The moment Christine departs for church, I head above ground by another route. I want to watch her, sunlight glinting off the wisps of her hair. Perhaps I'll spy the flush on her cheek as she turns to check the street before crossing. Perhaps I'll catch a glimpse of her ankle as the breezes flirt about her skirts. What a glorious ache, to watch her walk away; heavenly torture, as the seconds creep past until she can Amen and genuflect, and make her way back to me.
Only God tears her away from me now; I fear no man coming between us. If she is the air I breathe, so am I her water–no, wine; sometimes she truly is drunk with love for me. Me! When I see my reflection now, I think, Surely this glass deceives me. I must have been transformed into the handsomest of men, or my Angel could never look at me as she does.
Christine disappears into the cathedral's embrace and I make for the flower market. Today I plan a surprise by turning our home into a wonderland of fragrance and color. How many trips will it take to fill these caverns? I hope it is the slow priest saying Mass today. I only just arrange the last bouquet when I hear Christine's footsteps.
Her expression is not what I expected. Her prayer book and bonnet hang limply in her hands.
"Angel? Are you ill?"
Christine starts; her hand flies to her throat. She had not seen me, the dark emptiness among the riot of color. She stares as I stoop to retrieve her bonnet. Her hand is icy and offers no response to mine. As I lead her to the sofa, she blinks at the flowers, uncomprehending.
"I am sorry to have startled you, my Love. I wanted to make a surprise; I know how flowers delight you."
Still she says nothing. Oh, God. Oh, God! Help me. What can this be? A silent eternity ticks by.
"Christine, do you not know me?" I whisper.
Her precious eyes dart to mine, then away. As they sweep over my face, I see my Angel's adoring gaze flicker, a sputtering candle; then a horrible wave of grief crashes over her. She reaches up to touch my cheek, but halts at the last. She is afraid to touch me!
"No," she murmurs. "I do not know you." She leaps to her feet and rushes to the bedroom, wailing, "I do not know you!"
I catch the door before she can slam it shut. Christine races to the wardrobe, tearing her dresses free. I try to embrace her and draw her away.
"Christine, what has happened? It is I; it is Erik."
"No, no! Let me go!" She struggles wildly.
"You are not afraid of me, Christine; your little husband," I remind her, my heart crashing against my chest. "Tell me," I soothe. We fall to the bed together. She screams in terror even as she tears at my clothing.
"Christine, won't you tell me what troubles you?"
"Touch me!" She cries. "Love me!" She throws her arms around me so tightly I fear she'll throttle me.
"Christine, ssshhh."
She collapses sobbing. Finally, she lies exhausted. She stares at the ceiling and speaks in a ghostly voice.
"They found her bones in the furnace. They think it was she."
Impossible. Impossible! "Christine, what do you mean?"
"The girl that was screaming, remember? That night, you told me it was only night terrors. See?" She sits up, and with seemingly sightless eyes, retrieves a scrap of paper from her sleeve. Torn from L'Epoque, it tells of some bone fragments found in the furnaces during the regular cleaning. They believe the bones to be those of Therese; they believe the murderer to be the Opera Ghost.
"What are you saying, Christine?" I demand, cold to the depths of my guts. "Who has poisoned your mind and heart against me? You accuse me of this heinous crime in order to disguise your infidelities!" I drag her to her feet, shaking her viciously. "Who else would show you this, who else would plant such a suggestion but your lover? You told me you did not meet him! You swore!" I roar.
"No," she replies, "It is true, I saw Raoul today. He told me, he showed me the paper; I admit it." She begins unbuttoning her dress numbly. "But look: Inspect me if you will; my clothing; every bit of me; everything. You will find no trace of him on me. See, Erik? I will not hesitate to shame myself if you want it. I swear to you, no one has touched me."
"'Why will you do this to me? Tell me you have no faith in me'; that is what you said! Liar! WHORE! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!" I throw her to the floor.
So he has been searching for her! Lying in wait to turn my Christine against me, skulking in his carriage; foul monster! When he stood at my wedding and heard those very words about 'no man put asunder'! Now, I shall surely put him down like the vicious dog he is; only unlike some pathetic creature, he merits no compassion. Surely my head will split, the way it pounds. I turn away from her and close my eyes, fighting nausea as the room begins to spin. Suddenly, something around my ankle startles me. Christine, kneeling at my feet; how can this be? She presses her fists to her temples, rocking and keening. "What is to become of me if you turn me away? I have nothing…" Christine clutches handfuls of my trousers, eyes streaming again.
I tear myself from her grasp. "You must love me, Christine," I remind her bitterly, striding to the door.
She nearly struggles to her feet, but stumbles and crawls after me. "I do, Erik, please! I adore you! Forgive me, forgive me!"
"You hateful, lying baggage; how can you claim love when you accuse me? Am I a fool to you?" I shove her to the ground with my foot and tower above her, menacing.
She shakes her head wildly, her eyes wide. "No! You're no fool; you're a genius! Erik, you know I can't lie to you! You're everything to me, please. Please! What must I do? Only tell me–"
"I told you already; you must love me. When you are sincerely ready to prove your devotion, I will be overjoyed to accept the proof of it." I reach into my pocket for the key to Christine's bedroom. "I regret that I must keep you a prisoner in your own home until you can be trusted again, my Dear, but you surely you realize that you have brought this unfortunate turn of events upon yourself. Good night."
"Erik! Wait!" she cries. The door was nearly shut; I step just inside once more.
"Sleep with me," she purrs.
"Good night, Christine," I reply frostily, pull the door shut and lock it behind me. Christine begins to wail within, but I cannot hear her for long. Rushing to the lakeside, I heave until I collapse against the cool, damp stone and slip into my world of nightmares.