Dear Journal,

It's done. Over. Until death and whatnot.

She was wandering. Lost. It was so very dark.

"Erik…" she called. Where was he? She called his name again. Why hadn't he found her?

She continued to stumble through the passageways. Then she came upon a lake. Their lake. She was under the Opera house. The catacombs. She remembered how she lived here now.

But where was Erik?

In the dark she saw two candles. She heard a strange laugh. Madness. That was the word that came to her mind when she heard it.

She moved away from the lake, approaching the flames. She walked for what felt like an eternity. Then, she heard a groan and she looked up into an open door. A man was chained up in the shadows. She couldn't see him, but she knew he was there.

Suddenly the candles turned in her direction. No, not candles. Eyes. Glowing, yellow eyes.

"You were not meant to see that, Christine." he said menacingly.

She stepped back, stumbling, and then turned an ran. She knew not where she was running to, but she fled anyway, just needing to get away from the blazing eyes.

"Christine…" she heard her name whispered. It was gentle… adoring.

"Christine..." she heard the voice again… slightly louder. Pleading with her… it wanted something. But what?

Suddenly she felt a hand on her neck and another grasping her shoulder. She looked up and saw that he had moved in front of her. She sensed he was about to… what? Kiss her? Tell her something? What did he want? His glowing eyes looked down into hers as he gently, but firmly, shook her.

"Christine!"

Her eyes snapped open to find a mirror image of what she had seen in her dream. In the pitch blackness of the room, she saw only his two yellow eyes, gazing down on her. She felt his hand on her shoulder, and his other behind her head, his thumb gently rubbing circles against her neck.

"Erik!" she cried. Her voice gave off a sense of total panic. Erik released her and she jerked away, scrambling up her bed until her back hit the headboard.

"Easy, love," he said softly, approaching her like a wounded animal, with calm, slow movements.

Christine's panic moved quickly to confusion. She didn't know how to feel. Was she relieved? Yes, but not fully. Angry? Afraid? Was she happy to see Erik or wasn't she? The details of her dream were slipping quickly from her memory, leaving her with an overwhelming sense of unease.

But, his voice soothed her and the familiarity of his presence was calming to her. When he replaced his bony hand to the side of her neck a few desperate sobs escaped her throat and she allowed him to pull her the rest of the way towards him. Fear from the dream warred with frustration at not remembering it. She cried into his chest and held tightly to his shirt. His arms wrapped around her and he rocked her back and forth, humming softly.

Despite his cool demeanor, Erik was in a full-blown panic of his own.

A few hours ago, he had entered her room. He was too troubled to sleep.

His mind was flashing through all the possibilities… everything that could go wrong in the next few hours. It had been the same since that night and he had a feeling he would not get a good night's sleep until Christine was fully his.

So, after a bit of frustrated pacing and failed attempts at reading, he did what he often did when he had trouble sleeping: he went to see Christine.

Erik rarely slept because, when he did, he was plagued with nightmares. Between all the unspeakable things that had happened to him, and all the terrible acts he had committed, Erik had ample material for nightmares. His life had been horror. Every day had been hell for him.

That is, every day until he met Christine.

Having Christine in his life gave him purpose. She had brought him back to life. She made his cold heart beat again. The day he met her was the first time in forty years that he had wanted to live.

Whenever he couldn't sleep, he would seek her out. Watching Christine sleep was infinitely therapeutic for him. As he stared at her sleeping form, he would be washed over by a sense of peace. Without ever knowing it, Christine made Erik feel like a man instead of a monster. Here she was, completely unaware and vulnerable, and he was protecting her. He would see to it that nothing ever hurt her. His angel… his precious girl… his bride.

Yes, his bride. He couldn't take it anymore. He needed this to be official. The what-ifs and insecurities would drive him mad.

Carefully, he moved across the room to wake her. It was early--still nighttime even--but he couldn't wait any longer. They would go to the chapel now and finish this.

However, as he reached her bedside, he stopped. In her sleep had she whispered his name? Was he imagining it? Was she thinking of him in her dreams? When he heard it again he almost stopped breathing. What was she thinking of? Was this a nightmare… or, dare he hope, was she thinking good thoughts of him? The way she called him was hopeful, beseeching, almost searching. He longed to answer her and hold her close, but he didn't want to wake her lest his hopes be dashed.

Suddenly, her breathing grew ragged and agitated. She began to sweat and her head tossed back and forth in a frenzy.

He whispered her name, hoping to wake her without frightening her. When she didn't respond, he called her again, louder… begging her to wake. Her movements only intensified.

Unsure of what else to do, Erik thought only to calm her. He reached out and pinned her shoulder to the bed while he grabbed the back of her head with his other hand to still her anguished thrashing.

"Christine!" he said, forcefully.

She awoke with a start and he pulled back. He murmured soothing words to her as the realization of her dreaming hit her. As she looked around and got her bearings, he approached her again slowly. Erik never knew what possessed him to touch her again--he so rarely risked physical affection--but, when he did, she threw herself into him, sobbing.

He didn't know what to do to comfort her. He hadn't much experience with that sort of thing. Her skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat but she was shivering and felt ice cold--even to him. He thought of his response when she first took away his mask and remembered how she had soothed him and endeavored to do the same for her.

It worked because, after a few minutes, she pulled back, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her nightgown.

"I'm sorry, Erik." she muttered.

He merely sighed. He wanted to tell her that there was nothing to be sorry for or that he would always be there for her, but there was nothing he could say or do that would make any difference at that point. It unnerved him how much he missed her touch when she pulled away.

"Why are you here?" she asked after a time.

Erik cleared his throat. "It's time."

He did not need to explain. Somehow she could read it in his eyes. It was time to get married. She nodded in acquiescence.

"I'll give you a few minutes to get dressed while I make breakfast and find a carriage. Can you be ready to leave in one hour?"

"Yes," she choked out, sparing a glance at the clock. Christine had been through a whirlwind of emotions in the last ten minutes and, well, this bit of news was not one she had expected to wake up to.

When Erik left, she spared a glance at the clock. 2:30 in the morning. Well, the man surely doesn't waste time, does he? When he says 'morning' he means it!

Why am I surprised? I knew it was going to happen. I knew I would be married today. Yet, I am somewhat in shock that it actually happened.

"I now pronounce you man and wife." the sleepy priest proclaimed.

"You may now kiss---" he was cut of by a glare from the masked man.

"Ahem… well… then, may I present M. and Mme. Erik---" another glare. It occurred to him then that the intimidating man in black had never given him a last name. He shrugged, between the unreasonable hour and the exorbitant amount of money the masked man had given him, the priest could really care less.

"Well, congratulations anyway." he said, signifying the end of the service so that the couple could leave.

Erik was uncomfortable and had to force himself not to drag Christine from the chapel. He never wanted to spend more time than necessary in these places. In church, he felt even more unwelcome than he did everywhere else--if that was possible.

I think, somewhere in the back of my mind, I had this happy little delusion that Raoul would charge into the chapel, on a white horse, and steal me away.

"Wake up, vicomte!" said Erik's overly cheery voice as he kicked Raoul in the foot. He groaned, forcing his tired muscles to cooperate long enough to look the taller man in the eye.

"What do you want now, freak?" he spat.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such an unhappy way to talk on such a happy day!" the voice chided, giving the boy another swift kick as he struggled into a sitting position.

"What are you talking about? What's so happy about it?"

"Oh my! Did I forget to tell you? My apologies, monsieur. I have been distracted as of late. You see… today was my wedding day."

"YOU MONSTER! LET HER GO!" Raoul screamed, lunging for the masked man only to be kicked in the stomach. He fumed. Erik had not kicked him hard enough to break ribs, just enough to push him around. He hadn't hurt him. He was toying with him.

"Now, now. That is no way to act in your position. If I were not in such a jolly mood, there would be consequences for your attitude."

"You have Christine. You have everything. Why do you still keep me here?" he grated.

"Ah, now that is a good question. You see, boy, I do not have everything, I'm afraid. I have the impression that my lovely bride is less than enamored with her husband. She will love me… in time. She is confused right now. You have put her through a lot in the last few months. I know I've said it before… but you really should have stayed away from her. Really, a mere boy falling for an actress! It's absurd! You might as well try to bottle the sun. Ah, but I digress. You see, she's emotional right now, and I fear a viper such as yourself might try to convince her to run away. Now I can't have that. The last thing I need is you interfering before I am assured that my beautiful wife is convinced of how much better off she is with me."

"You are mad!"

"So you have said." he shrugged, "At any rate, enjoy your stay. It might be awhile."

Then he tossed a basket of food at the vicomte's feet and left.

After he was sure Erik had left for good, Raoul crawled over to the basket and looked inside. He was surprised. The food was good! The bread was soft; there was cheese, a bit of fruit, and even wine! Raoul wasn't sure if he should be relieved or disgusted. For all of Erik's taunting, he was, apparently, in an excellent mood.

Or, maybe, Erik would realize he didn't want to marry me after all and he'd let me go.

I wonder how I would have felt if that were the case. Would I have been relieved and elated at my newfound freedom? Or would I have been depressed that he didn't want me? It's an uncomfortable question but, since it hasn't the slightest impact on my situation, it's irrelevant. I refuse to dwell on it further.

"You look beautiful this morning, my dear."

"Thank you... Erik?"

"Yes?"

"What happens now?"

Erik had a feeling she wasn't asking about the rest of the day, but that was how he planned to answer because, beyond that, he had no idea. What happens now? Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine this perfect creature would be his wife. His real, living wife. In the past few hours he had worked himself into quite a state. So many things could go wrong that he could not fathom everything going so very right. Now he had a wife. What happens now? Best take it one day at a time until they could figure out a better way.

"Now, dear girl, we go home. It's early yet. Perhaps we can have a cup of tea and then you can take a nap? Do you still wish to see Mme. Valerius today?"

"Yes." she said softly, happy he remembered.

"Then I shall take you this afternoon."

"I'd like that. Thank you Erik."

He smiled fondly, unseen behind his mask, but she could make out the affectionate look in his eye as he gazed down at her.

"Anything for you, my dear."

It's strangely comforting, this marriage. The finality of it all gives me relief. It's over. I lost the game. I played my best and I lost.

There's nothing to do now but pick up the pieces and make the best of my situation.

And I will make the best of it. I'm determined to. I lost the game but maybe I can still have my happy ending. I have to believe that. I need some shred of hope to cling to--even if it is only a shred.

"I'll be waiting here for you, Christine." he told her as the black carriage pulled up to Mme. Valerius' flat. "I expect you to return in an hour, will that be enough time?"

"Yes, Erik."

"Do I need to remind you no to try and run off?"

He was using that dark, warning tone again and she wondered how their pleasant conversation had taken such a sudden turn. Why is he so impossible to read? How can any person be so unpredictable?

"No, Erik. I will be just inside the house." She answered automatically. Fortunately, she was not so lost in thought that she might unintentionally hesitate in her answer. That would have made things worse. However, this little bit of information she had observed interested her and she stored it away to think about later.

"Very well, my dear. If you are not back in a reasonable amount of time I shall come after you."

"I understand, Erik. There will be no need."

"Good girl."

I spoke to Mamma Valerius. She was, fortunately, having one of her more lucid moments. Be thankful for small miracles, right?

"What am I going to do, Mamma?" she cried, burying her face into the old woman's lap as she had when she was a little girl.

"Whatever do you mean, child?" Mamma asked in all sincerity. Christine had found her Angel of Music and gotten married. What was there to be so distraught over?

"Don't you get it? He is not an angel! He is a madman!"

"Then why ever did you marry him?"

"Mamma! He forced me! I had no choice in the matter!"

"Bah!" she snorted, "Don't be silly, child. You always have a choice."

"Haven't you been listening, Mamma? He would have killed Raoul."

"And you chose to save him." she countered, "Just because the alternatives are not pretty, doesn't mean you don't have a choice. You made yours, and now you have to deal with it. Now, the way I see it, you can choose to be miserable or you can choose to make it work."

It did not go the way I imagined it. I don't know what I was looking for. I think I was expecting sympathy. I didn't get any. In retrospect, I suppose her realistic attitude was what I needed to hear. That didn't make it sting any less.

"But I don't love him," she whined.

"Love? Is that what you're worried about? Goodness, child! Have you learned nothing? Do you think Professor Valerius and I were in love when we married?"

"You weren't?" Christine asked incredulously. She practically grew up with this couple. After her mother died, she and her father moved in with the Valerius'. Christine had always enjoyed watching them interact. They adored each other. Next to her parents, she had never seen two people more in love.

"Heavens, no! We barely knew each other. I was looking to get out of the house and the university wouldn't hire a single professor. It just made sense. So, when he proposed, I accepted and we were married a week later."

"But… wow! I… I had no idea you didn't love him!"

"Oh, now don't go thinking that, child. I did love him… very much so. I still do. It just took time. You've filled your head with opera and romance, and your dear father--my he rest in peace--indulged you. But, as much as I love you, it's time to grow up. This sort of thing doesn't happen in real life. Real people don't fall in love at first sight. A lasting love takes work, child, and lots of it! Remember what I always told you?"

"Anything you fall into, you climb right back out of." she recited.

"That's right, dear one. You may not love him now, but you will grow to. You just have to try and make your marriage work. From what you've told me, he already adores you… so you're half way there, right?"

Christine giggled a little bit. "I suppose you could look at it that way."

"That's right, dear, chin up. It's not all that bad."

She was not wholly convinced, but decided not to waste time arguing. "So, Mamma, what do I do now?"

"Now, child, you learn how to be a wife."

"And I suppose you have some suggestions?"

"Why, as a matter of fact, I do." the old woman grinned.

She had some good advice, though. I took notes so I would not forget anything.

"But I thought you said marriage was all about compromise?"

"It is, dear, but you must recognize those things that you are not willing to compromise on. You both have them, I'm sure of it. I know it sounds contrary, but you have to trust me on this. Talk to your husband so that he knows what kind of things are important to you. Don't leave him guessing."

"Okay… establish non-negotiables. Anything else?" Christine felt even more stressed out now than she did when she came. There was so much to remember. Still, talking to Mamma had given her hope and she was encouraged.

"Well, I think we've almost covered it all. Lets see… anything else… Don't ever neglect the little things, Christine. They often have the biggest impact."

My. That was cliché.

"I know that look," Mamma seemed to be reading her mind, "It sounds cliché, I realize. But, things become cliché for a reason, don't they?" she said, chuckling at her own joke.

Christine rolled her eyes.

"I'm serious, Christine. Every morning I would make sure Prof. Valerius had his coffee just right and, before he stepped out the door, I would always straighten the collar of his jacket and slick down that lock of hair that he always had sticking up. In the evening, at dinner, he would always ask me about my day first, even if his was busy and stressful. They were just little things, dear, but it's how we showed each other we cared."

The woman's eyes glistened as she thought back fondly on her beloved husband. Christine smiled as she saw this woman in a new light. She used to think it was odd how the couple would always address each other so formally. Now, after all she'd heard, she thought it was terribly romantic. She thought back to how the professor would extend his hand to his wife, saying 'Mme. Valerius this' and 'Mme. Valerius that'… it was like he was still courting her after all those years.

Christine sighed and wonder if she could ever think of Erik like that. She doubted it but, after this afternoon, she realized that anything was possible.

It occurred to her, then, that she still had no idea what her last name was. That was… unsettling… to say the least.

"Well, I think I've let my husband wait long enough. I should be going. It was good to see you again, Mamma."

"Oh, wait! Before you go… I found this as I was cleaning up," Mamma said, handing Christine an old book from her bedside table, "It's that book of fairy-tales your father read. I thought you'd like to have it."

The young woman's face darkened slightly at the memories but took the book and smiled politely.

I believe it would be best if I began following it right away.

"You're late" he growled.

"I'm sorry. It's just that---I'm sorry." She was about to launch into one of the thousand excuses that had run through her head when, in a moment of understanding, she realized how none of them mattered. She thought back to any of the instances where Erik had accused her of something. He never listened to her reasoning… it just was what it was. She was late… it didn't really matter why she was late… she just was and it irritated him.

For a moment Erik waited, glaring at her, willing her to say something else so he could snap at her. When she simply apologized and left it at that, he was a little taken aback. He nodded curtly in her direction and signaled the carriage to continue.

"Is punctuality very important to you Erik?" she asked, knowing the answer already but trying to take some of Mamma's advice on communication.

"Yes, of course it is." he answered irritably. Erik hated waiting in the carriage for Christine. He hated being away from her at all. He hated the feeling of helplessness that came from her absence. She could be anywhere doing anything and he would not know. What's worse, she could be in danger and he'd never know it. That is, perhaps, one of the reasons he spent so much time watching her, unseen in the Opera house. The out-of-control feeling at her absence was akin to a panic attack for Erik. If he couldn't be with her, he would try to control the time of her return. It gave him a small sense of control and put his mind at ease, if only slightly.

"So what you're saying is: It is very important that I am on time and that is not something you're willing to budge on?"

"Yes!" he snapped, "What is the purpose of this conversation?"

"Nothing really, I just wanted to know. There are also things that I am not willing to budge on."

"Like what?" he asked, his irritation giving way to his curiosity. Is she about to make demands? Does she realize what kind of position she is in? Now, now, Erik, don't kid yourself. You'd give her anything she wants… admit it. Fine, but don't let her know that. Deal.

"Well…" she started. In truth, she hadn't thought that far ahead. She hadn't expected this conversation to continue this far. What was important to her? Several things rushed to mind. I don't want you killing anyone. I don't want you threatening me. I want you to get rid of Don Juan Triumphant. I want to live above ground.

"I…"

"Well, come on… what is it?"

"I refuse to sleep in a coffin." she announced. Coward.

Erik let out a sound of surprise that was something between a laugh and a cough. What an odd girl! Of all the… how very odd! Wait… does she really think you'd make her sleep in your coffin? She really thinks so low of you that she expects you to force her to sleep in the same bed as you? You sick man… what have you made her think of you?

"Christine… I would never… ever… presume to have you sleep in my coffin."

"Excellent." she said, "Then we shall be sleeping in my bed?"

WAIT! Did she just say 'we'? She wasn't objecting to sleeping with you… she was just objecting to your choice of bed. Of course she'd object to that… Erik, you're a perverse one, that's for sure… who sleeps in a coffin? Honestly! Hold on… is she saying that she intends for you to share her bed? She is! What to do… what to say… what… Say something you fool, she's waiting for an answer.

"If that is what you wish." he choked out.

Christine smiled slightly and they enjoyed the rest of the short trip in reflective silence.

I still have the rest of the day ahead of me. But first, I think a nap is in order. This is one of those few times when Erik is right to put me to bed in the middle of the day. Honestly, who gets married at four o'clock in the morning, anyway?

Until next time,

Christine