A/N: So I would've had this earlier... but my pet rabbit chewed through one of my computer cables. I know... it's not quite as bad as 'my dog ate my homework'... but it's the truth. Anyway, enjoy.
Dear Journal,
The funny thing about a woman's intuition is there is often a bit of truth to it. Here I am, reading over some of my old entries and I see that only a few days a go I mentioned the foreboding feeling that my content little life could not remain so forever.
I suppose you are wondering just what I mean by that, my journal. Well, I shall tell you. It all started with a letter.
Actually it started before the letter. Erik refused to let me out of the house today. We argued--in a fashion--but in the end he left without me.
"Erik, I wish to go out today." Christine said with more confidence than she felt. Despite the quick progress their relationship had made over the last few days, Erik was still hesitant to let his wife out of his sight… much less his house.
"No," he said simply, not looking up from the sketch he was making of her.
"Why not?" she asked, mood quickly turning sour. She folded her arms and huffed angrily.
"Stop moving!" he snapped, quickly rising from his stool to reposition her. "Hold still, woman! You are ruining the light."
"Well, answer my question then."
"You may not go because I do not wish it."
"You can't control me!"
Putting down his charcoal, Erik narrowed his eyes. "What--of all that you have seen, read, or experienced--has given you the idea that a man does not control his wife? Honestly, I don't know where you are getting these ideas. "
Christine scowled; he had her there. Erik had deliberately withheld any ladies' magazines and books about proper home life--he liked her sharp and argumentative side (he just didn't like it when she won those arguments)--but Christine did have enough knowledge of the world to know that this was the way of things. Still, she wasn't happy about it.
"Erik, you are being unreasonable…"
"And you are being childish! Now. Hold. Still."
Christine let a few tears loose to silently trail down her face. Just because she had curbed her manipulative side didn't mean she had forgotten how to play the game.
After a moment, when Erik glanced up from his sketch, he saw her pained expression and immediately berated himself for upsetting her. However, he wasn't about to apologize… he was right, damn it.
"Why is it so important for you leave me today?" he sighed.
Christine chewed her lip while she thought of an appropriate answer. Most possibilities ran the risk that he would read too far into them or, worse, take offense.
"I was hoping to buy some flowers. You know… just to lighten the room up a bit. Perhaps you can even use them in your drawings…"
Erik relented slightly, "A compromise then… I will take you out later tonight."
Inwardly, Christine grinned in triumph. Outwardly, she pouted. She'd teach Erik to control her every move!
"What is wrong, now?" Erik groaned. He put away his charcoal and paper; the picture was ruined anyway.
"The flower shop will be closed by then…" she bemoaned "and, even if it's open, everything will be wilted!" she added with the same tone of horror that one usually associated with accidents involving fire.
Erik stared at her for a long time as if trying to see inside her female brain. Abruptly, he stood and swept towards the door, catching his cloak on the way.
"Wait! Where are you going?" Christine managed to say before he left.
"Flowers, my darling. I shall return shortly."
Then he disappeared out of the little house, leaving Christine scowling in the doorway. She crossed her arms. This is not at all what she had expected. It seems as if Erik had caught onto her little game. Blast! She hated losing.
I realize that our little argument had less to do with my wish to breathe some fresh air (though it would be nice right about now) and more to do with the fact that Erik still does not trust me. I know we have been through much and I even confessed my feelings, but there was still that shred of him that was afraid to believe it.
I admit, I was frustrated. I felt as if I had already proven countless times that I would stay with him and yet he still would not trust me!
I suppose I should consider myself lucky that I would have yet another chance to prove it. Well, I shall wait to determine whether it was fortunate or not… I may very well have done more harm than good.
Oh right! I have forgotten the explanation! Forgive me for digressing. Anyway, about the letter:
After Erik had been gone for nearly three quarters of an hour, Christine was startled to hear the alarm bell ring.
As unaccustomed as they were to guests, Christine was understandably wary. Suddenly, she regretted sending Erik out on that pointless errand.
Perhaps I'm just imagining things, she thought just seconds before the bell rang a second time.
Nervous thoughts began to flutter through Christine's mind and she started to panic. She dropped onto the corner of the sofa and hugged a pillow against her and, with her free hand, she snatched the candlestick off to end table. Comforted by her feeble protections, Christine deliberately slowed her breath and began to rationalize.
You're being paranoid, Christine.
Oh really? Erik is away… there is no one guarding this place.
She squeaked and held the cushion tighter when the bell sounded again, this time followed by a light tapping.
That doesn't mean someone is here to murder you. It could be anybody.
We don't exactly see many salesmen around here! What was Erik thinking keeping me down here in a place like this? That settles it, we're moving. This is absolutely ridiculous! I am not living in a house where I panic every time someone comes calling.
Try to ignore it. You know Erik has traps set all over this place. Surely by now whoever it is has fallen into one and you can tell Erik to rescue them when he gets home.
For a moment, Christine's mind assuaged. In the silence she concentrated on her own heartbeat and breath, trying to keep them controlled. However, after only a few moments of peace, the bell rang a forth time… this time accompanied by an urgent pounding on the door. She thought she could hear shouting as well.
Alright. Now you may panic.
The daroga came by while Erik was away. He wished to check on me, I presume to make sure Erik hadn't gone completely insane and killed us both. (What a dreadful thing to joke about! I do not know what has come over me. I must remember to stop listening to Erik. That man is working his way inside me, bit by bit.)
The Persian steadily tracked his way down to the fifth cellar, easily maneuvering around the traps and detours Erik had erected to protect his domain. His frequent trips through the dungeons during Erik's short convalescence had left him with an expert understanding of the cellar's layout and the location of any deterrents.
That is not to say, however, that he was the slightest bit lax in his vigilance. It would be just like Erik to think up new and more exciting ways to kill trespassers, employing them in a cellar that hardly anybody descends, just in case.
The Persian chuckled with a certain, twisted fondness. It was not really paranoia on Erik's part--actually, Erik was possibly the most arrogant person he had ever met and would probably take a sick joy in allowing someone to wander all the way into his lair, letting them succeed just a little before killing them himself.
Rather, Erik built these things simply because he could. It was like a sort of hobby he had taken to during his time in Persia. De gustibus non disputandum est, he decided. Some men hunt, some men gamble, some men build real, working death-traps inside their home.
Nevertheless, it would not do for him to be caught in such an experiment. Hence, the caution.
He was quite surprised, actually, when he reached the main entrance without his life flashing before his eyes. He was doubly surprised to notice that he had made it so far without Erik stepping out to 'greet' him.
I wonder what the old skeleton is up to? he thought as he triggered the door alarm. Undoubtedly he had already activated a number of alarms on his way down, but he thought he'd humor the man and ring anyway. It always struck him as amusing that Erik's door possessed a knocker and a little bell for one to ring. It was so… civilized… considering how unlikely it was that anyone ever made it down here alive.
The Persian frowned when nobody answered the door. Very odd, indeed. he thought. He reached for the skull-shaped door knocker and gave it a few raps.
Still no answer.
Now the daroga began to worry. His mind raced with dreadful thoughts of all the horrible things Erik could have done to Christine. Perhaps he has killed her and then himself! I never should have left her alone down here!
"Christine! Erik! Open up!" he shouted, pounding his fist on the door.
When there was still no answer, he pulled a tool kit out of his coat pocket. He held his lantern up to the handle of the door, wondering just how complicated Erik had built this lock.
Anyway, when he visited, he bore a letter from Raoul to me.
In reality, the lock was not very complex at all. Apparently that was another of Erik's peculiarities, attaching an absolutely normal door as the main entrance to his nearly impenetrable fortress.
Actually, after Erik's discovery of Christine's lock picking talent, he had fashioned a lock on the outside of the door that was much more intricate than the one on the inside. But that is neither here nor there.
Just as soon as the daroga had pried open the lock, he was bombarded with what seemed to be couch cushions.
"What the devil--" he cried, throwing up his hands. He would never had expected that sort of greeting.
"YOU GET OUT OF----Oh! It is only you, daroga. I am terribly sorry. What were you thinking, frightening me like that?"
"Forgive me, Madame, I… well, I thought something terrible had happened."
They merely stood there for a few moments, breathing heavily and staring at each other uncomfortably.
"This is… awkward."
"Indeed."
"Well, Monsieur, perhaps you would be so good as to tell me the nature of your visit?"
"Ah! Yes, that's right. Well my purpose is twofold. First… well, forgive me, but I wished to check on you… make sure you both are well."
"I appreciate your concern, but that hardly seems necessary."
"Madame, I respect your position as the one that Erik loves. In all honesty, I believed he was not capable of such a thing before you came along. But you must understand that I have known the man far longer than you. He and I have a… history, of sorts. I daresay I feel a certain responsibility for him."
Christine looked at him skeptically, unsure of whether to be angry or thankful. He did have a point… or at least allude to one… and she was not so naïve as not to see it. Erik had made great strides since that night when she chose to save those lives and marry him. He was gentle and thoughtful towards her and unnervingly attentive but that, by no means, made him harmless.
It is true and we both know it. I am not a good man and it is unlikely that I ever will be.
As much as she hated to admit it, Erik had spoken accurately last night. His heart was good, of that she was sure, but it was buried under nearly forty years of bitterness and rejection. Even now he seemed to have the attitude that, as long as he had Christine, the rest of the world could go up in flames tomorrow, for all it mattered. To hell with it! he'd say, Erik has Christine and music. Everyone else is inconsequential.
No, Erik--though he loved her--remained a dangerous man. She realized that knowledge, that inspired a sense of safety with her, stirred fear into everyone else--the poor Persian, included.
"If it helps, just think of it as a man who wants to come visit his old friend every now and again. Would you do that, Christine? Would you humor an old man?"
She looked into the Persian's dark eyes, wondering if he was really as old as he looked. She wished she understood more about his relationship with her husband but the lengths he had gone through to protect her thus far proved that he did, indeed, feel a responsibility towards Erik. After all he had gone through for them, how could she deny him such a silly request, even if it only served to put his mind at ease.
"Of course, Monsieur. You are always welcome here. I am afraid, though, that you have just missed Erik. He nearly an hour ago, but I expect he'll be home soon. Do you wish to wait?"
"No, no… that won't be necessary. I'll just come by another time. Oh I nearly forgot!" he exclaimed, patting down his pockets, looking for something. With a slight gasp of discovery, he withdrew an ivory envelope from one of his coat pockets. "This is from Comte de Chagney."
"A letter?" Christine asked softly. The daroga offered it to her, but she raised her hands, stepping back and looking at it distrustfully. "I really don't---"
"Please, Madame," the Persian encouraged, holding it out to her again. "He is leaving soon. I believe he only wanted to say his goodbyes."
Slowly, Christine reached out, hesitantly taking the note as if it would bite her at any moment. When she had it she slid it into her pocket without giving it another glance.
"I thank you, Monsieur. Truly."
"And I thank you." he answered kindly, replacing the hat on his balding head.
"Thank me? Whatever for?"
"Whatever I may think of Erik… he deserves to be happy, I believe that with all my heart. I thought it impossible… but you, my dear, have made it possible. I wish you both well together."
I still do not know what it said, though I suppose I never shall. Why, you ask? Well, naturally, because I gave it to Erik.
Erik was tempted to take extra time with the flowers, just to press his point; but his distaste for being away from Christine won out in the end and he finished his business quickly.
It was for the best that he hadn't brought her along, he decided, as it was especially busy in town today. Alone, he could easily slip in and out of the shadows and avoid attention, for the most part. If Christine had been with him, he would have had to remain out in the open.
It was his dream to do that one day--to take a walk with his wife in daylight. He had even made a flesh-colored mask for that very purpose. But, he just couldn't seem to gather up the courage to do it… at least not yet… and not in the middle of Paris either.
Maybe some afternoon they could take a little trip to the country. That would be nice, Erik thought, We shall go in the spring, I think. Yes, the country in springtime… Christine would love that.
With that happy thought, the phantom descended into the cellars. It did not take him long, though, to sense that something was amiss. None of his traps had sprung, but it looked as if some of his alarms had activated. He frowned, but quickened his pace. Likely it was just a large rat or something, but he did not like taking chances with Christine's safety.
I know, it seems like I made a very poor decision indeed. Honestly, I am sitting here wondering whether or not I have made a grave error in judgment. Hopefully Raoul will not suffer any further for any imprudent choices I make from this moment forth.
"Christine!" Erik called out as he came through the main entrance. "Christine, is everything alright?"
Christine greeted him at the doorway with a gentle smile and took the basket of flowers from his hand.
"Everything is fine, Erik. Why do you ask?"
"The alarm bells were activated… is someone here?"
Briefly, Christine considered taking a page from Erik's book and telling him exactly what he asked without offering anything more. No, Erik, nobody is here. But she somehow figured that would make him very, very angry. He was already not going to be happy about the daroga coming to visit his wife while she was home alone, best not add to it by being deceptive.
"Not anymore. The daroga was here, but he only just left."
Erik's eyes glowed in irritation. "That idiot, Persian… no doubt he wanted to make sure I haven't drowned you in the lake or some other nonsense…"
"Erik! That is a horrible thing to say!"
"Ah, but it is a truthful thing to say," he retorted, unapologetic.
"You don't know that."
"Do I not? Perhaps you know him better than I… Come now, Christine, can you even tell me the old man's first name? Ah… I thought not. Now… if you'll excuse me---"
"What did you do to Raoul, Erik?"
Erik turned, caught off guard by the unexpected question.
"Where did that come from?" he asked, avoiding the answer.
"Just tell me."
Erik did not like being commanded. He sneered, "I let him live, Christine. That was more than he deserved."
"Not good enough." she answered, gesturing to a chair. "Sit down, Erik, we need to talk."
She turned and locked the door. Really it was a silly thing to do, as Erik was the master of all locks and doors. He was the trap-door lover, after all. Perhaps it was a symbolic sort of gesture, that she wasn't going to let him delay this conversation any longer. Maybe I should go get myself stabbed again, he mused.
"Why is this suddenly so important, my dear wife?" Well, he had to try.
"Suddenly? Oh no, Erik… I have been wanting to talk about this for ages, but you keep putting me off!"
"It's is in the past, Christine…"
"Erik, how could you lock him away like that? How could you? He was my fiancé…"
"YOU WERE NEVER HIS FIANCÉE! YOU BELONGED TO ME!"
"Yes and I agreed to stay with you so that he could live!"
"And does he not? Is that miserable whelp still breathing today? I could have killed him a million times, and yet I did not… for you. And now that he lives, what will you do? Will you leave me now to go to him? Oh no, Christine, it is too late for that!"
"Don't you dare turn this around on me!" She shouted. She was crying now. Is this all just some game to him--to twist my words and show me I have no control in the conversation?
Suddenly exhausted, she sank to the couch and put her hands over her face. "I know you locked him away for weeks… you tortured him and held him hostage. I know that the night you came to me wounded was the same night he escaped you. You fought, and the Persian brought him out of the cellars. I have heard it all from him, but I held out judgment because I wanted to hear it from you. Don't you see, Erik? I wanted to believe in you… to think that your side of the story held some explanation. Why, Erik? Why did you do it? Why did you continue to hurt him even after I agreed to marry you?"
"Because---" Erik started, but then, as if the wind had been knocked out of him, he gave a pained exhalation… nearly a sob but not quite.
Softer, he said, "Because I didn't trust you. I was afraid. I thought that, once the boy was safe, at any moment you would change your mind and try to escape me. I… I couldn't lose you. And… so… I locked him away. I thought… I thought that if you wanted to… leave… I would only have to show you that I still held power over his life…"
"So you kept Raoul as collateral?" she murmured.
"It wasn't so simple as that but… yes, I suppose so. If you had tried to run I would have brought him out and threatened you with him."
"But you never needed to, did you?"
"No, I don't suppose I did."
"And do you trust me now?"
"I… Christine, I… I don't know what to say…"
Christine sighed, disappointed but unsurprised. "I thought as much," she answered. "Erik, I want you to promise me that you will not go after Raoul again. I will put this whole mess behind me… and I will pray that someday he can do the same. But you must promise me that you will not hurt him."
"What is this about, Christine?"
She sighed again, standing. From the waistband of her dress, she pulled the folded letter. "I received a letter today, Erik… from Raoul."
Erik growled and snatched it from her hand. His first impulse was to rip the hated thing to shreds and then burn it… but, then prudence dictated he read it first.
"You'll see it is unopened," Christine said, interrupting his angry thoughts. He turned it around--it was true, the seal was unbroken.
"I wanted to show you that you can trust me… that I would never do anything to hurt you… never again. I am and always will be faithful and I have nothing to hide. And I also wanted to show you that I trust you… I trust that you will not run off like a madman and kill him for---"
"That trust may very well be misplaced, Christine," Erik hissed, ripping open the letter.
You see, it originally occurred to me that I should hide the letter in my wardrobe and deal with it in secret. Perhaps it has been my undoing, but I believe that I have read enough romances and poetic ironies that I just couldn't foresee that ending well.
Dearest Christine,
My love, this may be the last time I write you--at least for quite some time. My sister extended an invitation for me to join her on holiday for a few months. Under the advice of that Persian gentleman (delightful man, really. If it weren't for the company he insists upon keeping, I do believe we could be friends.), I have decided to accept. Perhaps it will give me some time to come to terms with everything and put my life back in order. What happens after that, I am not sure. Indeed, I would like to say that that is up to you, my darling. My train leaves at ten o'clock this evening. If you can meet me or send me a message before then, I shall know that I still hold your heart (as you will forever hold mine!) and you will finally allow me to rescue you from that monster forever…
Erik skimmed the rest of the letter in distaste. It was mostly just juvenile attempts at poetry and overenthusiastic declarations of love.
The train at ten o'clock. Ten o'clock was the hour the insolent boy would be waiting for Christine to declare her infidelity. I have a better idea Raoul de Chagny. Ten o'clock will be the hour in which you will draw your last breath!
And so I gave it to Erik. My hope is that the gesture was twofold: Erik will realize that he can trust me to be honest, and I can know for sure whether or not I can trust Erik to be… well, sane. This is, of course, assuming that all went to plan. As the evening lingers on and Erik is still not home, I am getting the distinct impression that this was all a bad idea that will come back to haunt me very soon.
"Erik?" Christine asked hopefully, trying to get some clue as to what was going on.
"I am going to kill him." Erik responded, measuring each word steadily. There was the barest hint of a smile in his voice that recalled some of the controlled insanity that he had only recently buried.
"Erik, you promised!"
"Oh, little Christine, you should listen much more carefully. Erik promised nothing! Now be a good girl, and Erik will sing to you when he comes home tonight."
"No no no… this is my fault! Don't do this, Erik… please! Don't you see? Raoul holds nothing over us now, haven't I just proved that? I gave you the letter… I didn't even look at it first… doesn't that prove to you that I have chosen you… that I will always choose you? That… that I won't even answer the letter of my childhood friend because I know it would displease you… doesn't that mean anything?"
A flicker of… something… passed through his eyes, as if his sanity had found the littlest crack through the muck and was trying to peek out.
"Yes… yes it does, Christine…" he said softly. As he turned to leave, Christine grasped his sleeve.
"I trust you," she whispered, blue eyes pleading.
Then he left, locking the door behind him.
Yet another digression, I admit, but as I read back over this entry, I realize how terribly cavalier I sound about what could be the end of a very dear man's life. Really, I'm not. Actually, my dear journal, if you had eyes with which to see me now, you'd see me shaking like a leaf. But, as I've said many a time, this writing seems to calm me like nothing else. I suppose I have Mamma to thank for that, God rest her soul.
I just wish Raoul was not in middle of it all. After all he has been through for me, that dear man deserves to live happy and unbothered by the drama that is my life.
For hours, Erik seethed, stalking about the opera house, noting little things here and there to write the managers about.
He was furious. Still, anger was decidedly better than the alternative.
When he first read that letter, his response had been emotionless… rather, he felt a calm resolution to kill--as if the boy needed to die and he ought to kill him and that's just the way it needed to be. It was that same cold detachment that he had in Persia when he learned that there was beauty in death. It was a release, of sorts, that held him high above any sense of guilt; it allowed him to see murder as an art form, rather than what it was.
Christine's heartfelt plea brought his emotions back into it. It was as if she had restored to him some small bit of humanity. At the moment, he resented her for it.
Now he was conflicted. Life had ceased being black and white when she entered his life. He looked at his pocket watch. It was nearly nine fifteen. No more playing theatre now, Erik. We mustn't miss our train!
Really, it all comes down to a choice on Erik's part.
Erik watched the boy pace up and down the platform, anxiety practically dripping off of him. Somehow it made him feel better knowing that the boy had doubts about Christine's true feelings. She really had done a good job putting the youth off. The stubborn pup just couldn't seem to take rejection.
Erik sneered. That is because a handsome, wealthy noble like that has never had to face rejection before. That fact alone made Erik want to kill him.
He carefully watched the clock. It was two minutes to ten, not much longer. At the tenth toll of the clock, that wife-stealing bastard would find himself at the end of his Punjab lasso.
If only Christine's voice would stop echoing in his head.
I trust you…
…doesn't that mean anything?
Suddenly, Erik heard a scream behind him. He looked back and saw that there was some sort of scuffle happening in an alleyway. He had never before cared about the affairs of human beings… why did it suddenly interest him now?
One minute to ten.
I trust you…
Don't do this… please, Erik…
Another scream.
Concentrate. he told himself, remember why you are here. Ignore all that… watch the boy.
"Please… please don't do this!" a female voice cried out that sounded a little too like Christine for his comfort.
…doesn't that mean anything?
At exactly ten o'clock, he turned down the alleyway to see one man hunched over a prone figure, with another standing behind him, taunting.
Erik gave into the coldness one last time. "Yes, you will do nicely." He said wickedly.
The two turned around. "Who the hell are you?" the kneeling one barked.
Twin ropes shot out from each of the masked man's sleeves and wrapped neatly around each man's neck.
"No need to be rude, gentlemen. Erik only wants to practice his skills. We must always practice, mustn't we?"
The last thing the men would ever know was a pair of glowing yellow eyes and a cackling laughter that seemed to be coming from inside their heads.
After a few elated moments, Erik seemed to come back down to earth. This was the thrill he had remembered. And it was not tainted with the guilt that he had over…
The boy!
Suddenly it all sank in--how he gave up the chance to kill his rival, how he attacked two random thugs in an alley… how he was still in that alley…
He looked down at his feet to see the focus of the robbers' attentions. It was a young woman… scarcely more than a child. She was painfully thin and wore and odd sort of mismatched dress that made him wonder if she was a beggar… or a prostitute, maybe… perhaps even a gypsy of some sort. Her torn clothing was so ragged that he could not really tell.
When he looked into the woman's eyes, though, he knew that it no longer mattered what she was. He had seen death enough times to know when it was imminent. He had come too late, there would be nothing he could do to save her now. For some reason that fact disappointed him, somehow.
He knelt down beside her, watching her struggle to breathe. With a desperate burst of energy, she clasped her hand around his wrist and gestured with her eyes to a darkened corner nearby. Then, without a word, she died.
Curious, Erik went in the direction the dead woman had gestured. There he found a bundle, squirming under a dirty blanket. He pulled it back to reveal a tiny infant, wriggling and kicking its legs, and yet, not screaming as it should have been.
Erik could honestly say that this moment was one of the precious few moments when he had ever felt compassion for a member of the human race. His heart went out to the little creature. What horrors had it already experienced that it no longer cried when a violent murder occurred less than a meter away?
He bent down and picked up the child. It whimpered slightly in his hands for, though it was frozen nearly all the way through, it still felt a sensation of cold from his touch.
Out of his bitterness, he should have left it there. One less human to corrupt the world. Perhaps out of duty to the dead woman, he should take it to a church. Then at least it would have a chance.
Oddly enough, though, none of these thoughts even occurred to Erik as he tucked the little baby in his cloak, against his chest.
"Hush, little one. We must hurry home… we wouldn't want Mama to worry about us…"
Remember how I said that the reaction is more important than the action that caused it? Well, what is done is done and now Erik's reaction will determine whether or not we will ever be able to trust each other.
Your friend,
Christine
