Diary,
Last night was, I expect, the most peculiar wedding night in history.
Erik smiled as Christine shuffled out of her bedroom to where he was in the sitting room. He thought she never looked more adorable than when she had just woken up from a nap. Her eyes were big and bright as she rubbed sleep out of them and her cheeks were red where she had laid on her pillow. She also radiated heat for a few minutes after she woke up--probably due to all the blankets she piled on herself. Half-Awake Christine was the picture of everything someone would want to cuddle up to.
That is probably why Erik so often insisted she rest in the middle of the day. She was, in a word, cute.
"Did you have a nice nap, my dear?"
Christine nodded, not quite coherent enough to trust her voice. She was always just a touch grumpy when she first got up. Just another one of those things her husband found endearing.
Husband?
Oh yes. That's right.
For some reason, the sight of Erik sprawled in the large chair with his book lazily draped over his knee reminded her of the time she had come in like this, asking him to brush her hair. Her sleepy mind remembered how good it felt to have another touching her sensitive scalp.
It was an odd thought, she registered that much. Still, it had been an emotional couple of days. She figured this urge was a positive one, considering her resolve, and she wasn't sure how many of those she'd have.
It was settled then. She'd act on what felt right.
Still without speaking, Christine padded over to Erik's chair and plopped herself down on the floor in front of him with her back against his leg.
Erik tensed. What game is she playing at? When he did not move after a few seconds, Christine made a little grunt of impatience and purposefully took his palm and set it on the crown of her head. Erik chuckled and took the hint. As he gently combed through her light tresses with his fingers, he felt her relax slightly against him.
Christine sighed. I could get used to this, she thought peacefully.
To her embarrassment, she heard Erik chuckling softly behind her and realized that she had spoken her thoughts out loud. She felt her face color and Erik took the opportunity to brush his fingertips against the skin of her neck under her hair. He loved the fact that her blush spread all the way back there.
The afternoon was wonderfully lazy. By the feel of it, it would seem as if none of this drama had ever occurred. It wasn't special or significant in any way. In fact, it seemed as if we had been married for years. It was the most comfortable I have ever been with Erik.
The evening was much more intense.
Later that afternoon, Erik donned his cloak and hat as if to leave.
"Where are you going?" Christine inquired innocently.
"Merely to take a walk and get some air," he said affectionately.
A walk sounded good to Christine. "May I come to?" she asked.
"NO!" Erik snapped. Christine started and he softened his tone. "No, my dear… I just have a bit of business to attend to. Nothing you need to concern yourself with. If you wish, I shall take you out for a walk later this week."
Christine nodded obediently and he swept from the room.
I have no idea where he goes each night, but he always comes back in a strange mood.
Christine remembered Mamma's words about doing little things to make the biggest difference and she decided to make herself useful in Erik's absence. She busied herself first in the library, replacing books on shelves and stacking papers neatly. She found herself a dust rag and wiped down all the furniture. She smiled when she looked at the finished room. It felt good to be useful.
It's curious really. It is not that he is especially angry (not any more than usual, anyway), he just seems testy.
As Christine was placing a book on a particularly high shelf, the slam of the front door made her jump. He's home.
She heard her name called but, at the moment, it was taking all her concentration not to fall off the makeshift stepstool she was using to reach the bookshelf. When she didn't answer immediately, she heard the distinctive sound of breaking furniture and crashing glass.
"Christine!" Erik growled, tearing through the house like a wild animal. Where is she? She was here when I left! He began turning up furniture as if, perhaps, she would have been hiding under it. She's gone! She has left me! How dare she? I will find her! She is Erik's wife now. She belongs to him. Christine… Christine… don't you see? I will never let you go! I will find you.
"Christine! Where are you?"
"I'm here, Erik…" she answered calmly. He looked up to see her standing in the hallway, wiping her dusty hands off on a rag.
The masked man flew towards her and pulled her into a fierce hug. He crushed her against his chest, holding her so tightly that she could scarcely breathe.
She allowed it though.
A little voice inside her told her that fighting him just now would be the worst move she could make. Instead she relaxed into him, pressing her face into his neck and gently caressing his back.
"Don't ever do that to me, Christine." he breathed into her hair.
"Erik?"
He roughly pulled her away, holding her face between his hands and staring at her wildly as if she might soon disappear.
"I mean it, Christine!" he said, harshly this time, "Don't leave me! I could not endure it. And don't hide from me either. No. No… this just will not do. Christine, from now on I must know exactly where you are, even when we are at home."
Christine's brows knitted together in confusion. "What in the world happened?"
"Just promise me, Christine!" he pleaded, shaking her slightly.
Her first reaction would be to argue. He was being irrational. However, then she thought back to a bit of the advice that Mamma had given her that morning.
"You argue too much, child."
"But, Mamma."
"I'm serious, if you want this marriage to be a happy one, you need to stop picking fights with your husband."
"But he---"
"He starts them? Don't you see, child, that is not the point. You have the power in you to stop arguments before they are too much for you. I've seen it in you before. I know the two of you have a lot to work out… but sometimes it's a matter of deciding which battles to fight and when. If he can't make that distinction, it is up to you to do it for him."
Mamma was right---choose your battles. Christine realized that, while this unreasonable command should be discussed at some point, now was not the time to argue.
"Of course, Erik," she soothed. Almost instantly she felt him relax against her. Good job Christine!
Whenever he comes back from his 'walks' I have this distinct impression that I have done something to offend him.
After a time, she took his hand and began leading him down the hallway. "Come into the library, Erik, and see what I've done."
Erik gasped when he entered the room. Christine grinned excitedly at first, but her smile became more of a grimace when she discovered his gasp was not one of happiness.
"No, no, no! Christine! What have you done in here?"
"I just thought I'd straighten it up a bit for you…" she answered meekly.
"You just---Oh, Christine! Where are my papers? What of the books that were just over here? What happened to my sketches?"
Christine willed back tears as she quietly pointed to where she had stashed each item he inquired about. This was… unexpected.
When they had finished, he did not speak but stood in the center of the room, fists clenching and unclenching, and eyes glaring at anything and everything.
She tentatively approached him from behind and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Are you alright? Did something happen? In the tunnels, I mean... just now"
He wrenched his arm from her grasp and turned violently to face her.
"That is none of your concern!" he roared and stormed out in the direction of the music room.
Christine prayed he wasn't going to start Don Juan again and started thinking of how she could fix this situation. Curse you, Erik! You are not making this easy…
I know that he is hiding something from me. Well, I'm willing to be that he's hiding many 'somethings' from me. I'd say that I intend to find out, but I'm not so sure I really want to know.
I am no detective, at any rate.
The Persian sat alone in his office staring vacantly out a window. He couldn't exactly explain it, but something just didn't feel… right.
He had been restless ever since he had spoken with the police. Philippe de Chagny had been killed by Erik's 'siren'. Of that he was sure. But what of the vicomte and the singer?
The gendarmes had insisted that they had eloped somewhere during the commotion at the Opera.
The assumption seemed plausible. No, it actually seemed very likely. It's just… something about it all didn't sit right with the daroga.
What of Erik?
From what he knew of his friend, Erik would not just let the girl go after everything he had put her through.
She loves me, daroga. She loves me for myself!
The Persian cringed when he thought of those words. There was so much hope… so much joy in those eerie yellow eyes. What might have happened when he discovered that it was all a lie?
Could he have killed them?
That seemed unlikely. Surely he would have murdered the boy without a second thought.
But Christine… she was another matter entirely.
From his conversations with the masked man, he had no doubt that he loved her. Granted, his sanity was not entirely stable. It is possible he could have harmed her in his jealousy. He wouldn't discredit the probability, but it just didn't seem to fit Erik's personality. The Phantom was nothing if not possessive. Once he deemed something as his he would guard it and protect it fiercely.
The truth of the matter was, he just didn't think Erik had it in his cold heart to harm this woman.
So, if he didn't kill them both, perhaps he killed the vicomte and is still holding the girl hostage? That thought was much more likely.
There was but one alternative in the Persians mind.
Erik is dead.
He was convinced that Erik would never have released Christine while he still breathed. Therefore, either he is dead or he still has the singer in his possession.
Either way, he needed to be sure. The daroga threw his brandy glass against the wall in frustration. Confounded officers! Why couldn't they have gotten off their hands and done a proper investigation. He never would have allowed such incompetence among his officers in Persia.
He nearly growled when he remembered his time in Persia. He had been a fool to save Erik's life. He had been young then… naïve and trusting and idealistic. He had desperately wanted to believe there was good somewhere in Erik. And so he helped him escape when the shah ordered his death.
Now part of him was bound to the masked man forever. He was his responsibility. If Erik had killed the girl or the vicomte, their blood would be on his hands as well.
A servant, having heard the crash of breaking glass, burst into the room.
"Is everything alright, sir?"
"Yes… well no… Darius, I am going to be going out of town for a few days."
"Yes, sir, may I ask why?"
The daroga sighed. "I need to get my affairs in order."
"Sir?" Darius asked, perplexed. He had served his master for many years, even traveled with him from Persia. It disturbed him to see the man so weighed down and beaten. And now he spoke of getting his affairs in order?
"Yes, Darius. Soon I am going to visit Erik. If he is alive… I might very well be signing my death warrant by going back there."
He had to.
It was his duty.
Besides, he figured he stood a better shot at it than most.
He was a detective, at any rate.
Still, I am his wife. If I am to spend the rest of my life with him, perhaps I should find out what I have gotten myself into. It couldn't be worse than anything I've witnessed already, right?
Later that evening, Christine decided to try again. Perhaps Erik might be in a better mood after spending some time with his music.
"How do you like your tea, Erik?" she asked as she entered carrying a small tray.
"I didn't ask for any tea." he snapped, turning around on his organ bench to face her. Christine paled and blinked back frustrated tears. Erik caught only the barest glimpse of emotion on her face before she replaced her expression with one of blank, schooled indifference. Erik you idiot! She's trying to please you.
Christine cleared her throat. I will not cry. I will not cry. "Suit yourself," she said lightly, "I'll just leave it here for you in case you change your mind."
As she turned to leave, he called her back. She turned and arched her eyebrow questioningly.
"I take it black." he said. Christine nodded and silently poured him a cup.
Erik tried desperately to think of something to say that would not make anything worse. "I… I didn't mean to offend you, my dear… I just…" he glanced up and saw the look of impatience on her face. Don't be stupid, Erik, say something! "I just… erm… I can't drink it with my mask on." he finally blurted out.
Christine shrugged, still with the same emotionless expression and tone, and said, "Mask on or off… it makes no difference. I'm sorry I've made you uncomfortable, I'll be in my---in our---room if you need me."
The words 'our room' made Erik's face grow hot and he was thankful that his mask hid his embarrassment. Once again, he stopped her when she made to leave--so desperate was he to keep her near him if only for a little longer.
"Yes, Erik?"
"I… well… you cannot go to bed yet."
"Why not?"
"Because it is still our wedding day and I have not yet played the Wedding Mass I have written for you."
Christine smiled slightly. She had forgotten all about that.
Erik cleared his throat nervously and continued speaking, "You are wondering, I am sure, why it was not played at our wedding. You see, my darling wife, this piece was written only for you… and me, of course… but mostly for you. It will only ever be heard by our ears alone…"
Christine just let him ramble. Sometimes his nervousness made him launch into these long-winded explanations of nothing. If Raoul or someone else did that, it would irritate her to no end. However, with Erik… well it was just sweet in his own special way.
There were very few things she could consider 'sweet' about her husband, but she had to admit that she thoroughly enjoyed seeing him nervous.
One more thing--tonight he played our Wedding Mass. The music was sublime. It was indescribable. 'Beautiful' does not begin to describe it.
It was so much like Don Juan Triumphant in the sense of its passion and depth. And yet, there could not be two more disparate pieces.
Christine relaxed on the sofa as Erik began to play and sing for her. She wanted to weep and shout and sing all at once. Instead she closed her eyes and let the music wash over her.
The Kyrie section was especially moving. Kyrie Eleison--Lord have mercy. The way Erik sang it… I feel like he bared a piece of his soul to me that I had never known was there.
When the last chord had sounded, Erik turned around to look at his bride. She lay stretched on his sofa, not quite asleep but not quite awake. Erik sighed and felt a tug at his heart. She is so beautiful.
He knelt beside her and took her little hand in his.
"I love you." he said to her softly. Christine's eyes fluttered slightly and a soft smile graced her lips.
Erik lifted her gently and she wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled into him, making him exhale as she shared some of her warmth with him. As he carried her down the hall, she rested her head on his shoulder and breathed in the scent of his neck.
Utterly content.
Who would have guessed, after hearing something like Don Juan, that my husband had so much goodness in him.
How hard would it be to draw that out more often in everyday life?
I wonder.
-Christine
