Behind Closed Doors
Christine paced her room, thinking out her very few options. The most obvious would be to risk her chances in the labyrinthine caves beneath the opera house. But she already knew the dangers of this – she could easily fall and break her neck, or more likely starve to death in the time it took her to find an exit. The catacombs spread for miles beneath the town. Her second choice was to try and find her mobile phone, if… Erik still had it. On the other hand, what were her chances of getting a signal down here?
Her last option was to wait. Wait for him to make the first move. This was the least appealing of all of the plans, but the only practical one at this point in time. But that didn't mean that she had to wait for him to come up with a plan that might harm her.
She began to search the meagre items of the room for any kind of potential weapon. There was little at her disposal, and she started to search the bedroom, running over in his mind what he had told her.
After his announcement, they had watched each other for a few long, silent minutes. Christine didn't want to ask more questions than she had to. She doubted that he was a man of great patience. Eventually he had gestured to the room that she had woken up in, pointing with a single slender finger.
"That is your room. You are free to use it as you will. The rest of the rooms are also at your disposal, apart from that one." He had signalled to another door. "That is my private room. You will not enter it at any time. There is one other door that you may not use and you shall know it for it is locked."
"What am I supposed to do here?" Christine asked quietly. He did not reply. She wondered if this was because he had no answer, or because the answer was of so little consequence that he did not want to waste his seemingly precious time. After a few moments he had turned and sat once more at the organ, his pen scratching at the paper. She'd watched him for a short time and then returned to her room. Since then, she'd been contemplating her next move.
She moved to the door and listened. She couldn't hear anything and she wondered if he had gone out. Hesitantly, she opened the door, just a crack and looked out. As far as she could see, the room was empty. Christine moved forward and saw a note on the table, written in that painfully familiar handwriting.
There is more food in the kitchen, if you are still hungry. I shall return in a few hours. It would be advisable to remember our discussion.
Erik.
She examined it, noticing the strange spelling of the name, the scrawling handwriting, the old-fashioned paper. She put the note down and looked around again. The organ was once again covered by the red curtain. She decided not to disturb it and began trying door handles, staying away from the one that he had indicated was his personal chamber.
The rest of the rooms seemed out of use. One was filled with books and papers; Christine picked up one of the volumes, but it was written in a foreign hand and she was unable to understand a word of it. Several of the manuscripts were sheet music but she ignored them, moving to the next room. This was the locked door that he had warned her about. She shook the handle but to no avail. Christine gave up and went to sit in front of the unlit fireplace, lifting her legs up to rest her chin on her knees as she thought through the situation.
She was miles underground, being held captive by a madman. She had no way of contacting Raoul or the police. Her watch was gone so she didn't even have an idea of how long she'd been there. And whilst he didn't seem intent on injuring her, she certainly couldn't be safe. She closed her eyes as tears pricked at them for the first time. Her arm still ached and the seriousness of her predicament was suddenly flooding her mind. Her heart felt strained with wishing that she was safely at home, that this was just a horrible a dream and that at any moment she'd wake up and find Raoul's sweet, kind, loving face beside her. The exhaustion that still plagued her after her unconsciousness finally caught up with her and she slipped into slumber.
When she awoke, she was back in her room. That is to say, the room that had been allocated to her by Erik. But there was something different about it, making Christine sit up and look around in surprise. Not only was the room clean, but it had undergone a complete makeover. The bed she was lying on was now made, with soft sheets and duvets. Candles were lit in glass holders around the walls and when she climbed out of bed, she found that the concrete floor had been laid with thick rugs. The writing desk was polished and a quick exploration of the drawers found it equipped with pens, paper and envelopes, although who he imagined she would write to, she had no idea. She pulled open the door to the wardrobe and stepped back in surprise.
There were clothes inside, all in her size. Jeans, skirts, trousers, suits, t-shirts, blouses, dresses, even underwear and shoes. This unnerved Christine slightly and she fidgeted inside her clothes, uneasy with the idea of him having chosen these for her. She closed the wardrobe carefully and looked around the room again. This all screamed 'permanency' to her; he was providing for a long stay.
This could not go on, she decided. She needed to discuss this with him, right now. She marched to the door and went into the main area of the… was house the right word? Erik was sat at the organ, writing music once again. He didn't even look up as she came in.
"We need to talk." Christine announced firmly, sounding thousand times braver than she felt. Erik duly ignored her. After a moment, she spoke again.
"Erik, please don't ignore me. You can't keep me here; people will notice that I'm gone. And from the way that you've arranged the room, I can tell that you expect me to stay here. I can't… I have the opera house to run; Raoul will wonder where I am."
There was no answer. Christine inhaled deeply.
"Please… let me go. I won't tell anyone where you are, who you are. Just let me go." She whispered. Finally Erik spoke, but he kept his back to her and continued with his work.
"I am unable to do that. I cannot know that you will not run to the police."
"How can I tell them where you are? I don't know even where this is! And besides, they'd think me mad, I couldn't possibly tell them!" She cried, moving forward but not daring to touch him. He glanced over his shoulder at her and then looked back to his work.
"No."
"You are a man, Erik. You don't have to act this way; you could let me go, you know you could." Christine pleaded, but he would not reply. She was completely within his power and they both knew it.
She stared at the back of his head, trying to think of some way for him to relent. Some small victory over him, that tiny spark of hope flickered in her mind. She licked her dry lips.
"Then… at least let me see the face of the man who is keeping me from my life." She said in a quiet, pained tone. The pen paused on the paper as Erik froze, the muscles in his back tightening visibly. This perked Christine's curiosity and he spoke.
"You shall never see my face, Mrs de Chagny."
"Why not?"
"Because you have lived a life as beautiful as yourself and to look upon my face is to destroy that beauty."
"If that is what you think of me, then you obviously don't know me as well as you think you do." She said coldly. He began to write again and she stood, watching him. After a moment, he spoke again.
"Let me assure you of something, Mrs de Chagny. As long as you are here, you are safe. You will remain safe, so long as you do not touch my mask."
This curious announcement forced Christine to drop the subject, for the time being. She moved forward and looked at the paper.
"What… what are you writing?"
"An opera, by the name of Don Juan Triumphant." He replied calmly.
"Will you play it for me?"
"No. Any other music that you choose, but you cannot hear this. You are not ready for music like this." Christine didn't reply and he began to play from Romeo and Juliet, an aria called Je veux vivre. Maybe he expected her to sing, maybe not. Christine knew the lyrics and began in a soft, rather quavering voice.
"Je veux vivreDans le rêve qui m'enivre…"
He began to play more powerfully, the notes of the organ resounding around the room. Christine felt her mind slipping away into the music and instantly recognised the danger of such an action. She could not afford to become lost now, whatever he might have said. She began to sing more strongly, wanting to fight for the music, to prove that this music belonged to her and not to him, that he could not use it against her, or imprison her in it.
He had lifted his masked face to the ceiling, as though the music were carrying him from the dirt and darkness of his home to the heavens, to a place more beautiful than this. Christine felt an overwhelming flood of emotions for this man, this creature.
Who was he?
She had to know. Had to know who he was, what he was, why he was. The music reached a crescendo and before Christine could prevent herself, she had reached over and lifted her fingers to the edge of the black mask. At the same moment that Erik realised what she was doing, the mask was pulled from his face.
The first thought that Christine had was how heavy the mask was, what a burden it must be to wear it all day as the warm fabric lay in her hands. But this fact was quickly erased from her mind as an unearthly cry escaped from the figure in front of her as he leapt to his feet. As he turned, Christine's fingers tightened painfully around the mask as her eyes widened at the sight of his face.
What happened next seemed to take minutes, hours, days but was in fact less than five seconds. The hideous image before her froze Christine to the spot as she gaped at the yellowing skin, blotched with brown, rotting marks. There was merely a collapsed flap of skin where his nose should have been, half-covering the hole beneath it. Inflamed red scars crisscrossed the neck and the left side of his face and his eyes… oh those eyes! They still glowed golden but she could see now how far they were sunken into the skull that biology demanded she call his face. The dark pupils blazed at her and Christine felt horribly sick. She stumbled back and he suddenly lunged towards her. She screamed and, mind reeling in horror and deadly fear, she ran for the arch that led to the catacombs. Logic pointed out that she would be lost in these caves, but the rest of her brain was crying that she'd rather be lost in a rock labyrinth than stay a moment longer in that monster's company.
She couldn't see where she was running and almost fell several times. Her sides felt as though a knife was twisting in them and tears were fuzzing her view. Eventually she glanced over her shoulder and saw, not too far away, the golden eyes, prowling towards her like some prowling predator. Christine took a step back and this turned out to be the worst thing she could have done, for she had unwittingly arrived at the edge of one of the canals that led to the underground lake. Arms flailing, she fell back, striking her head against a rock as she fell into the water.
It seemed as though she were underground for an age, before strong hands wrenched her from the water. Warm water ran down, stinging her eyes and trickling into her mouth, when she realised that it wasn't water, but her own blood. But this was the least of her concerns, for he was wrenching her back to the house. She presumed that she must have run in different directions, for they were much closer than she had thought. He threw her with inhuman strength to the ground and stood over her, his terrible face twisted into an expression of such anger that Christine closed her eyes tightly, waiting for the blow that must surely bring about her death.
No such blow came. After a tense moment, she opened her eyes, wincing as the blood ran into them again. He had not moved, but was merely staring down at her again. Christine shuffled away but this movement seemed to activate him, for he bent down and pulled her face towards his.
"Oh, no! You wanted to see and now you can. You were so hungry, so greedy for knowledge and now you can feast upon your discoveries! Look at my face, Christine de Chagny!" Christine tried to close her eyes but he shook her fiercely and she let out a sob, the gash on her skull throbbing painfully. He released her face and seized her hands, forcing them upon the dry skin. Her fingers fell upon every bone, felt every scar, her nails caught on the rotted lumps, tearing them from the skin until his blood ran down his hands.
And all the time he laughed, like a child playing a wonderful game.
"You see? You were hoping, perhaps, that there is another mask? No, Christine de Chagny, I am nothing but a skull; I am death!" He dropped her again and she fell to the floor, gasping for air as he straightened, plucking the mask from the ground, where she had dropped it. Drawn up to his full height over her, his eyes bore into her as he spoke again.
"You asked me to let you go yesterday, and I said no. Perhaps I might have done, in time, but now… oh, but now you have seen my face and now, Christine de Chagny, you belong to me." He said, his voice still as beautiful as it ever was, but filled with rage and something that seemed almost like sorrow. And with this declaration, he turned and went to the door that led to his room, leaving Christine to bleed and weep on the cold stone floor.
A masked face above hers… a cool hand on her cheek… a soft cloth tenderly dabbing her forehead… the scent of herbs and the warmth of clean water. These were the only things that Christine could remember of the new few… hours? Days? She couldn't have said, for time had no meaning in this underground world and she was hardly in a fit state to consider such a trivial matter anyway. Her body seemed to be terribly heavy and the pain in her arm and head were the only things that she was truly aware of.
She woke up. It was of no use to try and say when she woke up, but she did. Staring at the dark ceiling, she tried to think of what to do next. If only she hadn't taken his mask… if only she had been able to control herself – she might have been freed already. What could she do now, to make this better? Was there even a way?
She tried to stand and instantly felt like throwing up. Fortunately, she managed to restrain herself and pulled herself, staggeringly, to the door. As it opened, she saw Erik at the organ but he turned at the sound of the creaking door to look at her. She leaned against the doorframe for a moment, trying to regain her steadiness. After a moment she walked slowly across the room the stand near the organ, but not too near. His eyes were on her the whole way, but he did not rise to help her, nor did she expect him to. Grasping the back of a chair, she looked at him, her eyes meeting his properly.
"Erik…"
"You should be resting." He said briefly, before turning back to the organ. She watched him and licked her dry lips as she prepared herself.
"What lies beneath your mask… does not, in any way, compare to the beauty of your music." She managed to say, her throat burning with dryness and her mouth sore. He paused for a moment and slowly turned his head to examine her. She met his gaze again before turning to make the seemingly endless journey back to her room. Erik didn't speak again, but she felt his gaze on her the whole way there, until she shut the door behind her.
She crawled back into bed and closed her eyes. Perhaps she fell asleep, but she couldn't have been sure. All she knew was that when she opened her eyes, Erik was stood beside her, filling a syringe with liquid from a bottle. She blinked up at him.
"What are you doing?"
"This will stop infection." He said quietly, swabbing her arm with a piece of cotton wool before piercing the skin with the needle. She winced at the sharp sting but he was soon holding a piece of cloth to the scratch to stop the bleeding.
"Are you hungry?" He asked. She nodded.
"Yes."
"There is food in the main room." She got to her feet and he guided her out to the table. Once she was sat with a plate of bread, chicken and salad, he went to the organ and began to play. The majestic sounds reverberated around the room as Christine ate the food hungrily, feeling as though she hadn't eaten in days.
"How long have I been down here?" She asked. He didn't look around but replied over the music.
"A few hours. Tell me, Mrs de Chagny, how did you come to stop singing?"
"Hours? But… I was sleeping for ages."
"You are unaccustomed to the passage of time here. I can assure you that it has only been a few hours since you have left the opera house." He said firmly.
She considered this as she answered his question.
"I stopped when my father died. I mean… I sang from time to time after that. But I never sang properly again."
"You sang upstairs, though." He commented. Christine bit into a piece of bread and washed it down with the water that had been provided, not knowing how to reply. The music came to a halt as he half-turned on the bench to look at her. Apparently an answer was expected of her.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because… because I wanted to hear the music." She whispered. His eyes narrowed.
"But you can play the piano. Why sing it?"
"Because it was made to be sung. That wasn't… piano music. It was made to be sung." She said, realising as she spoke that the words sounded ridiculous. However, he didn't comment on that. Instead he turned back to the organ and continued his playing. Christine drained the last of the water and picked up the used plate, intending to take it to the kitchen.
"Put it down." Erik said, without looking at her. She looked over at him, feeling unnerved that he was able to follow her actions even with his back turned. Her hands were almost trembling as she put the plate back onto the table.
Suddenly he stopped playing the tune he had been halfway through to start a simple scale. Christine stared at him. Surely he didn't expect her to sing… apparently he did, because he glanced over his shoulder, eyes glinting cruelly. Christine didn't dare to move for nearly a whole minute but eventually brought herself to straighten up, lifting her chin and fixing her eyes on a dark stone in the wall. He played the scale again and she repeated it, pleased that at least her voice was steady, for the rest of her seemed to be shuddering. Still, her lack of practise showed all too clearly as her voice faded from the exertion after only a few scales. Erik looked at her and she put a hand to her forehead, a strange pounding suddenly flooding through her.
"I… I feel strange…" She managed to gasp before falling to her knees. Erik rose and walked to her.
"It's merely a reaction to the medicine. Keep singing."
"I can't!" She choked, her entire body throbbing painfully, white-hot liquid pumping through her veins.
"Sing." He ordered again, not attempting to help as she shuddered at his feet. Christine looked up at him, tears streaming from her eyes. He was staring at her with such anger, such coldness and she knew what this was.
This was revenge.
The order to sing came again, from a far away place. It was distorted but it still came; Christine tried to beg for help but she couldn't. Her mouth opened but she couldn't speak. She was so detached from her body that she couldn't even hear herself singing. It was not her song – something had possessed her voice, had stolen it and she could hear it ringing around the room for a moment before everything vanished from sight and mind.
The floor was hard and cold. Her head was pounding and every joint in her body was aching. Slowly Christine opened her eyes. A black figure was knelt beside her, injecting something into her arm. She twitched back.
"No…"
"Stay still. You won't have that reaction again." His voice was so calm. After a moment a strange warmth began to seep through her and she struggled, managing to sit up. Erik was crouched beside her and looked her directly in the eye. There was a strange expression in his eyes and Christine didn't like it.
"What happened?" She asked weakly.
"It's quite normal when that drug is first administered. Your body was objecting to it, but now it knows what it is, it won't react like that again."
"Why didn't you help me?" She whispered. Erik stood and looked down at her.
"I needed you to sing first."
They stared at each other for a moment before he reached down and held out a hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. She stumbled but he steadied her and sat her in one of the high-backed chairs, handing her some water. She wanted to ask how long she had been lying on the floor for but her eyes were already slipping closed. She felt like she hadn't slept in days but she made herself look over at Erik. He was stood at the table, putting her glass down but seemed to sense her gaze on him, because his strange eyes met hers. There was an expression in those eyes but she couldn't tell what it was and even if she had wanted to know, exhaustion overcame her before she could try.
The minutes dragged unbearably. It seemed that every moment that she wasn't singing or being told to eat, the medicine he had given her took effect, causing her to pass out for what seemed like hours but Erik was always in the same place and so was she, so it couldn't have been more than a few seconds, minutes at most.
But with every passing minute, she found herself feeling inexplicably unwary. She knew that she should be hating this man, despising what he had done to her and trying to escape. But in truth he barely said a word to her, except to critique her singing. And that was improving constantly, she couldn't deny it. It was… impossible; inhuman. What should have taken days of work had taken a matter of a few hours. Even her injured arm was almost fully healed, not to mention the uncommonly quick healing of the wound on her head. But nothing was right in this place, nothing made sense and she could do nothing to get away.
"Erik?" She said softly, not even quite sure why. He looked up at her from his seat at the table whilst she ate. With those harsh, yellow eyes on her, Christine worked up the nerve to ask the nagging question.
"Why am I singing for you?" He merely looked at her before pushing the music away from him with one pale hand.
"You are wasting your voice. You don't seem to understand just what you could achieve with such an instrument." Christine's hand went unconsciously to her throat at hearing it described as an instrument, something beyond herself. "In short, Mrs de Chagny, you are singing for me because I am the only one who can adequately turn your voice into something magnificent." He lowered his head back to the music and was silent for a moment. Christine pushed the food around her plate, not hungry.
"You should be performing in the opera house, not managing it." He said quietly. Christine looked at him swiftly.
"I don't want to perform. I never have."
"Don't lie to me." He said calmly, laying down his pen and tucking the music into a folder. Christine frowned at him but didn't argue. Erik glanced at her full glass of water.
"You should drink that. Your throat needs it." She wasn't thirsty but he stood watching her until she reached for it and drained half of the liquid. A satisfied look shot through his strange eyes before he turned back to the organ. She went to stand at the side of the instrument, ready to sing but had only made a few bars before her head began to spin once again.
This time when she came around, he had put her in the comfy chair and was in the kitchen. She could hear water running. Christine struggled to her feet and reached for the fresh glass of water he must have put out for her. But her limbs were stiff and her fingers clumsily hit the glass, causing the water to slop over the side and run over the smooth wood towards the folder of music that Erik had left there earlier. Christine gasped and lunged painfully to rescue the paper, managing to snatch it away just as the water soaked into the corner. She opened the folder tentatively to make sure the ink hadn't run. Luckily it had only touched the edge of the parchment and the music was unharmed. Christine let out a sigh of relief and made to push the paper back into the folder but stopped to read the top line.
The music filled her almost instantly, as though it was playing in her mind and Christine knew that for her safety she should put the paper down and walk away. But that music was just so sweet… she just wanted to sing one more line, just hear one more bar, a single note even…
The piece ended and her voice faded away. She stared down at the paper, feeling an ache in her chest to hear it again but it mingled with a strange blissfulness, a peace that come from this music that was so unlike music that it could have been something else entirely.
"You can't deny this." His voice was so quiet that she almost didn't hear it. She turned to him slowly, a question written on her features. He answered, not moving from the kitchen doorway.
"You looked into my music, into myself and you wanted it, didn't you?" She didn't reply and he lifted his head slightly, not moving into the room but the action seemed to intensify his presence anyway. "You have seen what music is and now you cannot live without it. No matter what you say, what your minds insists, your soul belongs to me, to my music."
"Stop it…" Christine tried to say the words firmly but tears of humiliation and pain were pricking at her eyes, the truth stinging more than any of her injuries. Erik stepped into the room and moved towards her. His ice-cold fingers wrapped around her hand as he lifted the music up.
"Sing it again, Christine. Sing for me."
And she did. Without hesitation, she began to sing again and did not stop until he took the music gently, so very gently, from her hands. The intoxication of the music lingered as he put the paper away and stood, looking down at her.
"Do you want the music, Christine?"
"…I…"
"Admit it. Tell me that you need the music." He said softly. Christine lifted her face to meet his pale eyes and nodded slowly. He examined her closely for a moment before turning away.
"Go and sleep. You're tired."
It was the strange, unfamiliar movement that woke her. Christine frowned and opened one eye before sitting bolt upright. Erik was carrying her along an unlit street. As soon as he saw her wake up, he lowered her to a standing position. She took a step away from him, blinking at her surroundings and not fully taking in what was going on.
"Where…?"
He merely motioned to the end of the street. Christine walked slowly beside him as they emerged onto a main road. But… she knew this road; she knew that if she walked along this road for about ten minutes and turned left, it would lead her onto to the street that led to her home. Quickly she spun around to look at Erik. He was stood in the shadows of a nearby house, avoiding the light of the streetlamp.
"I don't understand."
"You will come back. You have been gone for just one night and one day. On Monday morning you will return to the opera house and continue your lessons."
"Yes."
"Do not fail to come."
"No." She said obediently. He nodded and finally turned to look at her, pressing her keys into her hand. He lifted his hand as though to touch her face but then seemed to change his mind, for his hand fell to his side and he turned to walk away.
She didn't wait to see him leave. Instead she began to run down the road as fast as she could, her legs stiff and sore, but she continued to run in spite of the pain. It was a beautiful cloudless night and Christine drew in deep breaths of the deliciously cool air as she reached the end of the road. Several cars passed by and one beeped at her but she ignored it, hurrying towards the wrought iron gates. There were lights on in the house and Christine's face broke into a smile for what felt like the first time in months as she tugged open the gate. The gravel crunched beneath her feet as she stumbled towards the front door, squeezing the keys so hard that it left purple dents in her flesh.
It took her several moments to slide the key in the lock, because her hands were shaking so hard. But eventually the door swung open and she fell through into the warm, bright, loving interior of her home. There was no one to be seen but she heard someone walking around the living room.
Please let it be Raoul, please let it be him, please, Raoul, please, please…Christine pushed the door open quietly and slipped into the room. Sure enough, it was him, walking around the room, a cup of tea abandoned on the coffee table and the fire dying in the grate. He didn't hear her come in and in the moment that she had, Christine was able to take in his mussed hair, his shirt with the top button undone, his pale and tired face.
Then he saw her. And for the briefest of moments his face seemed drawn and hideously pallid as he took her in, not daring to believe that it was really her. Christine bit her lip and stepped forward but had barely made it more than a few paces before he'd rushed at her and was holding her so tightly it hurt. His hands ran over her arms, her waist, her hair and once he'd reassured himself of those things were real, his mouth found hers and Christine felt tears on her cheeks but didn't know if they were hers or his for both were crying as they clung to each other.
"Raoul…" She broke the kiss to look at him again and he pressed her hands to his face, his handsome face stained with tears and such a terrible fear in his blue eyes.
"You're here… God, you're really here…" His voice died away and she kissed him again.
"I'm sorry, Raoul, I'm so sorry…"
"We… I thought you were… I didn't know…"
"I'm back now, I'm here. Raoul, I didn't mean to go, I swear…"
She licked her lips and asked the question that had been tugging at her mind ever since he'd pulled her into his arms, since his tears had fallen on her cheeks.
"Raoul… how long have I been gone?" If it occurred to her husband that this was a peculiar thing to ask, he didn't show it. Instead he pressed his forehead to hers and she shut her eyes so tightly that a rush of tears were squeezed onto her face.
"Two weeks, Christine… two weeks."
AN: Well, check this out! I'm still alive! I know it's been forever, but my beta and I have both been super busy with school stuff, amongst other things. Plus this was an insanely difficult chapter to work through – I've never written a Leroux capture before, or a non-Gerard deformity. I hope it appeases. I'll try and not wait 4 months before updating again. But life is crazy – university is not all I hoped it would be and I may not even be here for much longer. It's all up in the air at the moment. But it's a long boring story, that you really don't want to hear about, so just leave a review and I'll try and update soon!
Love and kisses to my darling beta.
Katie