The music was more than she had ever dreamed of.
She had reached a connection with it that she hadn't ever thought possible. It ran through her like oxygen, filled her up and made her whole. The hours spent beside the piano, listening or singing, seemed to be some of the most amazing moments of her life. She would sit there and cry silently—not because she was sad or happy, but because she simply felt so full and complete.
Erik seemed to understand.
He made no comments about her behavior but just let her do what she needed. Whenever he played and she approached to listen, he wouldn't stop until the song was over. Then, sometimes he would ask whether she was okay with him continuing, and sometimes she would have to say no, and sometimes she would have to say yes, but he was always willing to do what she requested. It was incredible that so much could be experienced in his small house.
However, those moments of music-filled intoxication weren't as often as she would have liked. Erik had turned out to be a busy man. He was always in and out, and she watched him go, feeling forlorn when he left. She tried not to think about what he did while he was away…killing people, probably. It made her feel slightly sick. And no matter how much she wanted to, she knew it wasn't her place to ask him to quit his 'job.' She had no control over him. If she did ask, he'd probably laugh at her, and that would make her feel even worse. So she tried to content herself by simply not dwelling on it.
Still, their music lessons were enough to make her want to stay with him. He was working her hard and pushing her more. He had also started teaching her the basics of the piano, saying that good singers required skill with more than one instrument. She caught on quickly enough, and even though she wasn't a prodigy, it didn't seem like Erik was expecting her to be. He seemed pleased with her progress in her voice, and that was enough to make his criticism with her piano-playing bearable. Though she felt silly, she couldn't deny that his piano intimidated her a little. It was big and loud and perfectly-tuned, and it required masterful, expert hands to make it sound gorgeous. She plunked away at simple sonatinas and minuets, and the instrument gave a grudging, plunking sound, as if it begrudged her for besmirching it with her mistakes and stumbling over the notes.
Whenever Erik was home, she couldn't practice in peace, either. He was a perfectionist, and wrong notes and missed chords seemed to make him twitchy.
"No, no, no, Christine, you're missing the B flat," he would say from the front room. "And your eighth notes are sloppy. Practice with the metronome."
She was a lot happier when he was playing for her and she was singing. That seemed to be their true roles, the roles that they were most comfortable with. As the Opera was still under repairs, a new production hadn't been announced, and so they were simply practicing a little bit of everything. Erik had even hinted that they might start working a duet, and that had made her fluttery and giggly and excited.
Yet the music never lasted forever. There were times when the piano was left empty, and she would be tired and unwilling to sing anymore. Those times were becoming revealing and awkward.
He was, for the most part, a quiet man. That had surprised her more than anything. There would be long stretches of silence, and he would sit in his chair and write or read or even sketch. She had peeked over his shoulder once at his sketches. It had been of a house, very small and pretty.
"That looks nice. What's it for?" she had said.
"Personal amusement," he had replied shortly, flipping a blank page over the drawing and tucking it away—making it perfectly clear that he didn't appreciate her nosing around.
He seemed to only speak when he had something to say; he was bad at making small talk. She tried to pull conversation out of him, but he was hard to pry open. Only in his rare moods would he humor her with a meaningless chat.
And yet, through all the days and all the quiet moments they shared, he still did not take off his mask. He had removed his gloves a few more times, usually in the morning, just after she had woken up (most of the time they were back on around lunchtime). But he still wore his black suits that covered every inch of him; he still had his mask tied on tightly. He never seemed to simply relax. Although he would occasionally shed his suit coat or leave his shaggy hair a little rumpled, he was always tense and uptight.
With a little huff, Christine blew some hair out of her face and risked another look into the front room. Erik was still there, sitting in his large chair. She had been surprised to see him with a laptop. It had felt as if all electronics had become obliterated in his house. However, he was gazing intently at the screen, the light illuminating his mask. She wondered what he was looking at.
After a moment, he must have sensed her gaze, because his eyes went straight up and onto her. She jumped a little and then blushed to her roots, forcing a smile and a nervous laugh.
"Oh. Heh, sorry." She cleared her throat quickly. "I was just wondering—do you want to eat with me? I made enough for two…"
She knew the answer before he said it, because it had been his response every time she had asked.
"No…thank you," he said, the last part always coming out like an afterthought, something he had to make himself say, and he returned his gaze to the screen. His long fingers came up to his hairline, and her pressed two fingertips into it.
"Okay," she said, not ready to argue with him. "Hey—well, can we open the windows today? It feels stuffy in here."
"Perhaps you should lie down for a while if you feel uncomfortable," Erik said, not even bothering to answer her question. His gaze lingered on her.
"I feel fine," she said instantly, though honestly her stomach was twisting a little. Erik still hadn't let her leave the house or open the windows. She was beginning to go crazy inside the tiny house. She hadn't ever been an 'outdoorsy' type, but she did want to leave the house just for a little while. She was also trying to see if Erik would let her go outside. The thought that he was keeping her here was a little insane. But…she had to remind herself that she was dealing with Erik. He did not behave like normal people. If he wanted to keep her here, he probably would without any qualms.
He still hadn't talked to her about what had happened on opening night, and she wondered if it was going to be like with her father. She would have to pester him so much that he exploded and snapped the answers at her. Then she would regret ever knowing. Christine rubbed at her face. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.
After she ate breakfast the next day, she was forced to sit around and watch as Erik readied himself for another mysterious outing.
"Could I go with you?" she asked hopefully. He was buttoning his suit coat, and he looked up at her. Trying to persuade him, she grabbed his gloves he had tossed onto the end table and held them out helpfully. "Please?"
He paused and then reached out to take them, his fingertips lightly brushing her skin. She knew it was deliberate.
"Perhaps another day," he then said, pulling the gloves over his unnaturally-long fingers. "This must be done without accompaniment. I will return shortly."
Leaving her disappointed, he turned and exited. Her head was spinning with all sorts of thoughts, and she turned and went to the kitchen, intent on making herself some weak tea.
As she was waiting for the water to boil, she heard the door open and close, and she went back to the front room to see. Erik couldn't have finished everything he needed to in a matter of minutes, could he?
She looked, and it wasn't Erik. Feeling herself pale a little, she backed into the doorway as the man held out his hands in a placating manner. It was the dark-skinned man who had aimed a gun at her.
"Please, it's all right," he said softly. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, sounding a lot braver than she felt. "Erik told you—he said you couldn't come back here!"
The man laughed a little. "Erik has told me similar things too many times to count. He knows I ignore them. It's okay. I promise. Just…calm down. I only want to talk to you for a little bit."
Christine stared at him. His eyes were dark and…kind. He continued to hold his hands up near his shoulders, and he slowly walked over and sat down on the sofa. With a careful gesture, he motioned for her to sit across from him.
"I…" she said, glancing at the spot. "I'm making tea. I'll get you some." She turned and went back into the kitchen, putting her hands over her face. No, no, no! Erik had told that man that he didn't want him here anymore. Didn't that guy know Erik was a murderer? Didn't he know that Erik would kill him? Christine didn't want anyone dying!
Still, she finished preparing the tea with shaking hands, and she carefully loaded some things onto the tray and walked back out, feeling a little silly.
"Thank you," the man said graciously as she handed him a cup. He took a sip and smiled at her over the brim of his cup, his eyes crinkling as he did so. "We've never been introduced properly. I'm Nadir Khan."
"Um…Christine," she said awkwardly, taking a seat on the high-backed armchair that Erik usually favored. She tapped her finger on the side of her delicate teacup. Erik had an incredibly-beautiful china tea set that she had found stowed away one afternoon. She hoped it was okay for her to use it.
"I know you probably don't want to see me here," Mr. Khan said. "I didn't exactly make a good impression the last time we met. I…Well. You probably can't understand, but it was just so…strange seeing someone else in Erik's house. I thought you had somehow managed to find it and break in. I'm really very sorry for scaring you like that."
"It's okay," Christine mumbled. She glanced at Mr. Khan's breast pocket, wondering if a gun was hidden behind his jacket.
"I hope I can make it up to you somehow," Mr. Khan said. His voice was smooth and calm and slightly-accented, and although she told herself to fight it, she couldn't help but begin to soften toward him a little. He seemed genuine and polite and caring. Maybe it was because she hadn't talked to someone besides Erik in a while, but she felt a willingness to speak with him.
"So—so how do you know Erik?" she asked.
"How do you know Erik?" Mr. Khan echoed, his voice much more serious. "I am genuinely confused, Christine. How did you meet him?"
She took another drink of her tea and then told him what had happened to her over the past six months—her father's disappearance, her desperation, Erik's insane bargain, her audition, her father's death, that horrible night of the fire…It took a lot longer to explain than she had anticipated, and it actually felt really good to be able to tell someone about all the unbelievable things that had happened to her. She felt as if she was unburdening herself. Mr. Khan was very quiet and only made an occasional noise to encourage her to continue. He looked genuinely interested in her story.
When she was finished, she watched as he ran a hand over his face and sighed deeply, leaning back onto the leather sofa. He watched her with something of a curious fascination.
"I am somehow not surprised that Erik never mentioned you," he said, the corner of his lip twitching a little. "It seems like he wanted you to be his secret—an unprecedented singer rising from obscurity. He's a little dramatic, if you hadn't noticed."
Christine laughed a little. "Yep. I didn't used to think this, but now most of the time I think it's kinda sweet and funny. Then sometimes it's just…weird."
Mr. Khan managed to smile. "Yes. He is…weird. No doubt about that."
"So you know him? Do you know him pretty well?" Christine asked, feeling her heart begin to pound in excitement. Maybe at last—answers!
"Yes. Probably better than anyone else," Mr. Khan said, scratching his chin as if in thought. "Our relationship is…a little unorthodox. I guess there's no orthodox relationship when it comes to Erik, though. I mean, according to you, you've known him for more than six months, and just what can you tell me about him?"
Christine thought. "Not much," she said honestly. "He's a pretty private guy, I guess." She scooted a little closer to Mr. Khan and put her teacup down. "What do you know about him?"
Mr. Khan rested his elbow on the armrest and put his cheek into his palm, looking at her carefully. "I always think I know something about him, and then he completely changes. I'm trying to figure something out right now, actually. Maybe you can help me."
"I'll try," she said earnestly, and he smiled again at that.
"I'm assuming that you know about Erik's…um—very specialized line of work? You're aware of it?"
Christine nodded, saying softly, "I know. It's awful."
"Well, there've been some whispers and rumors. I'm not part of that group—the type of people he works for—but I have enough connections to know that something's happened." Mr. Khan paused, and Christine bit her lip. "Some months ago, around February, I believe, Erik…stopped. Just stopped. Apparently he hasn't…accepted another job since then. Not one."
Christine felt her heart contract suddenly and then expand. Erik hadn't killed anyone since February? What made him stop? She was glad, of course—over the moon, really—but she was also confused.
"Why?" she asked.
Mr. Khan shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, I suppose. I came here to see if you knew why. Did anything happen around February? Anything unusual that might have made him…er, do this?"
Christine thought back. She had gotten into a fight with Raoul around then. Her father had still been alive (she felt her throat seize up a little and swallowed hastily). She had baked Erik some cookies. He had been shocked over that, yes, but it wasn't as if Erik wouldn't stop killing people for money over a plate of sugar cookies.
She looked back to Mr. Khan and shook her head. "I don't know," she said honestly. "I'm…glad, though."
"I am as well," Mr. Khan said. "Obviously a few people were upset about the news, but it isn't as if they'd confront him about it." He chuckled. "Erik can be a little intimidating, I guess."
Christine laughed nervously. "Yeah."
"I'm also a little puzzled as to your being here," Mr. Khan continued. "I'm assuming the decision was a long time coming and very deliberated. Right?"
"Um, no, actually," said Christine with a shake of her head. "He just sort of grabbed me and took me down here. Literally, actually. That's just what happened. He never told me anything about it."
Mr. Khan stared at her for a long while and then stood, pacing behind the couch, sighing a few times and pressing his fingertips to his eyes.
"Are you okay?" she asked worriedly.
"I'm fine," he replied quickly. "Just…confused. This whole thing goes against every single one of Erik's personal rules and conduct. I don't understand."
"Well, he's a confusing guy," Christine said, wanting to be helpful. "He does a lot of crazy stuff."
"Yes, but there is always a method to the 'crazy stuff' he does," Mr. Khan said. "I've known him for nearly twenty years. He does things for a reason. And—no offense to you, Christine—but I can't see any reason for him doing this. I've been trying to figure things out on my own, but I've gotten nowhere. I just don't want to see an innocent person get tangled up in his twisted life. He's…he's a heavily-damaged man."
Christine listened intently, trying to soak it all in. Mr. Khan finished pacing and resumed his seat on the couch, rubbing his eyes and looking tired.
"Maybe you'd like it if I took you back up," he then said. "You can go if you want. You're not his prisoner."
"Back up?" she questioned at last. "What do you mean?"
"Back up—to the…" He trailed off. "Do you not know where you are?"
"Erik's apartment…?" she tried feebly. "I don't know where it is, actually."
Mr. Khan laughed hollowly. "It's a good thing you're sitting down. Erik actually has maybe a dozen different apartments and hiding spots throughout the city, but this is his favorite for many reasons. It's underneath the Opera House."
Christine paused and stared. "Like…in the basement? A house in the basement?"
Mr. Khan smiled a little facetiously. "Much, much farther down. Much. It's the farthest down you can go."
"We're underground?" Christine looked around, staring at the eternally-shut windows. She suddenly groaned and pushed her hands over her eyes. "Ugh, I'm so stupid!" she snapped. "I kept asking him to open the windows, and he kept saying no. And he wouldn't let me go out to take a walk or go to the store. He kept saying no! And there aren't any other windows, and…I'm so dumb!"
"No, Christine, you're not," Mr. Khan assured her kindly. "This isn't exactly a common answer. You couldn't have known where you are. But it's okay. If you want, I'll take you back up."
Christine lowered her hands. "Erik wants me to stay here with him," she said.
"You don't have to," Mr. Khan said. "Not if you want to go home."
She bit her lip, glancing around the small house. The small house underneath the Opera House. It was a lot to take in very suddenly. And now she had an opportunity to leave.
But she didn't want to. For some reason, she wanted to stay down here with Erik, in his strange little house and in his strange company. When she thought about going back to her tiny apartment, she felt reluctance. Maybe she just wanted company…but she knew that she wanted Erik's company.
"I want to stay," she said softly.
Mr. Khan sucked in a little breath. "Christine, I don't think you fully realize that…Well, Erik's a dangerous man. I don't have to tell you that, I'm sure. But, please just think. Maybe it would be best if you left and visited him occasionally—if you really wanted to spend time with him."
"I think he wants me here," she admitted. "I'm going to stay, if that's all right."
While she was talking, Mr. Khan pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at it. He grimaced and stood.
"I'm afraid I've outstayed my welcome," he said, tucking his phone back in. "If you really want to stay, I guess I can't force you to come. Just…please be careful, Christine. All right? I'll try to come back later to check up on you." He looked at her one last time and then hurried out the door. Now that he was leaving, Christine could clearly see that no sunlight poured in through the door while it was open. She felt so stupid for never having noticed it before. Underneath the Opera House…Erik had made that remark about his roof being well-insulated. She scoffed a little.
As she was cleaning up the tea mess, she heard the door open and close again, and this time she knew it was Erik. She wiped her hands dry and then went out to see him. He was looking around the front room, and his eyes narrowed a little. When he saw her, he paused for a moment and then said,
"Did you enjoy Nadir's visit?"
Christine gaped a little. He knew—there was no attempt trying to hide it. Then she felt a blush sting her cheeks, and she said quickly, "Um…I guess so. But—how did you…?"
Erik chuckled a little; perhaps not as nicely as she would have liked. "Christine, surely you must realize by now that Erik knows everything. Now. Tell me what he said to you."
"Oh—oh." She pushed some hair out of her face and behind her ears, and then she let her hand drop to her neck, automatically wanting to tug at her necklace. When she felt bare skin and remembered, she forced her hand to drop to her side quickly, fisting it. She needed to get it into her head that the necklace was not there anymore. "Uh…Well. He just asked if I was doing okay and stuff. I said I was fine. He kept asking me why I was here. And Erik? Really—why am I here? I mean, I like it, it's fine. I just feel like…I dunno. I don't want to bother you or pester you. You're a really busy guy. I don't want my staying here to interfere with your life."
"You are here because I wish for you to be here," Erik said smoothly. "It is my wish for you to remain with me. Your voice is on the threshold. You will advance so much here, Christine. Nadir does not understand such things. No one else understands what we do. They cannot understand our music."
He was right, of course. Christine hadn't met anyone who could feel the connection like Erik did. Maybe there were others out there, but Erik was here, and he understood. She nodded.
"And Nadir said that—that we're under the Opera House. Is that true, too? Is that why I could never go out?"
Erik laughed again. "Location, location, location. I had hoped you would be pleased. You have never left the Opera House! You are where you belong—ensconced in a place that is built on music. We belong here, Christine. You and I. Together."
She stared at him, wondering if he was being serious. His eyes looked…frightening. Almost a little desperate. They had an unnatural glow that was making her feel very uncomfortable. With a forced smile, she tugged at her hair and dropped her gaze.
"But you wish to go out," Erik continued, and his voice was softer. "That is understandable. You are not accustomed to this world. Perhaps in a few days we might venture out. Would you enjoy that?"
Christine nodded immediately. "Yeah. I really would. Thanks."
"It is my pleasure to see that you are happy here," Erik said, and his voice was so soft and so genuine that she was startled. She remembered the first times she had seen him and spoken to him. He had been so harsh and mean and bitter—he had made her cry countless times. And now she was here, staying with him and listening as he told her that he wanted her to be happy during her stay.
And maybe...She looked at his glowing eyes...Maybe she could be.