Dear Journal,

Just a few more hours and I will be a married woman.

Today has been hard. The shock of that night has worn off and I'm left like a shadow. I wander around the flat like a ghost.

I try to stay positive, but it's a trial.

I repeat things like 'You can't always control your situation, but you can control your response' and other pathetic platitudes like a mantra.

I've tried to avoid Erik, it won't do either of us any good for him to see me this way. Undoubtedly he'd try to do something to drag me out of this depression I'm sinking into. Then he'll get the wrong response from me and end up angry and smashing things.

The last thing I need to do is make things worse between the two of us. Our relationship is… precarious… at best. We are going to be married which means I'll have to live with him for a long, long time. It is definitely in my best interest not to make him angry.

That is a difficult task. Erik spends a good deal of the day angry in one way or another. I wonder how many chairs and tables he's gone through in the time he's lived down here. That man needs to think of something more productive to do with all this energy.

Then again, maybe that's where Don Juan came from--and I do not want to go down that path again. I wish he'd just burn that hateful thing and be done with it.

And then, even with all this anger, he still has a tremendous potential for tenderness.

"Christine, please meet me in the kitchen"

Erik's musical voice pulled Christine out of her meditation. A few hours ago, she had settled down with a book. Shortly after, however, her eyes seemed to abandon their place on the page and fix their stare to some unspecified point on the wall. At some point the book had fallen from her limp hands and she had stayed like that, unmoving, lost in her own thoughts.

Erik had worried when he first found her this way, but decided not to distract her until he had cause. His angel had been through a lot in the last few days and, as much as he wanted to go to her and comfort her, she might just need some time to sort everything out.

That thought frustrated him to no end. She should be coming to him with her troubles. He should be the one to hold her when she was upset.

It did not escape him that he may be the cause of her upset. Still, if she was angry with him, she should show it. She should shout, cry, lash out… anything to show that she still had a little bit of life left. But, no, she would not come to Erik with her problems. She just withdrew deeper into herself.

That troubled him more than her anger and tears combined.

He was losing her.

The prospect terrified him.

He ran desperate eyes up her pale form. Her little feet, tucked up under herself as she attempted to disappear into the fabric of the chair. Her hands, still open as if holding the book that had slipped from their grasp, unnoticed. Her graceful neck, once a radiant ivory, now almost a sickly shade of pale gray. Her beautiful blue eyes, they were stormy… darker… troubled. They were the only indicators of emotion… of life… left in her apathetic body. His gaze moved higher still until it fixed on her forehead, cut and bruised from her failed suicide attempt. In that nasty injury he found reason to call her out of her reverie.

Christine followed him into the kitchen where he sat her down at the counter and began spreading out an assortment of salves and potions.

Ever so gently, he cupped her chin with his hand and tilted her face up to his.

"You are lucky… I don't think it will leave a scar…" he mused quietly as the fingers of his other hand glided tenderly over the nasty gash, careful not to press the surrounding bruises.

Christine's eyes never left him as she watched him deftly clean the wound and change the bandages. When antiseptic touched the cut she hissed and pulled back. He gently drew her back against him, holding her close and making soothing sounds in her ear until the sting subsided. She looked at him with a curious expression as he lovingly applied the creams and oils that would help speed the healing.

Erik noticed her confusion and sighed fondly. "My Christine… you are so beautiful…"

Again she pulled away from him, looking at him warily. For a moment he thought she was about to speak but she kept her mouth shut. The two locked eyes, each trying to understand the other. Finally Christine stood, backing away from his touch, and silently left the room.

Even now, he tries to find ways to make me smile. The very fact that he released Raoul when he didn't have to should stand for something.

The cell was cold. It was dark.

How long had he been there? An hour? A day? From the dryness of his mouth and the ache in his muscles he assumed that he had been unconscious for hours.

What happened? How did he get here? He tried to ignore the pounding in his head and concentrate on his last clear memories.

I was in a desert… a forest? No, that doesn't sound right…

It was so hot… and the water… MIRRORS! I remember! I was in a chamber of mirrors…

Me and… the… the Persian! Yes, I know the Persian.

What was I doing with him? He came and found me in Christine's dressing-room after… CHRISTINE!

Suddenly all the memories came flooding back to him.

Christine was kidnapped! We went to rescue her… the mirrors, the torture chamber, the gunpowder, the water…

A door loudly creaked open. Raoul turned sharply to face the sound and groaned, his joints protesting the sudden movements.

"Ah, you're finally awake!" a voice exclaimed cheerfully.

"Where am I?"

"Far away, far away," the voice sang, "so no one will find you!"

Raoul squinted his eyes, trying to make out shapes or movement in the pitch blackness. The visitor carried no lantern and the only light in the chamber came from two candles burning a few feet away.

Wait… not candles, he thought as the lights moved about the room. Eyes! Glowing eyes! Erik's eyes… ERIK!

"Erik!" the young man growled. The two eyes faced him and flashed with insane amusement.

"Not so stupid after all, are we, boy?" he taunted, "Then again, if you were any smarter you would have heeded the warnings to stay away from Christine."

"Christine! What have you done to her? I swear if you've hurt her…"

"Whatever do you mean, boy?" he challenged with danger lacing his lilting voice, "Why would I want to hurt my wife? You should be careful what you say about her… it is by her request that you still live, boy."

"YOU MONSTER!" Raoul screamed, scrambling about madly in the darkness, determined to tear the masked man apart with his bare hands.

However, Erik would have none of that. With a flick of his wrist, a long, thin rope flew out from his shirtsleeve and tightened around the vicomte's neck. The boy fell silent and his eyes widened in horror. Erik pulled the noose slowly and firmly, allowing the younger man to fully feel and comprehend the situation: Raoul was alive because--and only because--Erik wished it.

"That's better, then. You know," Erik smirked, circling the boy like a tiger, "you should show a little more gratitude. Just think of how upset Christine would be if she knew this was how you thanked me for saving your life. Yes, you see… it was her idea after all. I would like nothing more than to snap your pathetic little neck but Christine… dear sweet Christine cannot bear for anyone to be hurt. She's such a good girl… wouldn't hurt a fly…"

Raoul gasped and tore at the rope at his neck. It unnerved him to see the joy in the monster's eyes… to hear the adoration in his voice as he talked about the poor woman he was holding captive. He shuddered, wondering what this madman had subjected her to already.

"Now," Erik continued, all-business, "your body has been through a bit of a shock. Humans were not meant to survive my torture chamber. You were very lucky… very lucky that my wife is such a caring individual. I am leaving you a pitcher of water. It would be wise for you to drink it all. No doubt your body is in need of fluids."

"How do I know you haven't poisoned it?"

Erik shrugged, flicking his wrist again to release the Punjab lasso from Raoul's neck. "I suppose I could be offended by that implication… but you are not worth it, foolish boy. So, I'll tell you this--I might have poisoned it, but I might not. I could have snapped your neck just now, but I did not. You can choose to trust me or you can dehydrate. In all honesty, it makes no difference to me."

With that teasing comment, the masked man left, leaving Raoul alone in the dark with dozens of unanswered questions.

A man like that cannot be wholly evil. I am convinced of this at least.

"You are not listening to me!" the Persian shouted. He had been sitting in the constable's office for hours, with the Opera managers sitting nearby, looking almost bored, while he tried to explain the situation. Both Christine Daae and Raoul de Chagny went missing during the blackout. Later that evening, the body of Count Philippe de Chagny was found near the lake under the Opera house. As soon as he had recovered from his near-death experience in Erik's torture chamber, the Persian had contacted the authorities and the managers.

True, he knew the chances that he would be believed we slim, but he felt it was his civil duty to come forward with the truth.

"I am listening to you, monsieur, and I assure you… there is no crime here." he man replied.

"Then what, pray tell, do you think happened?" the Persian said, his voice betraying every hint of the exasperation he felt.

"Yes indeed, monsieur," said one of the managers, "what is your hypothesis?" In their opinion, this entire mess was extremely bad publicity and they were just as eager as anyone else to put the ordeal behind them.

"It's quite simple, really," the police chief answered, "Mademoiselle Daae and the Vicomte de Chagny had been planning to run off together, correct?" the three men nodded and he continued, "Expecting the count to come forth and put a stop to the relationship, the couple fled the Opera before the elder de Chagny had a chance to catch up with them. In his attempt to seek them out, he came upon the lake where he met his untimely death. This is not the first time an innocent explorer has drowned in that lake. No doubt the vicomte and his fiancée have left the country. They probably do not even know yet of the accident."

"But--" the dark man started before he was silenced by the constable's staying hand.

"Monsieur, I agree that this event was indeed an awful tragedy. However, it was completely accidental and I have no reason to pursue this matter further. Consider the case closed." he said with finality.

The Persian was furious but the other men seemed satisfied with that explanation and quietly filed out of the office. The Persian was left alone, fuming. He had a feeling the officer's pride and sheer ineptitude would get in the way of the investigation but he found his cavalier attitude ultimately frustrating.

However, when he realized there was nothing more he could do along these lines he left for his home, wondering if this was worth the risk of seeking out Erik once again.

But does that make him husband material? I have thought about this a lot recently. The thought of us leading a normal life together, with a normal house and a normal family is laughable. Literally laughable. I have to hold back giggles whenever I think of Erik, running around in a garden, chasing after a bunch of ridiculously talented children who are ugly as sin while I sit dutifully on the porch with my sewing basket--the picture of domesticity.

Who am I to talk though? I'm not exactly the ideal of the perfect wife. How did I get two men to fall madly in love with me? I can almost understand Erik--he's crazy. End of story. But, Raoul! What was he thinking? I'm an Opera singer for goodness sake!

I need help. I need to learn how not to be miserable for the rest of my life. This marriage has to work… for the sake of both our sanities.

And so, Erik is graciously allowing me to visit Mamma Valerius tomorrow.

"Erik,"

He looked up from his sketch pad as Christine found a comfortable place on the sofa across from him. Settling back into his chair, he tilted his head to indicate he was listening.

Christine folded her hands neatly in her lap and looked Erik in the eye. A few moments before she had been wringing her hands in a nervous gesture but she had quickly composed herself and, by the time she entered the room, was the picture of control.

"I wish to visit someone." she stated calmly

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I do not trust you."

She shrugged and her eyebrows knitted together in thought. "I suppose that makes sense."

Erik was a little taken aback by her indifferent acceptance of an obvious attack on her character. He was still hurt and the bitterness in him urged him to make her feel it too.

It had been his intent to pick a fight with her and, from what he knew of Christine, he expected one of two reactions: She would start crying and apologize for all her deception and beg his forgiveness; or, she would slap him with all the righteous indignation she could muster, deny everything, and shout at him for daring to call her a liar.

Either way, her request would have been forgotten and he would have his bitterness justified once again.

But this, this was completely unexpected…

This was the second time now that she'd shrugged off his resentful comments (the first being the time, last night, when he'd tried to distract her from her 'game'). Instead she sat comfortably, head held high, eyes keeping contact with his own. She denied nothing and was completely unapologetic. Rather, she had a resigned look in her eyes. She knew exactly what she had done to deserve his hateful words and was prepared to let him hurl them at her to his heart's content.

He remembered back to the time she tore off his mask. Afterwards, her reaction was just as casual. I made quite a mess of things the other night, didn't I? she had asked.

The melodramatic side of Erik was miffed that she would be so cavalier in the midst of his powerful emotional turmoil.

However, right now he was more inclined to curiosity. This girl intrigued him. Every time he thought he knew everything there was to know about her, she would do something completely surprising. Christine was like a puzzle he couldn't figure out and it fascinated as much as frustrated him.

It took some convincing.

The silence was uncomfortable and Erik's stare was intense. After a few awkward seconds, Christine was forced to break eye contact, clearing her throat before continuing,

"Well then, Erik, since you are reluctant to let me leave… perhaps you would consider taking me somewhere?"

"Just tell me what it is you need and I'll retrieve it for you."

"You can't… I mean… I need to speak with someone. I need to see Mamma Valerius."

"Why?" he demanded, standing up from his chair and towering over her in a threatening stance.

"Do you really want to know?" she asked, looking away and blushing deeply.

"YES!" he shouted as he forced her to look up at him. "Why, indeed, Christine? So that you can call the authorities? Thinking of escaping, perhaps? Calling for help? Perhaps you want to tell them where the monster… where the infamous Opera Ghost has been hiding, hmm?"

By now he was pacing the length of the sofa furiously like a caged animal. Christine sat still and patiently allowed him to finish his tirade. She had seen enough of this man's temper to know that it was best not to feed it. When he had quieted again, she continued, unaffected by his outburst.

"No nothing like that. I need… advice…"

"About what?" he asked, softly this time. He was really curious now.

She looked down at her hands, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. "I need to know… about… marriage things… about the things… that people… do… when they are married… Oh Erik, please don't make me spell it out for you!"

It is important to note that I did not lie to him. Everything I said was the truth. I just asked in a way that would ensure he wouldn't ask many questions.

Erik was equally embarrassed when he realized what it was she must have been talking about. Now it was his turn to blush furiously as he turned away from her to face the fireplace.

Another long stretch of uncomfortable silence followed. This time, however, Erik was the one to break it.

"I think we should speak about that, Christine. I… I wanted you to know… you see… I would never…"

He took a deep, shuddering breath in a feeble attempt to compose himself.

Christine had to stifle a giggle as she watch him fidget and fumble for words. Instead she found great interest in the stitching of the couch cushion.

"I would never force you to do something you didn't want…" he finally breathed.

You're forcing me to marry you, Christine thought. She bit her tongue, though, and kept the comment to herself. It wouldn't do to pick a fight now. Besides, she was infinitely curious about where he was going with this…

Noticing the barely-veiled irritation that flashed across her face, Erik tried to clarify, "What I mean to say is that… we will soon be married. But… my dear girl, I do not wish for you to despise me… I only wish for your companionship… I am content to be near you and enjoy your company. If you ask me never to… touch you… I would abide by your wishes."

More uncomfortable silence. Erik's entire body was shaking and he refused to meet her gaze. Christine was just as embarrassed, as was evident by her now beet red complexion.

What I offered to get him to agree is a little disconcerting to me.

"Is that what you want, Christine?"

She realized what it was he was offering and it moved her. This was another one of those selfless gestures that surprised her so. He was a man who wanted to be like any other man, and yet, out of love for her, he was willing to release her from the marital obligations that might make her uncomfortable.

The truth of the matter was, she was uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. The idea of those icy fingers on her skin… that fiery gaze burning into her in the darkness… it was something Christine was not prepared for. She wasn't really prepared to even think about it. However, she was to be married in less than a day and this was bound to come up sooner or later. She could see how hard Erik was trying to make this work. It was the least she could do to meet him half-way.

"Erik…" she sighed, noting how he immediately tensed. It was as if he was bracing himself for her inevitable rejection. "I know you don't trust me. I'll admit that you don't have cause to trust me. But, I want you to know… that I trust you implicitly. You have never broken a promise to me and I appreciate that more than you know. And so I tell you this: I will not deny you anything, Erik. But… we hardly know each other and… well I'll admit that I'm apprehensive. I will not ask you never to touch me… but I will trust you to wait until I'm ready. Is that a fair compromise?"

I don't know why I do the things I do.

Erik nearly choked. Her answer was unexpected. Never in a thousand years would he presume to subject his ugliness upon something so beautiful… even if she were his. He had merely been trying to give her an out… put her mind at ease and possibly win some points for his gallantry.

But she had not rejected him. He had given her the opportunity to do so with no consequences… but she did not.

Erik swore softly. Suddenly he was glad he was facing away from her as he felt his body react to the thought of what she was suggesting. Not good. Not good, Erik… bad timing. Let's see… math? In a cyclic quadrilateral having perpendicular diagonals, the perpendicular to a side from the point of intersection of the diagonals always bisects the opposite side. Still no good… okay… history--Charles the Bald, Louis II the Stammerer, Louis III with Carloman, Charles the Fat, Odo, Charles the Simple… Damn! It's not working… I need to get out of here…

"Yes, I believe that would be… acceptable…" he breathed, "I will leave you now, it's getting late…"

"But Erik," she cried, running toward him and placing a staying hand on the fist that was clenched to his side. Erik tensed and refused to turn around, the physical contact doing nothing to help his situation.

"Yes, my dear?" he ground out slowly.

"In light of everything we just discussed… well… It's even more important that I see Mamma Valerius. Please? Will you allow me this?"

Still, if I don't think about it, it won't trouble me. Besides, I have to admit that, all and all, the whole conversation was mildly entertaining. It occurred to me that I have never seen him embarrassed before. Erik is such a passionate and commanding personality that something about seeing him shuffle about and stare at the ground like a guilty child is thoroughly amusing…

"I think it could be arranged… after the wedding." he said harshly and stormed out of the room.

He would have to slip that in! She thought bitterly, Of course, after the wedding. We wouldn't want the little fiancée running off before he's officially, legally claimed me as his property. Wait, scratch that last comment. I need to have a better attitude. I should tone down this sarcastic side of me. I'll put it on the list of things to work on.

With that thought she collapsed back into her seat with a book. She really had no reason to be irritated. She got what she wanted and, in all honestly, she had fully expected all the nasty little side comments. Overall, the conversation had been a good one. It just irked her that he had snapped at her and stormed off like that when she thought everything was going so well.

Meanwhile, Erik paced the length of his bedroom, trying to recall all the nations capitals in alphabetical order.

Anyway, hopefully Mamma can help me. She's not always the most clearheaded individual, but she knows a lot about life. I'll take all the help I can get at this point.

Until tomorrow,

Christine Daae (for the last time)

PS--It just occurred to me, I have no idea what my new name will be…