Christine woke suddenly, inhaling a little and opening her eyes quickly. She blinked a few times in surprise, and for one millisecond, she thought that she had gone blind. Then she realized and remembered—she was in Erik's room. It was pitch-black, and she groaned a little, rubbing her eyes. She rolled over onto her stomach. The bed was wide and cool, and although the mattress was a lot harder than she would have preferred, she was still grateful that Erik had given up his bed for her.
There was complete silence and stillness once again. Christine squinted. She could see very dim and faint light sneaking in through the small cracks around the door, but other than that, there was nothing. Yesterday, she had been a little perturbed to see that there were no other windows in the house besides the two in the front room. For a moment, she wondered if she was secluded away in an apartment complex, but the complete absence of any other neighborly noises made her realize that they were quite alone—or the building had the best insulation she had ever experienced.
She wondered what time it was. There was no clock nearby. Ever since she had woken up on his sofa, she hadn't known what time it was. She didn't know if she had gone to bed at three in the afternoon or three in the morning. Still, she felt awake and somewhat refreshed, meaning that it was probably time to get up.
With a little huff, she blew some stray curls out of her face and rolled out of the bed, searching carefully for the floor. Within a minute or so, she was blinking against the light she had turned on, and she looked around, noting that there were several long, white boxes piled neatly by the door. Erik must have set them there while she was sleeping. She shivered a little, not allowing herself to think of anything more than that.
Christine knelt down and pulled the lid off the top one, looking at the pretty clothes within. Last night Erik had somehow miraculously procured a nightgown for her. She had taken it with a stuttering 'thank you,' feeling awkward. She had never worn an actual nightgown before. Her pajamas had always consisted of shorts and overlarge t-shirts.
When she was finally dressed and ready to face the day, she went back over to the bed and grabbed the statue she had stuffed under the bed the previous night. Although she hadn't even been able to see it, she still didn't like the idea of the creepy sculpture staring at her all night long. Carefully, she set it back in its proper place and then, taking a deep breath, walked over and opened the door.
The front room was empty, and she looked around at the now somewhat-familiar pieces of furniture. Around the corner, she could see that the piano was unoccupied, and she shifted a little nervously, wondering where Erik could be.
A slight noise told her, and she went over to the small dining room, peering hesitantly into the kitchen. Erik had given her some more food last night, a very simple meal consisting of thick bread and cold cuts. She had been grateful for it, as she had still been feeling just a little squeamish. Now her stomach was rumbling, and she was looking forward to breakfast.
Erik walked into the dining room, tall and still intimidating, and his yellow eyes lingered on her.
"Sit," he said, and she obeyed, sitting down at the small dining room table. Like the night before, she looked around, seeing that there was only one chair by a table obviously built for at least four people. She felt a little skirmish about that. It was obvious that Erik did not exactly…entertain. Who would want to have dinner with the Phantom?
Christine had a small jolt of realization. She had wanted to.
He set a small plate in front of her, and she looked down. It was a piece of dry toast and an apple. Her rumbling stomach told her that this small breakfast would in no way appease her, and she hesitated.
"You are dissatisfied," Erik said instantly, apparently seeing her expression.
"No," she said quickly, smiling up at him. "No, it's fine. Thank you."
"Tell me what bothers you," he said.
"Um…yeah. Could I have a glass of water, maybe?"
"Yes. Of course." He retreated into the kitchen and returned a moment later with her requested water. "You must keep your voice in good condition, which means plenty of fluids."
She munched awkwardly on the dry toast, trying not to cough as it tickled her throat. Erik stood off to the side and watched her for a few minutes. She wondered what his problem was. Maybe he thought she was going to steal something…or something. She looked around. There was nothing in there she could easily take.
The apple tasted good, though she was still hungry after she had finished everything. She could only hope that Erik thought she was still feeling a little sick and that her lunch would be bigger.
When she was back in the front room, she sat down on the leather sofa and looked around again. Now that she wasn't panicking so much, she saw that there was no television, no radio, and no landline telephone. The two windows were still firmly shut, and she wondered if he would open them later that day if she asked. It was a little unnerving to have no sunlight at all in the house.
Erik entered a minute later, and she swiveled back in the couch to look at him.
"Was everything to your liking last night?" he asked. He went and took the seat opposite her, and she drew her knees to her chin before remembering how rude it was to put her feet on someone else's furniture. She quickly put them back down. He continued: "Did you sleep well? Were you warm enough?"
"Yep," she said quickly. "Everything was great. Thank you."
There was a pause, and then he said, "I wish for you to be comfortable here. As comfortable as you can be. You are free to use anything you wish." He waved his long hand around, gesturing to the room. "The only thing I ask is that you refrain from…prying. You understand, I am sure."
"Yeah." She nodded hurriedly. "I wouldn't do that."
They sat in silence for who knew how long, and Christine stared at the intricately-woven rug. She could feel Erik's eyes on her, and she shifted uncomfortably on the leather sofa. It squeaked in protest.
"So…um." She cleared her throat and glanced up at him. "Can we talk about…what happened at the opera? Do you know what…why?"
"Yes," he said, his chin tightening in displeasure. "It was a cowardly attempt to keep you from revealing your true talent."
"Or maybe the managers thought…that someone else deserved the role," she suggested timidly.
"No," he said shortly.
"Okay," she replied.
He paused for a moment and then said, "I intend to further investigate this matter today. There are several people that I must contact."
"When are you going?"
"Later. You require further care."
"Oh. Uh." She kind of felt like a pet. Erik had to feed and water her again before he left the house. "You don't have to wait, Erik," she said. "I can feed myself and keep myself occupied. I promise." She smiled a little. "And I swear that I won't destroy your kitchen." When she saw that he was considering this, she pressed: "Really, Erik. I'll be fine for a little while. Please don't let me keep you from doing…um, the stuff you need to do."
He sighed a little and ran his hand over his dark hair. "Yes," he said at last, standing. "Perhaps I will use this time. I should be back before you retire. Occupy yourself with anything you wish. My home is yours."
"Thanks," she said again, and he left after one final glance.
She sat there for another five minutes, just to ensure that he didn't come back to grab something he forgot. When she was sure that he was gone, she jumped up and ran to the kitchen, eager to eat something substantial.
It was small and modern, and she looked around, seeing that there was a bowl of fruit on the counter. She ignored it and opened the shining refrigerator. With a little gasp and a frown, she saw that it was virtually empty. There was a jug of water, a small carton of milk, some cheese, and some of the cold cuts she had eaten the night before, and that was all. She looked in the drawers and found nothing. The freezer was the same way. Christine looked in all the cupboards, finding nothing but bread, some salt, and a package of stale old crackers. As she looked in the top cupboards, she did find a tin of what appeared to be varying types of tea, and she nearly giggled. Erik didn't peg her as a tea type, but…then again, she really didn't know anything about him.
She suddenly gulped. When she thought about it, she knew nothing at all about him. He was just some weird, masked man. A murderer. She didn't even know his last name.
Christine made herself a sandwich with the bread and some of the cold cuts from the fridge, as that was about all there was to make. She ate it slowly and wandered back into the front room, going over to look at his library. Lots of the books were old-looking with no discernible title on the spine. She touched some of them lightly, recognizing a few titles. Most, however, were unfamiliar.
Finishing her sandwich, she continued to look around. Maybe the things in his house would tell her more about her masked teacher.
She went over the piano, looking at the scores of music that were littered around. Giving a quick glance to the front room to make sure that he hadn't snuck in unnoticed, she then tugged on the door that was in the alcove. It didn't budge. With a little sigh, she went back out into the front room.
There were no pictures on the wall—only the few paintings. There weren't any discarded letters or anything else lying around. The house almost looked like no one lived there. It was just a furnished place. There weren't any personal touches, nothing to proclaim it as a home, nothing that stated: I belong to someone and I am here because someone wishes me to be here and not because I am functional, useful, or tasteful.
Christine walked back to the bedroom, snooping some more. There was a closet that she hadn't looked in, and she opened it up to see his suits hanging neatly. She wondered if he ever wore anything else. His wardrobe looked meticulous and fussy.
There was nothing under the bed, nothing hidden in the bathroom cupboards…nothing. Christine sat down on the wide bed, sighing harshly. It hadn't been a very eventful or revealing search. His house was tiny, apparently, with only one room each: one bedroom, one bathroom, one sitting room, one kitchen, and one dining room. It reminded her of her tiny apartment, and she suddenly missed it, with its pretty bay window and the soft cream furniture. Here, everything was black and…scary-looking.
But maybe Erik had taken everything away. He had made her promise not to pry, and that was the first thing she had done when alone. He probably knew she would. She suddenly felt very sheepish and guilty. Still, she hadn't found anything, and it wasn't like she was trying to look for anything bad. She was just looking for something—anything, really—that would tell her a little more about him.
She went back to his bookshelf and pulled a book out, sitting down on the couch and opening it. Flipping through the pages, she saw glossy prints of pretty pieces of art. The text was in Italian. Christine assumed it to be some kind of art history book, and she spent a while looking through the pictures. She had never been well-informed on art or anything, but she did like looking. The prints were large and the coloring was incredible.
After examining all the pictures, she picked at her hair and nails for another long while, humming vaguely under her breath. She began thinking.
First of all, she thought of the supposed fire. Of course there had been a fire. She hoped that no one was hurt, and she hoped that there hadn't been too much damage. If Erik had really…set the place on fire, she wanted to know why. She knew that he loved music and the opera. Why would he willingly destroy a place where it was performed? Why would he endanger thousands of people? Christine pulled at a curl. She hoped that it didn't take very long for them to repair the damage. Although she was still feeling a little humiliated about her disaster of a "first performance," she wanted to resume her old life—rehearsals and lessons with Erik and the occasional surprise lunch with her friend, Meg. Christine sucked in a deep breath. She hoped that Meg was okay.
Then there was the fact that a gun had been pulled on her yesterday. That still shook her a little. The man—Nadir—had just burst in and had yelled at her and threatened to shoot her. Then Erik had come in and had threatened to shoot him. Christine shivered. That had been too many death threats for one lifetime for her. She rubbed her eyes a little. Nadir had insisted on taking her away from Erik's house, and Christine wondered if he had the right idea. Erik was a murderer, after all…Was it really that unthinkable to entertain the idea that Erik might kill her, too? They had had a little over six months' worth of time together, but Erik was cold and impersonal. He might just be plotting ways to kill her. He might have taken her to his house to kill her in a way that wouldn't leave any clues! Christine choked and clutched at her neck, forcing herself to calm down.
No—no. She was just overreacting, panicking about this new situation. She forced herself to remember all the moments they had had together. Although he wasn't exactly sentimental, Erik had said things to her that no one else would have been able to say without sounding completely insane.
Maybe it was just that Erik really was insane.
Christine flopped back on the leather couch, groaning a little. Everything seemed so messed up. Maybe it would be better if she just went back to her apartment while the damage was being cleaned up. But…somehow she was sure that Erik wouldn't be very thrilled with that suggestion. He seemed intent on keeping her here to make sure that they continued working.
After a while, she closed her eyes and began to doze, fading in and out. Her mind drifted to Raoul, and she wondered where he was, what he was doing…if he was thinking of her at all. She genuinely missed him. She then had a shallow, awful dream in which she pulled off Erik's mask and it turned out to be Raoul, who laughed at her, and then she somehow fell into a deep hole and saw her father's casket in there as well.
She jerked awake quickly, rubbing at her forehead. Looking around, she suddenly felt smothered in the little room, and she went over to the windows and began to tug, trying to pull it open. The more she pulled, the more she realized that she wouldn't be able to open it. Giving an angry grunt, she dug her heels in and pulled as hard as she could, only to have her fingers slip and to land gracelessly on her backside, just as Erik entered.
"Oh." She scrambled to her feet. "Hi—hey."
"Christine," he said. "Have you had an enjoyable day?"
"Yeah. Fine," she said. She shifted her weight from foot to foot a few times, and then she asked, "So…did you find out anything at all?"
"Yes," he replied, and he walked over to the piano and sat down on the bench. "Everything has been taken care of."
"Um—okay," she said, following him. "What happened?"
"I have taken care of everything," he said simply. "Now, you will sing for me. Yes? I wish to keep your voice warm. We will not stretch it today—just a few simple scales and a song or two."
She opened her mouth to argue, but the scales began, and she reluctantly followed them with her voice, almost out of habit. They sang for a while—only a couple easy things, as Erik said, and it was a little comforting to do something so familiar. Erik made minimal corrections and adjustments to her stance and breath work, and then she sailed through two songs with ease. When she was finished, she watched as Erik looked up at her.
"Your voice is perfection incarnate," he said.
"Oh—oh, wow," she stuttered, blushing and laughing a little. She pulled some hair behind her shoulders. "Thanks, Erik. But it's all thanks to you, really. You're an amazing teacher."
"I have merely fine-tuned your exquisite instrument. Your talent will continue as your voice fully matures. You are seemingly limitless, my dear."
Again she smiled, blushed, and said, "Thanks." There was a pause, and then she looked around and said, "Hey, can I ask you a favor?"
"You may ask me anything," he said, and she was surprised at his response. Usually when she asked for something, he replied with sarcasm or bitterness or anger. She put it down to her lesson.
"I was wondering if I could open up the windows. I'm feeling a little stuffy in here."
Erik stood. "Christine, I am afraid that it is raining outside. The windows are best left closed."
"Really?" She paused. "I can't hear anything—no rain on the roof or thunder or anything."
"I have a very thick and well-insulated roof," Erik said, and he laughed a little, like it was some joke. "Come. I shall fix you something else to eat."
Christine followed him and paused in the dining room while he continued on to the kitchen. She peered in a little and then felt encouraged by his apparent good mood.
"I was wondering about something else, too, Erik," she said. He glanced over at her in a gesture to show that he was listening. "Do you want me to go grocery shopping for you?"
He paused in his motion of pulling down a plate. "Why would you need to do that?" he asked. "Have I not provided for you?"
"Well—yeah, of course you have!" she said hurriedly, not wanting him to grow upset. "I was just…I looked around today to get something to eat. You don't have—I mean, um…There wasn't a lot available. I could go out tonight or tomorrow morning or something and get some things."
"What things?" he pressed, setting the plate down a little forcefully.
"More food," she said vaguely. She glanced over at the basket of fruit, feeling a little put-out by the sight of the apples. She was already tired of apples and bread.
"Of course," Erik said. "Certainly. If you feel that way, my dear…" He paused and then looked back over. "I have an idea. You will write down the things you need so you do not forget."
"You want me to make a shopping list?" She smiled. "Yeah, okay, sure."
As she chewed (very unenthusiastically) on an apple, she wrote down the list on the paper Erik had provided her with. It was a long list with basic items: flour, sugar, eggs, vegetables, chicken, spices, beef, and other such things. She showed it to Erik, who nodded, and then she followed him back into the front room, finished with her 'dinner.' Erik sat down at the piano and began to play, and she sat down on the sofa to listen, reclining a little and closing her eyes. It felt peaceful, just like how she used to listen to the radio with Gustave in her old apartment, the two of them simply appreciating the music, and words didn't seem necessary.
A long while passed, and she let her mind drift for a while. As Erik was playing something fast and beautiful and flowing, she sat up straight and looked over at him.
"Erik?" she called. "How long will it be before the damage from the fire is repaired?"
He didn't pause in his playing and looked at the keyboard for a minute before replying, "Several weeks, at best."
"Oh." She scratched her shoulder and looked around. She would be living with Erik for several weeks.
Still…as she sat there and listened to him, she couldn't help but smile a little. He was behaving so…differently, and she had to admit that she liked it. He seemed much calmer and more courteous, willing to do things for her—almost like he was anxious to do things for her.
The proof of his readiness to help her came the next morning, when she wandered out of the bedroom for breakfast. Instead of the usual bread and fruit, there was a fried egg and some bacon. Christine inhaled quickly and ate it with vigor, glad to have something substantial in her stomach at last. When she was finished, she went to look in the kitchen.
It was stocked with the things on her grocery list. Everything she had written was there, and she grinned. Maybe the kitchen had been bare because Erik didn't enjoy cooking, but she was more than happy to do so. However, she was a little disappointed that she wasn't able to go to the store. She had been looking forward to getting out for a couple hours.
She turned around and went over to look by the piano. Erik was not there. In fact, she didn't see him for that whole day. Around lunchtime, she felt very grumpy until she saw a note by the bed that she must have missed that morning.
Christine
I apologize for leaving my honored guest so frequently, but there are several other matters that must be attended to in order to make your stay more comfortable. You are welcome to anything in my home. I will return before nightfall.
E
Christine sighed a little and set the note back down. Like she would even know when nightfall was. She still had no idea what time it was…what day it was. She wondered if Erik would bring her a calendar and a clock if she asked. It wasn't as if she could use the sun to help her deduce what the time was.
She read the note over once again and then paused at the first line, seeing that she hadn't realized it before now: Erik had apologized for something. That was a first. In fact, during her few days here, she had seen many firsts for him.
When Erik returned, he greeted her cordially. Christine ate dinner quietly, and then afterward she went up to him and said,
"Erik? Is it okay if I go on a walk?"
He had been putting some more books on the very top of his bookshelf, and he looked down at her, his yellow eyes narrowed a little.
"A walk?" he questioned. "For what purpose?"
"Just to…I dunno, walk. I'd like some fresh air." She was suddenly feeling a little nervous.
Erik paused, and then he resumed putting books up. "Perhaps we will go out in a few days, when the weather is not so disagreeable. You will get soaked to the skin."
"I'll take an umbrella," she promised. "It won't be for very long. I just want to get outside for a little bit."
"No," he said shortly. "I will take you out for air when the weather is fair and I am able to accompany you."
"Oh." Disappointment coursed through her, and she let her eyes drop to the floor. "Okay." She went back over to the couch and sat down, glancing over at him before looking back to the door. Christine rubbed at her eyes.
Why wouldn't he let her go out for a walk? He hadn't even let her go to the store for food…
She watched him for a while, wondering, thinking…
Was she a prisoner here?