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Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, ect. If I still need to tell you this, then you really need help.
Erik, Madame Giry, and Christine sat down at the kitchen table. If there was a drawing room, they would have gone there, but the house on the lake was unlike other houses. Most other houses were not subterranean and did not possess a torture chamber. Mme. Giry told Erik and Christine about Raoul's letter, her alarm, how she came back to Paris. Then she recounted how she wrote a letter to the police, saying that she had information on the unresolved Phantom of the Opera mystery.
"You didn't tell them the truth?" Erik had asked, incensed, after hearing that part of the story.
"No," the ballet mistress replied evenly, "You know I wouldn't do that. I told them a false story."
In her letter, she had told the police that she didn't have transportation to the police headquarters in Paris, where they told her to go if she had any information during the investigation. Graciously, the gendarmes provided her with a carriage. The strange affairs at the opera and the police's inability to find the opera ghost had been a severe blow to their pride. They were more than willing to get Madame Giry a carriage if it helped them save face, though they had already been publicly humiliated.
"How is Meg?" Christine asked eagerly when Mme. Giry was finished.
"She misses you, my dear. I think that she also misses dancing," Madame Giry said.
"You're cousins' house must be boring to her."
"You will see for yourself," the older woman said with a warm smile.
Once more, Erik tensed up visibly, and his golden eyes flashed dangerously. Madame Giry's simple statement was all that it took to rouse Erik's indomitable fury.
"Christine stays here," Erik said; the beauty of his voice countered by a hard firmness.
Christine nearly jumped out of her seat from her indignation. What the hell does he think he's doing? What right does he have to decide this?
"I will not let her go," Erik added.
"Erik, you cannot do that," Madame Giry said firmly, unafraid of Erik's anger, frighteningly swift it had been.
"How will you top me?" he asked. Erik's question hung in the air, awaiting an answer.
Silence.
There was no answer to it. There was no way that Madame Giry was going to stop Erik, especially when he was in a temper like this one. . All the older woman could do was try to ride out the storm at this point. She could try to influence him and protest, but ultimately, he had the power over her. All the older woman could do was try to ride out the storm at this point. Somehow, it always seemed as though he was in control.
"Why?" Christine asked. The word was sharp and quick; everything about her tone conveyed her resentment over what Erik had just said.
"Because I don't want you to go." Erik sounded calmly matter-of-fact, but he possessed to most deceptive voice in the world. Inside, he felt horribly guilty. I cannot let her go. It would be my undoing, but I hate to see her like this. Why must I be subjected to this?
"Erik..."Madame Giry began.
"No," he cut her off, "Christine stays with Erik. If you cannot accept that then leave."
"Fine," said the ballet mistress, standing up,"But you may want to rethink this." With just an apologetic look at Christine, she left.
Christine and Erik sat in an uncomfortable silence until the footsteps died away. Both of them were still fuming. Christine now had another cause for anger; Erik had driven away Madame Giry before Christine could talk to her sufficiently, effectively chaining her back to the brutal cycle that the ballet mistress's arrival could have broken.
"Why are you doing this?" Christine turned on him suddenly. Why won't he let me go? He did it before. I'll never understand him...that monster.
"If I tried to explain it to you, my dear, you would never understand. I am sorry," his voice was tinged with real regret.
I am sorry. Is this the first time he had ever apologized to me? She replayed her conversations with Erik mentally. Before, he never seemed to regret anything. He's sorry that he's keeping me here, but he doesn't regret taking Joseph Bouquet's life. Or anyone else's'. How many people has he killed? He had always seemed to be confident in what ever he was doing. This was a rare time she that she glimpsed the more fragile part of him, rather than the blazing angry madman or the sensitive musical genius. Erik honestly is a mystery.
Or, rather, he loved her, not that Christine considered that. That was the real solution to the puzzle.
Erik finally stood up and walked over to his organ. He had so many emotions he needed to vent. Guilt, frustration, love, and a secret, smug, satisfaction that Christine was with him, not Raoul, even if it did upset her. Disappointment and anger flavored the stew, too. I am such a selfish creature. A demon like me doesn't deserve an angel like her. She is the true Angel of Music, not me. She had it backwards. If she could hear his thoughts, Christine would tell Erik to stop berating himself. She did not think that he was a demon, just her poor, unhappy Erik.
Listening to his music, Christine could hear the self-loathing resounding through the melody he played. Don Juan? No, that's simply angry and jealous. This must be new. She listened for a moment because it was exquisite in an odd sort of way that defined most of what Erik wrote. It was unique in its own right. I've heard it said that what we write reflects us somehow. Everything he sang or wrote was beautiful. Is Erik beautiful? His work certainly was. If only the world could see. The one chance he had to show his creation to the world in its full glory had been ruined by Christine. If I were him, I'd be angry at myself. He never was. Erik is forgiving that way. She listened once more to the music, letting it give her an insight to his mind. Only in his music were emotions expressed so readily and blatantly. Christine was sure she had never heard anything like it, not even the music her father played came close. It was as though the physical mask he wore supplanted the intangible mask other composers wore, hesitating to put their real emotion into their compositions. What he put into the pieces was more than simple notes and rhythms; it was his emotions, pure, unadulterated, and true. There's something distinctive in that that's really quite special.
Listening to the organ gave Christine a clear picture of how Erik felt. It always had. It was just as intimate as a heart to heart talk with him because this way, there was nothing that he could hide. Everything was laid out right at Christine's feet. She could understand him in a way she could never before.
Recalling the moment even years later, her hindsight was clear. Even before the point she was at now, she had simply listened to the music, and hear his emotions, but now, she felt them. It could be compared to the way that the best actors become the character, rather than portraying them. She let herself feel.
Her stomach also squirmed with unease. It felt strange, knowing so much about him, yet him knowing so little about her. Closing her eyes, she continued to revel in the organ's sound and let herself go through what Erik was and connect with him. They had been friends now, and the fibers that bound them suddenly wound all the tighter. But the awkwardness that had wormed its way into her mind ruined the effect that the music just had before. I know so little about him, but he knows so much about me. All that Christine knew about Erik's history was what Madame Giry told her; she knew nothing else. There was bound to be more, and she was sure that there were some things that Erik wouldn't mind telling her. The subject of his parents, for instance, was one thing that she was sure he knew at least a little about. Everyone has parents, no? Christine wanted to bridge the gap and understand all that happened to him before she was there. Erik had observed her for years, and yet she had gone a while not knowing that he was human!
There was only one roadblock that prevented Christine from asking all of the questions that swirled around her head; fear. Christine was scared to get inside Erik's head for fear of what she would find there. Erik's nature was a wild, irrational and untamable thing, and there were many sides and paradoxes within it. He was violent, yet childlike, and ragingly angry, yet gentle. Human nature made Christine shy away from the dark unknown, but the part of her touched by his love and music longed to reach out to him and touch the very object of her fears back. The sides of Christine were at war, much like they had been when she was forced to choose between Erik and Raoul. For the most part, she wanted to stay with Raoul and safety, light, and all the things she had dreamed about as a child. The small fraction of her that wanted to stay with Erik, the darker side that had mostly been silenced was making war with the rest of her. To that part of her, being with Erik meant life with someone who cared about her deeply and a fantasy world of music far away from everything else. The portion that wanted to stay with Erik was a small rebel group calling for a coup. It was minute, but that didn't stop it from crying out, "Erik! Choose Erik! Have no fear!"
Inside the poor young woman, there was a war, and she would never be truly happy until she let one side triumph. Would she reach out to her angel or cringe away from the monster? At the moment, there was no clear winner, either one could prevail. She would know when she reached the next point, the point of no return.