Dear Journal,
He stole a baby!
"You stole a baby?"
There, now that that is all out in the open, I can continue my story.
"I did nothing of the sort. I simply took what no one else had any use for."
"Erik, are you even listening to what you're saying? This is not some old jacket… this is a child we're talking about!"
"Don't you think I know that?" Erik snapped, louder than he intended. The child in his arms woke and squirmed. He hushed, "There, there little one. Don't pay any mind. Papa will take care of everything."
Christine arched an eyebrow at his choice of words. "Don't you realize how wrong this is? Erik, you cannot just take what you want. I thought you were past kidnapping… I thought, maybe, that you had learned your lesson after kidnapping me--"
"This is nothing like that!" Remembering the baby, his voice softened, "She… she would have died… this is what is best. Only I can protect her."
Erik removed his cloak with one hand and passed the baby to Christine, who took it without hesitation and cradled it instinctively against her shoulder. Erik turned and strode purposefully into the kitchen.
For a moment, Christine thought he was trying to avoid a conversation. She followed. Overall, she was appalled by the unconcerned attitude he was displaying in a situation that was very serious, in her opinion. He acts as if it is perfectly normal to kidnap someone against their will! Then again…
"That's what you said about me."
Erik tilted his head the way he did when he was slightly amused by something. He was standing at the stove, heating up some milk in a pan.
"Oh now don't tell me you're still upset about all that. You really need to learn to move on, Christine. Besides, this is entirely different."
"You took her away from her home."
The milk heated and Erik tested it to make sure it was a suitable temperature. He frowned. What next? It's not like he could just put it in a glass.
"Her home was unacceptable." He said, searching the cupboard for an old bottle. Christine always kept them, much to his chagrin. She said she liked to use them as flower vases. He told her he could afford the finest crystal if she desired it, but she seemed to prefer the reused bottles. 'Why is the vase important? I'm only looking at the flowers," she'd say. Anyway, he was now glad for it. He took out a bottle and filled it with the warm milk. Then he found an unused sponge and shoved it in the top.
"That should do for now," he said absently, taking the child back from Christine. He would have to remember to go shopping tomorrow. He continued, "As I was saying—her home was unacceptable. She is better off staying here with us."
"That is exactly the logic you used with me!"
"Christine, Christine. Are you going to bring that up every time we have an argument? We are happily married now. You love me and I love you. There is no need to fight about how that came to be. Besides, weren't you listening? I already said that this is nothing like that."
Erik left to kill my ex-fiancé and returned with a baby girl. Who does that?
"How can you honestly believe that?" Christine all but shrieked. She was absolutely livid.
"Shh, Christine! There's no need to shout. You really need to learn to control your temper."
How could he be so relaxed when she wanted to tear her hair out in frustration? Sometimes she believed he actually enjoyed baiting her. Maybe it would have been better for Erik to still think she was timid and afraid of her own shadow.
No, she decided, dismissing the thought. She could not imagine that going over well at all.
"I cannot believe that you--of all people--are accusing me of not keeping my temper. At least I haven't broken a table."
"Really, Christine, I cannot talk to you when you are like this."
Christine sighed. She thought she best stop for a bit before she said something she'd regret later.
"How do you know it's a girl, anyway?" she asked, changing the subject.
Erik looked down at the child with an odd look on his face. "Beautiful eyes…" he murmured, "That smile…" then he looked up at his wife, "I just know. However you are welcome to… check… while you're giving her bath. Do you think you can manage to find something for a diaper? I will have to do some shopping in the morning."
Christine pinched the bridge of her nose. "You can't actually be serious about this. She cannot stay with us."
"Why not?" Erik asked, genuinely confused. Why would Christine object to taking in a helpless orphan? She was an orphan herself, for heaven's sake! Perhaps she was jealous… but that was ridiculous. Surely she must know how desperately he loved her. Why should this change anything?
I love my husband, but sometimes I don't think he thinks these things through properly.
"Don't you think her mother might miss her?"
Erik waved his hand dismissively. "Nonsense. The mother was finished with her."
"Finished with--Oh Erik, you didn't!"
"Of course I didn't you silly girl. I don't go about killing women and stealing children. Why must you always think so low of me?"
I have no doubt we'll be keeping her. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I am all for it. From what I gather (as you know, Erik is not especially good about relaying anything in its entirety), the child's true mother is dead. Even if I didn't want a child (actually, I hadn't given it much thought until just now, but I am not opposed to the idea), I am surely the last person to put an orphan out.
Between you and me, dear journal, I think I was attached as soon as Erik put her in my arms. She really is a sweet baby. Besides, there was just something about the expression on Erik's face when he was talking to her.
It's not the obsessive adoration he has in his eyes when he looks in my direction. It's simpler, gentler. Almost like the fond way he would look at a favorite pet… only much deeper than that. I cannot describe it, exactly. He looks at her as if he knows a secret that no one else is aware of.
But, my word! I was just so surprised that Erik could be so impulsive!
"You can't keep doing this, Erik! You are playing with people's lives! How can you be so selfish?"
Erik's eyes flared. The accusation switched his mood in a blink. Christine stood her ground, though. She was used to Erik's quick-change behaviors. One second he was towering over her in rage, the next he was sobbing like a child at her feet.
"How dare you!" he growled dangerously, "If I had been selfish, I would have killed your beau this night! If I had been selfish, you would still be locked in your room, never had the chance to leave me in the first place!"
"I never left--"
"Silence! You did leave me. Never mind your intentions. You left, without my permission, to speak with that idiot boy and I had to go bring you back!"
"You know full well it wasn't like that."
"I should have killed him a thousand times by now. But I haven't… for you. Is that something a selfish man would have done? I restrained myself… for you! I did it again tonight, only to make you happy, and this is how you repay me? You accuse me and call me names and… and nag me like a petulant child? Enough, Christine! Enough…"
He stormed from the room, leaving Christine blinking after him. For some time she just stood there in amazement, staring blankly at the door through which he had just passed. He hadn't killed Raoul? Had she been so caught up in the shock of the night that she had forgotten his reason for leaving in the first place?
Christine shook her head. This wasn't right. Today had been too emotional… perhaps she had been hasty with her words. She walked quietly to her room.
She needed to think.
Actually, I was so surprised that I forgot all about Raoul. And to think, just hours ago he was all I could think about!
He did not kill him, by the way. I told myself that he wouldn't… but deep down I was not so sure. I should not have let my astonishment detract from the fact that he spared his life.
Erik glared at nothing in particular as he stepped into his workshop. He hadn't really meant to go in here… it was just the closest room to the parlor and he had needed to leave quickly.
What was the matter with Christine? What had gotten into her? How dare she call him selfish! Couldn't she see that this was, perhaps, the only completely unselfish thing he had ever done in his whole life?
He hadn't spared the Count out of any sense of morality. He did it out of love for Christine. Despite the cruel things he said to her only moments ago, he had no doubt that she would have stayed with him even if he had gone through with it. But he loved her. He didn't think he could endure the look of hurt in her eyes. She would morn, not only for the boy, but for his own soul… a soul that he still wasn't sure he possessed. He didn't deserve her pity any more than he deserved her love… but he craved that adoring way she looked at him when she thought he couldn't see her. It was selfishness, perhaps… but he hadn't murdered the Count simply because he could not give that up.
Had he been a different sort of man, he would have told her about the incident in the alley. But he didn't want her to think that he had become some sort of hero. He had been selfish there as well. He killed that woman's attackers simply because he wanted to kill something and they seemed convenient. He reasoned that Christine wouldn't be angry about him snapping the necks of criminals. Saving the woman had been a secondary priority.
And the woman… he felt nothing for her. Perhaps the slightest bit of pity for her situation… but only slight.
He wondered if he could even feel pity, truly. The world had offered him none… even in his most desperate moments he was looked upon with nothing more than disdain. Even as a child, torn from his mother who walked away without a second glance. He was locked up, beaten and put on display for the amusement of others.
He was mocked and abused until he actually believed he was a living corpse, as they all claimed. And not just in appearance either! He truly thought he was dead. His heart stopped beating… he soul flew away… and yet his body kept on, as if oblivious to it all. That was when the madness set in.
He knew Christine worried about how little he ate. She was such a good girl. If he could help it, she would never know why. He let her assume it was because he did not wish to remove his mask in her presence. That was a small part of it, surely, but the truth was that food turned to acid in his mouth. Every bite reminded him of a time when his only nourishment came from the scraps of food thrown at him by his sneering public. Food was bitter to him… but he ate every time he remembered to for the sole reason that it would keep him alive to love Christine just a little longer.
At least he could sleep now. Protecting Christine gave his mind something to focus on… it drove the nightmares away to have her near him. Something else she would never know.
Erik had never been taught sympathy, and so now he felt none. Christine had pitied him… she had been the first. Another man would have rejected it, insulted, but Erik treasured her all the more for it.
Perhaps Christine's compassion was what moved him to do what he did next.
True, the woman meant nothing to him. He spared her no emotion. It was a shame she had died so young, but it was her time. This is the way of things, after all. It hadn't even occurred to him to bury the body--it was just a shell anyway. He realized that he had already forgotten what she looked like--just another dead face among hundreds swirling around his twisted mind.
But the child… she was another story altogether. There was a corner of his dead heart that had been awakened by the love of his wife, and it stirred for the little one. Perhaps it was because he saw something of himself in her large, black eyes.
She hadn't cried once. Not before, in the alley, and not when he raised his voice to his wife. Erik knew that feeling well--for he too had learned it at a young age--that feeling that said there was no use crying, for no one would answer. It was a lonely, miserable feeling and he wished to take it from the little girl before it was too late.
"That's right, my beauty," Erik said softly, "Erik takes care of Christine and now he will take care of you too. Would you like that?"
If someone had done that for him, perhaps he would never have cultivated the demon inside him that Christine worked so hard to exorcise.
But, no. That was too much to hope for.
At any rate, he felt something for the little baby--a sort of kinship. And so he adopted her. Not to fill a void in his own heart--as he had when he took Christine. Not in hopes of salvation or the reconstruction of his broken soul--Christine had taken on that task as well. He took her in for no other reason than the fact that she needed him.
His first unselfish act… and Christine had taken him to task for it! Unbelievable!
I think that Erik was honestly surprised by my reaction. I think he expected me to be praising and thanking him right now for being so merciful, instead of hiding in my room, fuming.
Perhaps he is right; I should have told him what a good thing he did today. I should have embraced him and told him that I loved him. I believe he needed that assurance, after everything. But instead I shouted at him and called him names.
I was just so startled! Of all the possible ways tonight could have played out--and I believed I had thought of them all--not once did I think he would bring home a baby. That man never ceases to amaze me.
I do feel bad, though. I think I owe him an apology.
Erik sighed, leaning his masked cheek against the tiny creature, who had fallen asleep with her face pressed into his neck. He needed to stop dwelling on his argument with Christine. Later he'd go talk to her and apologize for… something. He wasn't sure exactly what for, but it seemed like a good idea. It usually helped, anyway.
He needed to quit feeding his anger. He could not afford a weakness that might let his madness creep through. Madness no longer had a place in his life. Only love. His girls would help him to banish it forever.
But, for now, he needed a distraction.
I wonder where Erik is right now, anyway. He is probably in his music room, brooding. He likes to brood--it is a very dark and melodramatic thing to do. It seems to suit him perfectly.
Still, as he is in the presence of a child, I think perhaps I should check on him.
I'll return in a moment.
Christine took a peek at the clock before she left her room. It was nearly three in the morning. Had so much time really passed? She grew concerned, wondering what Erik could be up to.
It unnerved her that, as she walked down the hall, she couldn't hear any music. That seemed to be his activity of choice when he was upset. Maybe he was angrier than she realized. She quickened her pace, hoping he hadn't gone and done something destructive.
Her brow furrowed when she opened the door to his music room and saw that he was not in there.
"Erik?" she called out softly, hoping he had gone into the library. Still nothing. What could he be up to?
When Christine entered his workshop, she gasped. There, among all his gadgets and building designs, was a small wooden crib. It was beautifully crafted, despite the short time he had to spend on it. She could see that parts were yet unfinished; he had begun to carve designs into the headboard and the legs, while sturdy, were not sanded into smoothness like the rest of it. Gently, she reached out and ran a finger over the protective railing.
On the other side of the room, she heard a soft snore. She turned and pressed both hands to her mouth, willing her eyes not to tear up.
Erik was lying, spread out over the small sofa, fast asleep. One leg hung of the side and the other draped uncomfortably over the arm rest. His mask was askew and a hammer hung loosely from his left hand.
The baby was sleeping peacefully against his chest. She was scrubbed clean and wearing… is that a pillowcase? It used to be anyway. Christine smiled fondly. It seemed they did have quite a bit of shopping to do, after all.
The two looked so content, the baby sprawled out against his chest with one arm curled under her cheek, scrunching her face up adorably, and Erik with his free hand settled over the child's back to keep her from slipping.
As much as she hated to disturb them, she thought it would be best for them to get some real sleep for the night. Very carefully, she extracted the child from her husband's arms. The baby wiggled, making soft noises, clearly irritated about being disturbed.
"Shh, darling." she cooed, kissing the top of her head and setting her in the crib. "We must let Papa get some rest."
Then she knelt beside the couch and smiled down at her husband. She expected him to wake, but he slept on. He must be exhausted! I have never seen him sleep so soundly! Very carefully, she removed his mask and shoes.
"You are a good man, Erik, whether you realize it or not." she murmured, covering him with a blanket. She kissed his forehead and blew out the lamp. "Goodnight, dear heart. I love you."
You know, suddenly I get the feeling that everything is going to be just fine. We'll work out the details in the morning. For now, just know that I am a very lucky woman, indeed.
Love always,
Christine.
