Chapter Sixteen

It took several knocks and a few pleas to get Erik to finally open his door to her, but open it he did. To say his mood was foul and his expression stormy was the understatement of the year. Sarah decided her best course of action was to pretend she didn't notice and tell a half-truth.

"Erik, I'm so sorry to disturb you but I need your assistance. Robert is out of town and I simply must drop off something for my friend Marion to eat. She's taken ill and I promised to stop by. Would you please escort me?"

"I don't feel that I am appropriate company for you right now," he ground out between clenched teeth, holding his hands tightly behind his back.

"It's perfectly fine, Erik. You don't have to chat with me. But by the time I get to her home, coming back it will be getting dark and I don't like walking alone in the evening. Please escort me?" She persisted, smiling gently.

"Why not have Frank order you a cab?" He asked, still short and unwilling.

"Oh that would be silly! She's only a few blocks away. I promise not to go in and chat. I simply want to drop off a meal. Please?" She gently touched his arm.

Erik was engaged in an internal battle that Sarah could never guess at. He was destroyed by the image of the Vicomte embracing Christine, enraged to the point where he'd had to exercise considerable restraint in order not to lay waste to everything in sight, and conflicted by his sense of duty and obligation he felt to Sarah and her husband. He looked at her standing there with her innocent request and huffed. He turned away to retrieve is suit coat and opened the door for her without a word, hoping his expression would prevent any further attempts at conversation.

Sarah smiled broadly once her back was to him. Getting him to come with her had been the hardest part of her half of the plan. Now she had to hope Sabine had kept Christine in place.

As they left a very confused Marion ("Who told you I was ill?"), Sarah took Erik's arm and slowed him down a bit on their walk. "I'm positive I saw some roses blooming in the park near here. I just want to stop and collect a few blooms."

"Sarah, I am certainly not in the mood to attend your gardening efforts," Erik said, losing his patience.

"It will take me five minutes! Besides, the park is lovely and maybe it will calm you down a bit. You certainly are in a mood this evening!" She returned, pretending not to notice just how truly angry he was. She gave him no chance to disagree and gently steered him onto the path into the park.

He was in no mood to speak and so he allowed her to lead him inside the confines of the park. She left his side to look for her roses and he stood off to the side, watching as lovers passed hand in hand. He felt jealousy burn again. Why? Why was he denied the one thing he had only ever wanted, ever craved? He had done monstrous things in his life but he had atoned for them. He no longer believed in a God, but he did believe in the Hindu idea of karma. The universe had punished him enough….surely! He had tried to ignore his unreasonable desire for love. He had art, books, music, architecture; he didn't need love as well. But he realized now that life without love was just existence. He wanted more. He wanted to walk hand in hand with someone who loved him and he wanted that someone to be Christine: only ever Christine.

He was lost in his thoughts until he felt a small hand slip into his. Surprised, he looked down to find Meg holding it.

She swallowed hard, fear in her eyes, but resolution as well. "We didn't see what we thought we did." She frowned, realizing that she wasn't making sense. Taking a deep, quivering breath, she tried again. "What I mean is that Christine didn't take the Vicomte back. She turned him down. You left before it happened."

Erik didn't respond to her verbally but he frowned in disbelief.

"No, really! I swear I thought the same thing but right after you left, Raoul did, too. And Christine told me she'd turned him down but he told her to keep the ring and sell it," Meg insisted, beginning to gently tug on his hand, urging him to follow her.

He allowed Meg to lead him towards the lake and, when she stopped, he saw Christine sitting underneath a willow tree with her knees gathered up and her chin resting on them. She was looking out across the lake, unaware of his presence. He saw her body trembling as though cold and he felt his anger drain away. Meg quietly released his hand and left the way they had come in order to give them privacy. Silently he removed his jacket and, in one swift yet gentle movement, he placed it around Christine's shoulders and sat down next to her upon the blanket on which she sat. He didn't know what to say and had discovered in times like these, if he remained silent, she would feel the need to speak. He preferred when she spoke because it gave him a chance to decipher her thoughts and feelings. He kept his gaze straight ahead out onto the lake because she did as well, but he made sidelong glances at her. He couldn't help himself. To be this close to her in an almost intimate setting was overwhelming. He took in a deep breath, savoring the scent of roses nearby that mixed with the lavender in her hair.

Christine had gone still as a statue when he sat next to her. He was here, next to her: had put his jacket around her! She wanted to pour her heart out to him, wanted to hug him, wanted to kiss him, wanted to pretend that all the ugliness of their relationship had never happened; but her voice caught in her throat because of the lump that sat there. His arm was nearly brushing hers, he was so close. And to have his jacket over her, his scent and warmth surround and comfort her after she thought she'd driven him away….it was all too much for her to absorb and process. And so, with no way to communicate her utter sorrow and guilt for her treatment of him, she began to cry.

He knew immediately she was distraught. At the worst of times that he'd seen her in, he had never seen her cry: not a tear. Now, they streamed down her cheeks unchecked, drenching the neckline of her dress and his jacket. He was totally unprepared to deal with this. Hatred and revilement? Yes. Fear and disgust? He knew them well. A woman's tears? He shifted ever so slightly. Should he touch her? Rest his hand on her arm as Sarah often did to him? Could he put his arm around her? Should he say something? At a complete loss, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a handkerchief which he handed to her.

"I'm sorry," Christine hiccupped between sobs.

He remained silent, trying to decipher what she was sorry for.

"I have no right to expect anything of you. I've done nothing but bring you pain and sorrow. From the moment you first showed yourself to me, I've made terrible mistake after mistake. You must think the worst of me….and you are right to do so." Here she paused, dabbing at her eyes. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she continued.

"The angel who spoke to me and who taught me? I fell in love with him. When I thought he was untouchable and ethereal, I yearned for him to appear to me so I could show him that love. And then, when he did show himself, I faltered and fled instead. I wasn't strong enough and temptation appeared in the form of a young man I had once known.

"It was easy for me to believe Raoul was the right choice. He was bright like the sun and came charging in like a knight to save the damsel fair. Imagine the story: the chorus girl who became a Vicomtesse. It seemed all so romantic at the time and I was so afraid of you….how you made me feel."

Erik bowed his head. He had never wanted to frighten her. "I am sorry for that," he said simply.

Christine shook her head and laughed humorlessly. "I'm the one who is sorry. I had no idea what those feelings meant until recently. What I did know was that I was becoming tormented by my choice. As the wedding drew nearer, I found my life slipping out of my control. Things felt wrong with Raoul. I would tremble at the sound of my angel's voice but never Raoul's. And Meg and her mother spoke to me of what passion feels like and I realized I did not feel that with him. Even when he kissed me, there was nothing. But when I kissed you that night…." She trailed off, mortified by speaking so openly of her feelings to him. She felt him turn to look at her, but she couldn't bring herself to do the same. She was fast losing her nerve but she knew she'd never have this chance again. If she didn't push herself to reveal everything….take that chance….this moment would pass and so would her chance at true happiness. Finding a reserve of courage she hadn't realized she'd had, she pressed on.

"All I know is that I am not afraid to feel that way any more. I realize now that everything I ran from is how it's supposed to feel between a man and a woman. Raoul never made me tremble when he kissed me. I never felt my stomach tie up into a thousand knots when he was near me. And in all this time here in America, I never once thought about him: only you. And now that I've finally realized all of this, it's too late," she finished.

Erik found himself stunned, elated, scared, and confused all at once. Christine….his Christine was saying what he had only ever dreamt of her saying to him. Was this a cruel dream? Was this yet another trick of fate to get him to let his guard down? He realized she wasn't speaking any more but was beginning to silently cry fresh tears. He caught on to her last words and managed to ask, "Too late?"

Christine nodded. "Genevieve."

Had she not been crying and so serious with her answer, Erik would have laughed. As it was, he simply sighed. She still had no idea how much of his life was dependent upon her. But he needed to hear her speak: needed to hear her own choice in all of this before he would let his defenses down again.

"Christine….what do you want?"

At that, she finally turned and looked at him: truly looked at him. She didn't see his mask; she felt as though she was gazing into his soul. And for the first time, she saw him pure and whole: only a man and not some phantom or angel. And she felt her heart constrict at the thought of losing him to another woman. "I don't know what you're thinking. I don't know what she means to you or what-"

Erik shook his head and interrupted her. "No: not what I want or what the Vicomte wants. What do you want?"

It was simply asked and it could be simply answered. Christine's eyes searched his, seeing the pain she had caused him piled on top of all the other pain he had suffered in his lifetime and her heart broke. He was once again offering his bloody and battered heart to her. And his gaze didn't instill fear in her; it spoke of hope. Her eyes slipped to his misshapen mouth and suddenly her heart began to race. To feel his lips pressed to hers again….the unusual texture….to get them to open to her…. She felt the heat building in her stomach and she knew she had to be the one to close the small yet hugely significant distance between them. She glanced up to his eyes and saw the confusion building in them. When his mouth parted to speak, Christine closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his.

One moment he was struggling to puzzle out her response and the next, he found himself shot through to his core with the same intense reaction he had experienced the first time she had kissed him. He couldn't move, couldn't think: could only pray to any god that would hear him that this was real and not a dream. His mouth had been open to speak a question and now, not only had her lips pressed against his, he felt her tiny pointed tongue slip inside of his mouth. Desire, in waves so strong he nearly crumbled, hit him from head to toe. And then a sound like a small explosion….and pain, searing pain, ripped through him. He felt Christine jerk away and saw the shock on her face. He felt wetness on his right side and, when he brought his hand up between them after touching it, he heard her scream as they both looked at the blood covering it.

"I knew it! I knew from the moment you refused me that this hell-spawned demon was back and controlling you!" Raoul exclaimed as he began to slowly walk closer to them from where he stood several yards away, a revolver in his hand.

Christine stared in shocked horror, looking at an ugly side of Raoul she had never seen before. The look in his eyes as he stared at Erik in such hatred chilled her to the bone.

"There is no way any woman could or would go with you willingly. Look at you: hideous and horrible!" Raoul continued. "And here you are, parading around in public like you're not some freak. Only America could condone that."

Erik staggered to his feet, holding his side in pain, but unwilling to allow the crazed man any closer to Christine. "She's made her choice, Vicomte. You need to step away as I once did," he ground out between clenched teeth.

"You! How dare you speak to me like that! You've controlled her long enough. You're the one who probably led her to this God-forsaken hell-hole. It suits you. I should have killed you months ago. That was an error in my judgment because I allowed Christine to stay my hand." Raoul raised his gun at Erik. "That won't happen again."

It was suddenly all too clear to Christine. Everything that had gone wrong, every mistake that had been made, stemmed from Raoul and his inability to listen to her. In a moment, scenes flashed before Christine's eyes: his appearance after her gala premiere, his refusal to take no for an answer, his refusal to believe her about Erik, his anger at keeping their engagement secret, his insistence against her pleas to not make her part of the trap to ensnare Erik during Don Juan, his refusal to believe she cared for him, and now his refusal to believe Christine could love Erik over him. Nearly all of the pain and heartache between her and Erik was the direct result of Raoul's interference and refusal to be "bested" by someone who looked like Erik. She looked at Erik standing between her and Raoul, trying to shield her while blood continued to soak his clothes and drip onto the ground. She looked at Raoul as he raised the gun at Erik. And something inside of her snapped.

"Stop it!" She screamed, jumping up and launching herself past Erik and into Raoul. Though she was a small woman, her sheer force and the element of surprise were enough to tackle Raoul to the ground. His gun went flying out of his hand and then Christine was straddling him, screaming and beating at him, clawing and scratching like a wild thing and his face became bloodied from the attack.

People swarmed the area and men lunged for Raoul, grabbing him and holding him as strong arms went around Christine and pulled her off of him.

"No! Let me go!" She screamed, fighting like a demon at the arms pinning her. "Erik! He's hurt! Erik!" She screamed, uncomprehending anything. "Let me go!"

"Christine! Stop!" Erik commanded as he turned her around in his arms. She stopped struggling when she realized it was him. Immediately, concern replaced wild anger.

"He shot you!" It was all she could manage, beginning to shake uncontrollably.

"Yes, but apparently he has terrible aim. The bullet seems to have grazed my rib. It's not as bad as it looks," Erik replied, still holding on to her tightly lest she turn wild banshee again.

Not willing to take his word for it, Christine pushed his shirt up and examined the wound for herself. There was a lot of blood and a nasty tear in his side, but it did appear the bullet had not entered him. She looked up into his bemused eyes and threw her arms around him, holding him tight.

So much had happened in such a short time, Erik could barely process it all. The only thing he could think of to say at the moment was, "You're going to get blood on your dress."

Christine half laughed and half cried. "I don't care! You're alive!"

"My God!" Sabine cried as she and Meg, along with Sarah, came running up to the scene. Several policemen arrived as well, two of whom took Raoul from his temporary captors.

"Do we need a doctor?" One of the officers asked.

"Yes!" Christine replied.

"No!" Erik insisted.

"Who's wounded?" Sarah asked, stepping forward and gesturing at the blood on both of them.

"He shot Erik!" Christine pleaded. "He should be seen by a doctor!"

"I assure you all that I'll be alright. The bleeding has nearly stopped," Erik insisted, trying to turn so they couldn't see his side.

"Here," Meg replied, handing over her light sweater. "Use that on it. It's okay," she insisted at Erik's reluctance. "It's old but clean."

Christine took it from Meg and, using the sleeves, tied it to Erik's wound. He winced as she pulled it tight and she gave him a burning look. "Let's call a doctor."

"I promise you, I'll be fine. Let us speak with the police about this matter and then we'll tend to my wound," Erik insisted.

They spoke at length with the officers and explained their side of the story. They took notes and asked many questions, but due to Erik's wound, they didn't keep them unreasonably long. As they wrapped up, Sabine, Meg, and Sarah rejoined them.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sarah asked solicitously.

"Yes!" Erik sighed.

"You need to get cleaned up and bandaged properly," Sabine interjected.

"We should take him back to the club. We can procure everything we need there and he'll be more comfortable," Sarah insisted.

"I can help, too," Meg insisted.

"How is it I suddenly have four women making my decisions for me?" Erik complained when Christine took him by the hand. "And why are none of them listening?" He groused.