"Erik?" Christine stood there, dumbfounded, barely breathing. "What-what are you doing here?"
Erik stared at her, nearly forgetting to speak as he lost himself in her deep brown eyes. "I…I came to speak with Father Michel. What are you doing here, Christine?"
Father Michel smiled and handed Erik the plate of food that he had been holding. "Well, I think that I should leave you two alone now…"
"No!" Erik and Christine both shouted at the priest simultaneously.
Father Michel laughed out loud. "What on earth has gotten into you two? Alright then, I shall stay…but only for a short while. Erik, I believe that you were sharing your good news with me. Perhaps this is something that Christine would be pleased to learn, as well." He motioned slightly with his head. Tell her, you stubborn man!
Erik glared at the priest briefly before turning his attention back to Christine. "I…I received a letter today…and I now have a…a surname," he felt slightly embarrassed to be speaking about this with Christine, though he did not understand why. "Durand."
"Oh, Erik!" she exclaimed joyfully. "That is wonderful news! I am so happy for you! You've waited so long for this, haven't you?" She beamed at him, and he felt his face growing hotter.
"I have," he replied, trying unsuccessfully to remove the look of joy from his face. Then a wave of gratitude washed over him once more. He furrowed his brow and added, "The God that I once cursed has given me a new life, a home, a new job, and a new name. I have so much to be thankful for." He looked away, overcome with emotion.
"Erik, my boy, you deserve all the happiness that He can give to you," Father Michel laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it.
Christine felt herself flush at Father Michel's statement. Perhaps I could be part of his happiness, she hoped.
Erik raised his chin after a brief moment and composed himself once again. Though he no longer had the cold aloofness that Christine was so accustomed to seeing in him, he still had a proud stature…imposing and almost regal. "Christine, you haven't yet told me why you are here…I…I thought that you were…"
"With Raoul?" she interrupted him, cringing when she saw Erik tense at the very mention of that name. "No, Erik. As I told you before, I had planned to end my engagement."
"But…so soon? I…I thought that perhaps you might have come to your senses and changed your mind," he replied sardonically.
"All of my senses are fully intact, thank you," she replied curtly. "And if you must know why I am here," her voice lowered to just above a whisper, "he asked me to leave at once." She dropped her gaze to her plate, still in her hands.
Erik was stunned. Completely flabbergasted...and angry. "That…that boy threw you out, with nowhere to go? Merde! I should snap his pitiful, arrogant neck!" he roared, immediately wishing that he had made himself a new lasso.
Father Michel's eyes went wide and he quickly took the plate of food from Erik's hands. "Erik, please, calm down! You are in God's house, and you should not use that kind of language here…or at all, for that matter!" He set the plate on the small table and then reached for Christine's. He dared not lay a hand on Erik at that moment…he could see the murderous rage in his eyes and wisely kept himself at a distance.
"There is no excuse for what he did! He should be strung up for this! I would do it myself!" Erik could feel the bloodlust growing in his veins once more…a feeling he had not experienced in nearly two weeks. The Viscomte had been the object of Erik's wrath before, and he was again at that moment.
"Erik, no…please," Christine reached out and grasped both of his hands. "You…you are not the man you were, remember? You told me yourself. Just let it go…please." She looked upon him with such love that he could scarcely breathe, and all of the anger he felt disappeared almost instantly.
"I'm…I'm sorry, Christine. You are right." He squeezed her delicate hands gently, massaging them with his thumbs. "After all, I suppose we can allow the young Viscomte to make but one mistake in his very privileged life, can we not?" His bitterness was materializing itself as sarcasm, as it so often had in the past. He sighed. Old habits die hard. Lord, help me to overcome this bitterness, and forgive me. "Father, I apologize to you as well…I suppose that I have many…weaknesses…to overcome." He smiled slightly at the old priest.
Father Michel nodded and returned the slight smile. "As do we all, my boy. I understand." Suddenly he broke into a wide grin. "Are you certain that you do not wish to join me in confession now, Erik?"
Erik shot him an annoyed glance. "Quite certain. I will be just fine on my own."
Father Michel stretched and pretended to yawn. "Oh, well, it is growing later, and I believe that I have a few things to do…in the…um, the kitchen, yes…before I go to bed. I shall leave you two to talk." He smiled and left the room, but left the door open…just in case I am needed, he told himself.
Erik's eyes followed the old priest until he exited the room. He suddenly felt as though his stomach were fluttering, and he quickly turned his gaze down to his calloused musician's hands, which were still grasping Christine's. Her hands are so small and soft, he thought. He could smell the familiar scent of her hair again, and he began to feel a bit hazy. I'm afraid to look in her eyes, he thought, surprised at his own hesitation. I was the Opera Ghost, and yet I stand here, afraid to look into the eyes of the woman I love. He could practically feel her eyes burning into him, and he took a deep breath before meeting her gaze.
"Are you alright, Erik?" Christine asked him, smiling a half-smile. He suddenly seems so…unsure. He has never acted this way before with me.
Erik sighed. "Yes, Christine. I am just surprised to see you here." A thought dawned on him. He looked at her strangely. "Where are you staying now—now that that boy has thrown you out on the street?" He felt his face flush, and he scolded himself inwardly again for speaking so bitterly.
Should I tell him? What will he say? Will he be ashamed of me for accepting such a…common job? Christine took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She did not want to witness his initial reaction. "I have secured employment and I…I have a room there." She knew the next question would be forthcoming, and she dreaded having to answer it.
He eyed her suspiciously. "Secured employment? Doing what? Where?"
She sighed and hung her head, eyes still tightly shut. "At a…at a seamstress shop…assisting the owner with various things." She cringed slightly, but peeked out through one eye, leaning her head up so that she could see his face.
Erik almost laughed when he saw the way she was acting. Sometimes she still reminds me of the little girl she once was. He knew what she was expecting him to say—and clearly, she was fearful of it. He prayed that he wouldn't say anything foolish. "You are working for a seamstress?" He tried to keep his voice calm. "I don't understand, Christine. Why would someone with your talent be working in such a--"
"A common position, Erik?" She was looking directly at him now, knowing that his worst possible reaction was over. "I knew that you would think that. I…I didn't want to tell you because I thought that you would be--"
"Angry?" he suggested.
"Ashamed of me," she replied softly.
He shook his head, releasing one of his hands from hers, placing it under her chin. He stroked the underside of her jaw gently. "There are many things that I feel for you, Christine…but I could never be ashamed of you."
A look of relief came upon her countenance. "Oh, Erik. Thank you," she reached up and touched his perfectly smooth cheek. "It means so much to hear you say that…I--"
"Shhh," he whispered, lifting his thumb to her lower lip, stroking it lightly. They stood there in silence, eyes burning with longing. He could barely restrain himself…he wanted to claim her mouth with his own, but he knew that there were things that still needed to be said--to be made right, before he would allow himself to succumb to his urge. "You need to eat something, mon ange," he whispered again.
Christine responded softly, her voice sounding husky. "I'm not hungry."
He pulled away suddenly, his desire nearly exploding within him when she spoke in such a manner. He had never heard her voice filled with such…yearning before. I need to sit down, he thought, before something happens that I may regret later. He quickly seated himself in one of the armchairs and placed the plate in his lap. He cleared his throat. "Sit down and join me, please. The food looks delicious."
She raised a surprised eyebrow at him. "Delicious? Erik, since when have you ever found food to be delicious? You…you hardly used to eat at all…"
"I must eat more now to keep my strength up…what with all my sketching and my building of wheelchairs and such," he grinned. "I have changed in many ways in a very short time, mon ange."
Oh, how I love to hear him call me that again, she sighed inwardly. It sounded beautiful to her ears. "Yes…you have." She seated herself in the other armchair and set the plate in her lap. She smirked when Erik began to eat his food.
"What?" he asked her, noticing her annoyed look.
"We have not yet thanked the Lord for our food, mon ange," she grinned.
"Oh." He swallowed the morsels he had chewed and looked at her strangely. "It seems that I'm not yet accustomed to such things."
She giggled. "It's alright. Would you like to say the blessing?"
He turned his gaze to his plate. "If you don't mind a horribly non-traditional prayer."
"Not at all," she smiled encouragingly.
Erik cleared his throat. This is terribly awkward. "Uh…Heavenly Father, we…we thank you for this food that you have given us, and for your many blessings. In…in Christ's name we pray, Amen."
"Amen." She smiled at him and then looked at him with a thoughtful expression. "I never dreamed that I would hear you praying, Erik. What happened to you to make you change your mind…about the Lord?"
Erik swallowed his food and wondered if he should tell her what he read that had brought about the initial change in him…about where his deformity had come from. It seemed as if it had been months since he stumbled upon the information…so many things had changed and he now saw only shadows of his past when he reflected upon his current life. "I…I found some information…in a book. You know that I had always blamed God for this," he motioned to his mask. She nodded slowly. "I read something…something horrible…and I realized that it was the reason for this face."
She shook her head as if she did not understand. "What, Erik? What was it that you read?"
"I don't know if I should speak of it now…it is rather ghastly and does not make for polite conversation."
Christine reached out and laid her hand upon his. "Please, Erik. I…I told you that I want to know you—I want to know why you are the man that you are now. I want to know what brought about this change in your heart." She looked at him with her pleading brown eyes, and he could not resist her.
He sighed. "Very well. But…perhaps I should let you read it for yourself." He stood up and found the book on Father Michel's shelf and located the page. He walked to Christine and stood before her holding the open book, turning it so that she could read it. He pointed to the passage and studied her face as she read. She was focusing intently on the words, and after a moment, the sides of her mouth began to droop into a frown and her eyes grew wide and watery. "Oh…oh my God!" She was mortified by the very idea of ending a life yet unborn. She was still very innocent of the ways of the world, though she had heard whispers at the Opera of dancers who had been pregnant and then suddenly…they weren't…but she had never taken the time to think things through before. It was as if her eyes were opened at last to the abomination of it all.
Erik closed the book and returned it to its place on the shelf. "Do you understand what you have read, Christine?" He seated himself in the armchair again.
She shuddered and spoke just above a whisper. "I…I think so. It's talking about k-killing babies…before they are born?" she squinted at him.
"Yes."
"But, Erik…I don't understand." She wrinkled her brow. "What does this have to do with your face?"
He sighed. "Mon ange, my mother…she is the one who did this to me."
"What?" she gasped.
"She…she tried to…" He was growing more emotional as he spoke. "She never wanted me, Christine. She took something…something that was supposed to…kill me. Before I was ever born."
She stared at him in horror.
He continued. "Instead of ending my life, it…the chemicals…gave me this," he said, motioning again to the masked side of his face.
The plate of food on Christine's lap suddenly clattered to the floor, food flying everywhere on the rug, as she threw herself from the armchair at his feet, weeping. She reached up and raised herself to his knees, laying her forehead on them. "No, Erik! No! How could she have done this to you? You had done nothing! You…you hadn't even taken a breath! Mon Dieu! She hurt you! Your own mother!" She was shaking violently, her sobs quickly turning into wails.
Erik tried to console her. "Shhh. It's alright now…I am fine. Please, Christine, don't cry any more. Please…please, mon amour!" Christine clung to him desperately, still sobbing. "Don't...you musn't do this to yourself! I am alright, Christine. I…I shouldn't have told you this. Please don't let this upset you." How on earth would she react if she knew the whole truth about my mother's abuse and abandonment? he wondered.
She began to quiet and looked up at him with tear streaks on her face. "Erik…how could this not upset me?" she asked him in amazement. "I can't even imagine living in a world without you!" Then suddenly, her expression changed. "What…what did you just call me?"
Erik was stunned at first, trying to think back on his words. I had been trying to soothe her…what did I say? He drew in a rapid breath. I did say that. I called her mon amour. Oh, no. "Oh…oh, Christine, I'm sorry. I--"
"No, Erik." She reached up, placing a finger to his lips to silence him. "Don't be sorry. Unless you didn't truly mean it."
The stunned expression left Erik's face and he reached out to grasp her hand, pressing a kiss to her finger. "Then I am not sorry," he whispered, longing to take her in his arms and kiss her perfect lips until neither one of them could breathe…but instead he gently caressed her hand, kissing each finger in turn, then grazing her knuckles with his soft lips.
Christine could feel the feverish blush that had rushed to her cheeks. She sat there on her knees before him, reveling in his soft kisses and caresses. It was as if she had wanted this her whole life. She couldn't speak…she simply stared into his piercing blue-green eyes and tried not to lose consciousness.
Neither Erik nor Christine had noticed that Father Michel was standing in the doorway to his study. He had rushed to the door when he heard Christine's frantic sobs. Yes, Lord, he thought, smiling. I do believe that this was all Your doing.
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A/N: A little bit of angst, and a little bit of fluff! I want to thank those of you who sent me reviews. I really appreciate it. You were all very encouraging and complimentary, bless your hearts! If I could, I'd bake some brownies for you and send them right away! -hugs- If there are more of you out there still reading, drop me a note. I don't know if fanfic's going to be able to fix this stat problem or not. -shrugs- Well, I am glad that those of you still reading are liking it. I hope I don't crack under the pressure! LOL!