a discarded doll on the furniture. I tried to think of what I would do next but my mind drew a blank. We waited that long stretch of time in silence. I think we both contemplated what reality awaited us in the word above. We didn't want to face it. Perhaps it would have been better to remained entombed in this strange house, as if already dead.

My thoughts turned to Genny and I worried for my friend. What would happen to her? I remembered what Erik had said the night before and feared she had already confessed. She could already be in a mad house for all I knew. And what would I say to her if she didn't acknowledge her crime. What could I say? I knew I would have to return to the opera within the next few days or rouse suspicion once more. I bit my fingers in reckless frustration at the thought. If I told the truth of what happened, I would be suspected and charged. That is if anyone believed my story in the first place for surely they would probably think me mad.

I wondered which was worse, the asylum or staying here with Erik where I would eventually be driven into madness.

With a look of concern on his face, Erik once again tried to get me to eat something. He sat beside me on the chaise and silently offered me the plate of food he had prepared. I looked at it without interest.

"No, thank you," I offered so I wouldn't sound so rude.

He sighed and then offered me a cup. "At least drink this," he said, exasperated. "You haven't had anything to drink or eat all day. You need your fluids." And then I noticed he reached for a second cup that I had not seen before. He raised it up as if in a toast before bringing it to his lips for a drink. The smell of the warm tea reached my nose, inviting me to drink with its earthy herbal scent. I brought it to my lips and took a relaxing drink. Erik glanced in my direction, a look of approval in his eyes. He nestled his cup between hands and rested them on his lap.

His eyes focused on my new bandaged wrists which rested beside him. "How is," he started but cut off his own words by biting his lip. His eyes close and when they reopened, a look of anger flash over them, but only for a moment. "Is staying here with me really so terrible?" he asked. Pain filled his voice. I had tried to kill myself rather than live with him. He didn't speak this accusation out loud but I heard it in his tone.

I didn't answer.

"Please, Christine, say something," he pleaded. His hand left his lap and rested over my bandaged arm. I glanced at it before turning to look up at him. His eyes widened and he removed his hand quickly as if he had been burned. Struck by a sudden realization that left me stunned, I recognized that Erik and I were afraid of one another. I feared Erik's wrath and what he would do to me if I angered him to the point of insanity, but Erik was just afraid of my rejection. Any shudder or sigh frightened him as he assumed my disgust for him caused such action. He wept over me and cared for me, only to curse himself later for daring to touch me.
How could love come out of such fear?

He stood up and started to pace. "Surely your life before was no different than your life with me now, if you stop to think about it. You were bound by duty. You stayed home and cared for an old woman, never going out, never living. You came here only work for others," he pointed out each item as if defending me in a trial. "You had such a gift, such a talent that you kept inside. You didn't have a chance to show it because you devoted yourself to others." Erik's eyes narrowed. "Others who were unworthy of your attention," he hissed out the last phrase.

His whole body shifted with a deep sigh. "I brought your talent to its greatest heights. I wanted to let you live the life you deserved. You needed to spend your time for your own sake and not at the whim of those who would see you in servitude all your days. You needed to thrive" his voice rose passionately. He stopped for a moment to compose himself. "Bring into existence all that I cannot. Through you, my music could flourish. You would shine and I could be content to watch from the shadows. You deserve that Christine and more than I could ever give you." He fell to his knees, staring with pleading eyes. A tentative hand reached for my feet, just touching the hem of my dress.

"All I ask in return is that you stay with me. Yes, I know it is cruel of me to ask. To have you return to me, to shut yourself away. But you've done it before. You've done it out of compassion for your loved ones. I only hope I could be so fortunate. And you would have to care for me. Just spare for me a sliver of kindness and compassion you have shown to others. I will give you everything you need, ever your devoted servant. I ask so little in return." His fingers curled around the fabric of my dress. "Just stay with me."

He had not demanded my love, only my companionship, but this was impossible. Perhaps in his passion and devotion, he was ignoring the fact that I could not continue to live between two worlds. I could not be the sublime opera star he wanted me to be. That was a world filled with light, but a life with Erik would be destined for darkness. I couldn't tell him this. I couldn't think of a way to sever the ties between us without destroying him.

Rejection would kill him quicker than any physical stab.

"Erik," I started, "I feel so torn. You want me to be a star. To live for music and for the limelight, and yet at the same time you want me to stay here with you. To live two separate lives is just not possible, not for long. I'm already tired of doing so." I looked down at him, still groveling at my feet. My chest tightened in my struggle to bring my point across gently. "I find it especially difficult to live …"

"In darkness. You hate living in darkness with me," he answered for me bitterly. "But, Christine, don't all humans need both light and darkness to survive?"

"But these are extremes. I am not as strong as you think I am. I cannot live in such a world of conflicts! What good is life down here with no joy or music?" I challenged and felt myself crying. "And what is music, up there on the stage, without you?"

At this he turned his head up to look at me, holding his breath and going still. It was true. Erik had inspired my voice and I could not try to sing if I did not do so for him. Without him there would be no darkness, no fear. Without him there would be no passion for music. Without him what good would I be as an opera singer. My two choices collided against each other, but could not be separated. I was trapped.

Erik was waiting for me to say more. Eager to hear any confession I made, but I turned away and pressed my face in my elbow. . I could hear Erik rise to his feet and move to sit beside me. He pressed a gentle hand against my shoulder.

"Please, don't cry. Christine, forgive me, but please don't cry."

I went to wipe my face with my hand and made my best attempt to stop my tears flowing. If I left Erik, I would be safe and I would be free. But I knew in my heart that without him I would be empty.

"Tell me, where would you like to go? Christine, tell me where you would want to be? I'll take you there if it would make you happy," he offered.

Obviously his promise included the stipulation that where ever I went, he would be with me. I thought of Raoul then. I wondered if he was just as frightened as me, wondering what was going to happen. I desperately wanted to be with my friends, but Erik would never let me. It was the one thing in his power he wouldn't grant. Again my thoughts turned back to the depressing wish I had nurtured for many months; that everything could go back the way it was. Before Erik had taken me or perhaps even better for us all, before I had met him. I could be back in my life before the opera and Madame would still be alive.

I pressed my fingers together hard at another thought. Frederich would still be alive, and I would have no avenging maestro to protect me. I sighed and pressed my head into the back of the chaise.

I knew where I wanted to be.

"Erik, I know where we can go," I started to say. He looked at me surprised as if he had not expected me to answer. "Could we go back to the music room?" I asked.

"The music room?"

I cracked a smile and it was genuine. "Where you first taught me to sing."

Even though I knew that dozens of artists lived in the opera dormitories, the building was eerie still at night, as if no souls had ever existed inside this great edifice. Erik pulled me along the shadowed path that lead backstage to the strange staircase. I recalled our first lesson when he treated me with such quiet formality, offering me his arm and holding the door for me. I wondered if even back then he had been in love with me.

The room was as I remembered it. The large mirrors covering one wall made the relatively small room seem like a great expanse. Erik had wanted to take me to a place where I would be happy and truly I had spent many joyous hours in this room. Even after being awake all day and spending most of it on my feet working, I had always looked forward to my music lessons. Now that I thought back on it, my excitement did not come from the anticipation of improving my voice. My daring dream of being an opera singer was only a small part of my motivation. My true motivation was to spend time with my maestro. The way we had spoken then and careful manner in which he taught me. I had friends and I had music, but they were nothing like what I shared with him. Up in this private room, we had created our own world of music where we retreated like a pair of overexcited children.

The notes of the piano broke through my thoughts. I turned to see Erik seated in his customary place. A small half smile formed on his face. "A little dusty," he noted, brushing the keys. From behind his cloak, he withdrew a bag from which he removed a folio of music he had stashed away. He opened it and laid it on the stand.

"Do you know Faust?" he asked.

"I know of it. I know the story. I've read Goethe," I explained.

"But not the music?"

"No, I've never seen it performed," I admitted. When I was a teenager, my father had started to introduce me to the world of opera. Before then, I only knew what Genny had told me. My education in opera had been cut short by his death.

"Then you have such pleasure ahead of you," he said. In the middle of the folio were some loose sheets which he handed to me.

"Am I going to sing?" I asked.

"You wanted to go someplace that makes you happy. If this is the place then we must do as we did before." He directed his gaze squarely at me. "We must fill it with music. Also, it would make me very happy if you would sing this with me."

My eyes flew down to the sheets in my hand. There were two vocal lines on the page. It was indeed a duet. My heart skipped at the thought of Erik singing to me. It had thrilled me before but I had sadly not heard him sing since before he had abducted me.I was afraid to admit to him how much I loved it.

"Shall we?"

"Yes," I replied in a barely contained voice.

A quick rhythm of rising and falling notes preceded my faltering entrance.

"It's very late! Good night."

"Must I implore in vain? Oh stay. Let me but hold your dear hand in my own." Erik's voice filled the room. It was soft, but powerful in his expression of the music. I held my breath and listened.

"Blessed love, blessed love. Let me marvel in rapture . Let me gaze on your face lost in wonder, as the pale moon above shines through the dark of the night. From the starry heaven yonder, caressing caressing you my love."

Rapture filled my senses to the point of pain, knowing that this elegance came from Erik. As ugly and twisted as he was, the beauty of his voice could lead anyone to believe him the Angel of Music. Poor Genny had stood no chance.

A note plinked repeatedly and Erik was looking at me eagerly. I blushed and looked down to see it was once again my line.

"Blessed silence, joy unknown. How sublime is your mystery! Joy unknown, how sublime is your mystery! By your spell, I am bound, I hear a magic sound one sweet voice so beguiling, enchanting, enchanting, enchanting all my heart!"

I gasped for breath at the end. Truer words could not have been spoken or sung. Erik's mystery and music had drawn me to him, and now, like strings on a puppet, they kept me bound to him and his desires. His eyes were bright as he looked at me, obviously delighted. I returned my eyes to my music.

"What happens next?" I asked.

"Ah," Erik said with a grin. "Marguerite pulls away from her mysterious lover to play a game,with a flower" I took a step back towards the piano so I stood on the opposite side of the instrument. "The one foolish little girls tend to play."

"She pulls the petal off?" I offered not believing something as simple and childish would have a place in such an opera.

"I'm afraid you would be the expert on that behavior Christine. I've never indulged in such an activity."

This made me laugh slightly and I was glad, for it broke our tense moment. I started again, adding a joyful tone to my voice.

"Now I must ask a favor..."

"Won't you say?"

"A simple game! Don't look, it won't take long."

"What is it that you are whispering?"

Erik stood, leaning his chest over the piano and looking directly at me. The music still played on.

"He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me!"

"Yes believe in this word, the flower tells you true!" He leaned over and placed a hand upon my cheek. I, in turn, moved closer to his touch. The notes from the piano stopped, but Erik continued singing.

"What your own heart has heard must be the voice of heaven. He loves you! Do you know what happiness it means?"

He left the piano, his hand falling from my face momentarily as he rounded the instrument to directly face me. One hand returned to its caress of my cheek while his other reached out to rest lightly on my waist. He did not pull me into a full embrace, but it was close enough.

He continued singing with fanatic passion. "To love, to know the flame that will bind two souls together, and bring ecstatic joy to our hearts...never-ending."

The hand at my waist pulled me closer, while the one on my face moved to fall across my throat. It hesitated only a moment before dropping to brush against my collarbones and land against my rapidly beating heart. I clutched my music tighter to keep from moving. Erik drew a harsh breath as he closed his eyes on the anguish swimming in their depths.

"Oh, Christine, if only it could be true," he whispered, his returned gaze focused. His eyes left my face for a moment, glancing at the music in my grip. "Together then," he commanded, once again the unattached music teacher. The hand that pressed against my breastbone spread itself as if to feel the pulse, the breath, the essence of music coming from me.

"Never ending, never ending …"

"Oh night of love, oh radiant sky! Oh sweet surrender! Love's delight, sweet and serene pour in our hearts you joys in all their splendor." The more he sang the harder it became to separate the damned Faust from Erik who still held me tight with one arm. "You are my love, my life, my own, I adore you. My heart is yours. I adore you. I live for you alone."

The intensity of his music which had at first delighted me was now starting to unnerve me. In truth it was frightening me. I dropped the music in my hand. I did not want to know what came next.

"No more," I whispered and felt my whole body shake along with my voice. I pressed a hand against his chest and he took a step backward, allowing me to break our embrace. I took a few steps away from him and crossed my arms. I withdrew within myself, afraid of what was to come. Erik had taken great consideration in selecting this duet and I was turning him away. I couldn't even face him.

The notes of the piano reached my ear. "My dear beloved, please do not break my heart." Erik would not be put off by my childish refusal. He would finish the song, without me.

"Please stop," I begged. My feet stumbled over the music I had dropped on the floor. Surely he could see what he was doing to me. All my rational thoughts were being destroyed as I listened.

"My love you ask that I should leave you? See my despair my love, see my despair, Marguerite…"

I placed my hands over my ears. This should have been one of the most sublime moments of my life, but everything was working against us. Though his passionate words poured over me, I worked to drown them out, to destroy them, with thoughts revealing his true self.

He's a madman ... and a murderer.

And yet he had such possessive power over me.

"Christine!" he called to me. The music stopped and Erik reached a hand across the piano towards me. The look in his eyes was not one of anger or even affection, but one of pain as he grasped the open air between us. For a moment, the room was completely silent, save only for the sound of our breathing. Then, half whispered, Erik finished the music. "You are breaking, you are breaking my heart. Let me stay ..."

I pressed my hands against my breast and felt my heart pounding against my rib cage. Erik closed his eyes and I saw his head drop. I had to say something. "Erik, I'm sorry, but I was frightened," I explained.

He didn't look at me as he spoke. "What are you afraid of? Me?" he asked in a morose tone.

I shook my head. "No, I was afraid of hurting you, and I have." Tears escaped my eyes against my wishes.

Despite the challenges Erik presented, I did love him, and these difficulties, these abnormalities, made our love impossible. He had kidnapped me, taken me from my friends and family, tormented people to the point of madness, and murdered for me. I feared that in his obsessive pursuit, I would become no more than a pawn to him, an object he could command at will. I would not do his bidding if it caused harm to others and I feared that in Erik's logic, there was no other way to get what he wanted. He would use intimidation and fear to get what wanted, and he would use me. Of that I was sure.

Yet, as I reflected on this, I could not take my eyes from the broken man that stood over the piano. Erik was not some faceless horror that I feared, he was a man whose feelings I had already damaged. My guilt and my compassion for him kept me chained to him.

I was lost.

I could see no way out.

"I was afraid, of hurting you," I repeated. I waited with baited breath for a response. I did not think he would believe me. Erik surely did not trust me if he knew that I wanted to be free of him. He came towards me and stopped only to pick up the fallen sheets of music. He scanned them and then held them out to me, his finger pointing to a spot on the page. I took them from him and timidly looked at what he had wanted me to see.

My missed lines.

Ah no more! Ah no more! I am frightened.

I found a new comparison for Erik, sure that he recognized it too. Why else would he have chosen this song? He was Faust, a tortured man longing for something he could never have. Even if he earned her love, he wouldn't be allowed to keep her. I was Marguerite, the innocent girl who would allow herself to fall in love with a dangerous man, ignoring the consequences.

"Christine," he started, "I want you to know that you didn't hurt me," he sighed. "I have been hurt so many times before that I suppose I am immune to such petty emotions." He took his hand and clasped mine. "But if you left me, you would break my heart." His lips curled to resemble a sad smile. "I don't know what would become of me if I lost so vital an organ to love."

And the Oscar for charmingly manipulating someone to stay in a relationship with them goes to…

Oh Erik you're just 6'4"tower of pure sadness and crazy… (and I love your for it)

Sorry for the cliffhanger! (You didn't think I was going to kill them off this soon?) I will say I was pleasantly surprised by your comments. I thought the last chapter was very 'girl power' for Christine, taking a stance, fighting back (literally) against Erik and all his insanity. I was rooting for her. But you guys certainly did not gel with the idea of Christine causing any harm to our dear Opera Ghost.

Fan girls be fan-girling

Thanks to all my readers and reviewers. Love you all and sorry for the wait.

Italics indicate sung words. From the duet ("Il se fairard...") from Charles Gounod's Faust, Libretto by Michel Carre and Jules Barbier-from the poem by Goethe