Chapter 29- Reach for Me

She was awake but somehow could not quite open her eyes. Her head was clogged up and she felt like she was fighting her way back into consciousness. When her eyes finally opened it took a moment for them to adjust to what she was seeing. Her mind was blurred and she couldn't remember how she got here. The room was quite dark, though she assumed it was day time. She looked down at herself and noticed that she was covered in a blanket but still in her dress from the night before.

It started to come back to her slowly, at first, and then, once the gates of her mind opened, it allowed the night before to come flooding in. She was startled by the sound of music, loud, from the other side of the room.

She remembered the night before, there was a lot of mist and water. A lake...

Easing herself up she looked out at the lake in front of her, no ripples, it was perfectly still... it felt almost tranquil. The music continued and she remembered Erik... tall, dark, broad and wearing a white mask...

Suddenly, all of the curiosity she knew she should have felt the night before was there with a vengeance. She wanted to know about him... she had felt her body sway with hers, his breath on her ear but she had not really seen him.

Using the sides of the cot she pulled herself into a standing position. She felt unsteady on her legs and had to stand still for a moment to gather her senses. The music continued to play, harsh and cold music, she followed the sound. As she got closer she saw his back. He was wearing only trousers and a white shirt, his hair was damp, and he was oblivious to her presence, so swept up in the music.

Her heart was beating wildly as she inched closer to him, feeling strangely guilty as she crept up behind him. When she was there she reached around quickly, fingers trembling, and pulled at the mask. It was ceramic and tacked down but pulled away without too much effort.

As she held the mask in her hand he spun around, hand flying up to cover the side of his face. It was too late though, she saw it. The scarring and the dips in his flesh. She moved backwards from his, shamefully unable to look at the horror any longer she looked down at the white mask in her hands.

It was cold.

Seconds past before Erik burst into rage. He flew at her, causing her to step backwards and trip over some books lying on the floor. She landed hard on her back and winced in pain as he glared down at her.

'Look at me!' he demanded. She couldn't, she stared down at her hands, at the floor, at anything but his face. It hurt her to see it.

He grabbed her hair and tugged it back, forcing her eyes up to his face, it hurt but somehow she knew that it was not deliberate. 'I said... look at me!'

She did, forcing her eyes to stay focused on his face. The pits in his skin were too much to bare, she blinked and felt tears well in her eyes.

'This is what you wanted!' he roared. 'This is what you wanted to see, this is what you caused... you will look at me,'

His hand released her hair but she still did as she was told.

He laughed and the sound hurt her ears, it was harsh and bitter. 'Stranger than you dreamt it?'

He did not give her the chance to answer, the rage she saw in his eyes was almost tangible as he continued with barely a pause.

'Look... look at me, you don't even dare to look without being forced to!' he shouted. 'You tear my pride away and leave me with this and you won't even look properly. Is it not what you want, Christine, this loathsome gargoyle who lives alone in his pit of hell?'

She blinked a tear from her eyes and dragged her focus away from his burning eyes.

'You will never quite understand this, my dear, this pain,' His eyes were on her, she could feel them scorching her skin. 'This is my hell, this is how I live and who I am and the reason I burn here but you must see that I long for heaven, Christine, I have always longed for heaven,'

Christine sat in silence, breathing sharp, heart beating hard. She had no idea if he expected answers from her, the way he looked at her was hard but questioning. She could not say anything, could hardly find the words.

'Secretly...' he whispered. 'I secretly hoped that you might provide my heaven... perhaps foolishly I thought that fear could turn to love,'

Her hand came up to her face and swiped a tear from under her eye.

'I thought that maybe you could learn to see, to find the man behind this monster,' he touched his face and then, as if instinctively covered it with his hand again. 'I thought you might be the one to see beyond this repulsive carcass who seems a beast but is secretly dreaming of beauty...'

And then, without more warning than the softness in his voice, he dropped to his knees opposite her. Christine thought that she saw tears sparkling in his sad eyes, he glanced at her, hand still covering his face, and reached his other hand out towards her.

'Oh, Christine...' he murmured, the sound was pained, and dug deep into her heart.

She reached across and placed the ceramic mask back into his hand. His eyes left her face but a moment as he concentrated on fixing the white back to his own face. They sat there for what felt like hours, staring at each other.

In her mind she compared the contrasts of Erik in her mind. The right side of his face was smooth and soft, angled like any handsome man's features were but under the mask, on the left of his face, the skin was far from smooth. It was ugly and red, pinched and looked sore. She had been shocked, horrified even, but now she knew that she had hurt him sadness took over her body.

His eyes, with their temporary flecks of gold, were on her face and she wondered what he was thinking. She wished she could read his thoughts, wished she knew how to make this better. The truth was that she simply had no idea how she could ever rectify this. Had she destroyed his trust in her, the trust she had worked so hard to build.

Damn her curiosity, she could have lived a lifetime without seeing his face.

'We must go,' he said suddenly, the softness and sadness of his voice now gone as he stood and held his hand out to her.

She was reluctant and he saw it in her eyes.

'We must...' he said, the power was back, the authority, the quiet confidence. 'Those two fools who run my theatre will be missing you...'

As he grasped her hand in his and pulled her towards the boat she tugged back, he turned to face her, questioning eyes. 'I'm sorry...' she whispered.

Antoinette woke up particularly early and glanced to her left. There was no sign of Scott or that Scott had even spent any part of last night in their bed. She squinted her eyes, the sun was pouring in through the gap in the curtains, and glanced at the mantel clock. It was before six in the morning.

She lay there for a moment, tried to force herself back to sleep, but decided that the whole idea was futile. After taking several deep breaths she eased herself from the bed and limped to the closet. When she had chosen her clothes for the day she lay them out on the bed and made her way to the bathroom, without her cane.

Diane walked along the corridor and, on seeing Antoinette, she smiled, 'Morning Madame,' she said warmly.

'Good morning,'

'Would you like me to draw you a bath?' Diane asked. Antoinette thought for a moment.

'No,' she said. 'I shall just wash this morning, I think today will be a long day... I will save my bath until later,'

In the kitchen she sat at the wooden chair and looked around her. The room was dark, Cook was not due to arrive for another half an hour, and suddenly she missed the smell of baking. When she first married Scott, all those years ago, she would bake in this kitchen for hours, letting the smells of bread and cakes filter through the whole house. The scent would greet him at the door and he would put his doctor's bag down and walk to her, wrapping his arms around her, he would whisper how wonderful she was.

It was not long before he hired the cook. At first she had resisted, of course, she was the only cook in this house, the only one who would make food for her family. She had given in because she knew that he was right. All of the bending and stretching and standing in the kitchen was doing her hip absolutely no good. She felt a twinge in her leg as if to mark the point.

'What are you doing up so early?' she turned towards Scott's voice. He was wearing a shirt and trousers, standing the doorway, the early summer sun shifting shadows around the room.

'I could ask you the same thing,'

He stared at her. 'I've been getting up this early for a while,'

She nodded, feeling her heart sink. When had she stopped noticing him?

'Is your hip hurting?' he asked.

'It always hurts,'

He sighed. 'I mean... in the night, more than usual...'

She shook her head and looked out of the window, letting her eyes drift across the garden. When she turned again he had stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, of course, he still kept a safe distance between them, he didn't sit down with her.

'Then why?'

She glanced up at him.

'I just couldn't sleep,'

'Any particular reason?' he asked and even deafness would not have stopped her hearing the concern in his voice.

She said nothing in response, instead she chose to look away again, taking in the view from the window, the warm sun on her face.

'I don't know what it is,' he said quietly. She did not turn to him. 'But you look radiant this morning,'

'Thank you,' she barely managed to say, the words almost stuck in her throat.

'I'm sorry,' he said, finally pulling the chair out next to her. When he sat down she turned to look at him.

'What for?' she asked.

'For the way we are,' he replied. 'I know that it's my fault,'

'Not entirely,' she said softly, her chest ached.

He smiled, she could see that it was forced but it was a smile none the less.

'Laurent says he wishes to leave,' he said and she felt the familiar punch in her chest at the sound of her brother's name. 'I know you want him gone but I'm not sure that he is well enough,'

Her eyes locked onto Scott's and they sat there, temporarily surrounded by the silence created in their marriage. His face was starting to look weathered and she wondered briefly when it was that they had started to grow old.

'Are you asking my permission to allow him to stay, Scott?' she asked, eyes not leaving his.

He reached for her hand and, though she did not offer it, she did not resist his touch either. He cradled her cold fingers in his warm palm, the feeling of his comfort seeped into her skin.

'No,' he said, stroking her hand with his thumb. It was the most contact they had had in months. 'I'm am asking you to ask him to stay,'

She blinked back her surprise and tried to pull her hand away, but he held on, squeezing it in his fingers. 'I can't do that,'

'Can't?' he asked. 'Or won't?'

'Can't...'

'Why?' his eyes pleaded with her.

'He is not part of me anymore,' she said, her heart sinking further and further.

'He looks better,' Scott said, his hand tight around hers. 'But internally he is still not well, I don't know what to do. I had to ask you, Antoinette, I had to try, you understand? I can't watch him leave here knowing he is not well, that he might die,'

'I understand,'

'Then please help me,'