To Those Without Pity

"We cross bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once, our eyes watered." -Tom Stoppard

"I love you, Christine. With all my heart, I love you."

The words brought chills down her spine, and she smiled demurely as she felt a blush rise on her cheeks. "I love you too, Raoul." The words were quiet, nearly inaudible for her fear that someone may hear. He seemed to have little anxiety, though, as he let a finger brush her cheek.

"I want you to be my wife," he told her, affection swimming in his eyes. "If you will have me for a husband." His infectious smile brought a smile to her own lips, and she let out a small breath of air.

"Oh, Raoul…" she murmured, though thoughts already began to race through her mind. Thoughts of Erik.

"I want to be with you forever, and I don't want to wait. We can get away from all this madness, Christine." A fraction of his warmth had faded and been replaced with the faintest hints of worry, for they both knew that when he said madness, he meant Erik.

"I don't know what to say," Christine began, swallowing hard as he began to speak again.

"Say yes!" he entreated, trying to illicit another smile. "We will go far away, back to Sweden if you want. We can forget what has happened—…"

"I cannot leave him." Christine cut him off more sharply than she had intended, and she felt her heart ache as she saw the hurt expression cross his face. With grave reticence, she watched as he contemplated his next move, the silence all but deafening her.

"If you want me to…To leave you alone… All you must do is tell me."

And as she looked at Raoul in that moment, witnessing how painful it was for him to utter these words, all thoughts of Erik flew her mind. Suddenly, a man stood before her who completed her, someone who adored her, would provide for her and would never leave her. What else could she possibly hope for in another man?

"I want to marry you," she said before she knew that the words were leaving her mouth. "I want to be with you forever."

As the smile broke out on his face and he met her in a kiss, thoughts of Erik slipped back into her mind again, like a ever-present poison. Was he watching her in this very moment? What would he do? For surely he would do something. She was laying down a path as she stood there, and she had a sinking feeling that it would not end in Sweden, and it would not end with Raoul.

"My sweet, you must wake up." Christine's focus flew back to Raoul, who was looking at her expectantly, a hint of pity in his features.

"What?" she asked slowly, holding her breath as she watched him sigh regretfully.

"He's watching you. He's waiting."

Her eyes flew open suddenly as she gasped involuntarily. They were still in the carriage, but she could feel that it had stopped. Lifting her head from the window she had been leaning on, she turned towards Erik who was, indeed, watching her.

"I'm sorry," she murmured sheepishly, sitting up quickly and tucking a few strands of stray hair behind her ear.

"No need to apologize," he replied, his voice revealing nothing.

After watching him for a moment, she turned uncomfortably and looked out the window, though not before noticing that the driver was not present. "Where are we?" Her eyes passed over several different buildings within their vicinity, until it stopped on a nondescript building nearest to the carriage. Nondescript, save for the small cross situated over the rustic, wooden doors. Her eyes widened as he spoke.

"A church." She turned and he studied her for a moment before letting his gaze wander back to the building. "I'm aware of your… Fixation with your God, and so I found a church. I spoke to the priest while you slept and he will perform the union."

Christine's jaw hung slack as she stared at him in alarm. "Erik, I cannot…" She struggled for the words at first, but forced herself to continue. "I cannot be your wife, not now." Dread sat at the pit of her stomach as she watched his muscles tense irately.

"You recall what you said, do you not?" In her peripheries, she could see him clenching his fists in an attempt to remain calm, though she pretended not to notice.

"I didn't know what I was saying!" she pleaded, though she knew her appeals would fall on deaf ears.

"But you said it. I believe the word you used was forever, and that means marriage." His lips narrowed when she didn't speak, and he squared off his shoulders indignantly. "Or so your faith says."

"Why must you be so condescending?" she demanded, tightening her jaw. His taunts of Raoul were excruciating, but his ridicule of God hit an even deeper chord that she could not describe.

He did not continue mocking her faith, though. Instead, he let out a sigh, watching her with hardened features. "I came here because I thought it would please you." He paused, and she could see his mind working away in this reprieve. "Your love of your God is… Is astonishing, and I thought that He would make you happy. Less…Reluctant to marry such a beast as me."

Her anger diminished and swallowed with difficulty. "You might take care to stop calling him my God. He's your God, too. He watches over us all, Erik," she said gently.

These were not the correct words, evidently. Immediately, Erik's defenses were reinforced, and he was looking on her with the same cold expression. "God forsook me long ago. I have no God." With that, he threw open the carriage door and marched to the other side, opening hers and reaching a gloved hand to help her out. "Come."

Christine extended a shaky hand to grasp his and stumbled as she was led out of the carriage. Whether he didn't notice or didn't care, she wasn't sure, but he pulled her into the church without a word.

She was calmer than she expected as she looked around the interior. The regret and disquiet that had pulsed through her veins had dulled, and she felt numb as her eyes ran over the empty pews. The only other being sat in the front pew, and he turned his head slightly as they entered.

"Come in, come in." His gravelly voice indicated extreme age, as did his bent and unsteady figure.

Erik let go of her arm and they walked slowly down the aisle to meet the aged priest. It wasn't until they were only a few feet from the man, who was now standing before them, that she saw his milky white eyes. Of course he had found a blind man to perform the service—how could she expect anything else?

They wasted no time with pleasantries, and before she knew what was happening, the priest was reciting vows. Part of her knew she had to fight back, for she wasn't meant to marry this man. The man she was to marry was dead, and she could not betray him. What kind of woman would that make her?

But her mouth remained dutifully closed, her body and emotions deadened. Erik's eyes were on her, but she could manage neither a smile, nor a frown. Nevertheless, if he had expected a dutiful fiancée to stand beside him and exhibit counterfeit joy, he didn't show it. And so in sedation, she repeated the vows the sightless priest murmured and let Erik slip the ring on her finger, somehow unfeeling and uncaring.

It wasn't until he priest spoke of a kiss to seal the union that she was brought back to reality. Erik stared at her for several seconds, perhaps gauging whether she would make a move or not. When she only looked down to the ground, he reached out and took her hand. She was still taken aback by the chill of his skin, but she did her best not to flinch as he brought her hands to his lips, placing a small kiss on her knuckles. And as he pulled away, she saw more than heard him murmur in adoration, "My living wife…"

There were no cordialities after the wedding. She stood still at the front of the church as Erik spoke quietly to the priest, exchanging what looked like a document and a fair amount of money. Her new husband returned to her and placed a hand on her back in order to lead her out of the church.

"God bless you," came the call of the priest as they opened the doors, and Christine felt his grip tighten on her shoulder as he heard the words.

The numbness that had engulfed her over that short time faded away as they re-entered the carriage. She sat in the back while Erik spoke to the now-present driver, and her insides began to knot up in despair. This was not how her life was meant to unfold. Not two days ago, she had planned to marry Raoul in a glorious and extravagant wedding. There were supposed to be bouquets of flowers everywhere, and strands of ribbon decorating the pews. She was meant to have the most beautiful white dress she could possibly imagine, and she had been fated to share an unforgettable wedding night as the new Viscountess de Chagny.

Her wedding night…The mere thought nearly made her vomit. Erik had said nothing of their future, immediate or otherwise. What could he possibly expect out of her? Whether or not she liked it, their marriage had been ordained under God, and she knew what that meant. But the thought of allowing this man his divine right—Erik, who had murdered the man she was meant to spend the rest of her life with—brought tears of dread to her eyes.

Erik didn't miss her expression when he stepped into the carriage and they began to move once again. Wiping at her eyes, Christine turned to look out the window in hopes of escaping his wrath. He did not ridicule her, though, but he did continue to watch her.

Perhaps he expected her to ask where they were going next, but she did not. Therefore, he obliged in informing her on his own. "We're going to Boscherville—it'll take most of the day to travel there, I'm afraid." When she still didn't respond or show any sign of having heard him, he continued. "I have a house there. You will sleep comfortably tonight."

She fought back another wave of revulsion, and took a deep, calming breath. "I didn't know you had another home," she murmured. Unsure if he had heard her, she turned towards him slightly.

"I wouldn't call it another home. It is simply a residence—one of many I've obtained around the world." She knew he didn't mean to speak with condescension, but the tone of his voice made her turn away again. "I was born in Boscherville," he said, a pained quality barely evident in his voice.

"Oh…" Fiddling with the ring that laid heavy on her hand, she felt her mind wander. He had told her so little of his past; in fact, the very thought of him being born somewhere hadn't ever crossed her mind. "You have family there?" she asked idly, barely aware that she had even spoken.

"No," he replied sharply. It was apparent that it was agonizing for him to speak of himself and his past—each word he had said seemed to be torn unwillingly from his mouth. Perhaps he felt a need for honesty with his wife. The thought made Christine shiver. "I haven't been to the house since my mother died there. But that was a lifetime ago." He paused before turning to stare out the window as well. "I thought I would sell it years ago. But somehow I thought it would become helpful one day."

"Why is that?" Her curiosity had never served her well, and she couldn't help but endeavor to unravel his mysterious words. It was an addiction, really, to try to understand the incomprehensible.

"Even the few who know me would never think to look for me there."

As per usual, in her attempts to uncover the unknown she only became more puzzled. "I don't understand," she said timidly, not sure if she was meant to.

Erik turned back to look at her, studying her for several moments, reading her expression. He turned back to the window before he spoke, though, his own features unreadable. "No, you wouldn't."

And so, without knowing how or why, they both seemed to understand that the conversation was over.

It was hard to believe that they could truly remain silent for the entire journey, but they did. Eight hours passed swifter than should be feasible. It was an inexplicable characteristic that time had, really. How could it be possible that the things we dread most have a terrifyingly obliging way of meeting us at breakneck speeds?

Therefore, with every second that Christine thought about what would occur that night, the sun seemed to glide even faster across the sky. There were several times that she worked herself into such a panic that she felt herself getting light-headed and nauseous. Right when she was about to ask Erik to stop the carriage, though, it subsided, and time continued to pass her by. When the sun was at its highest, Erik silently offered her some food that the driver had gotten while he was away, but she denied it politely. She didn't wait to see if he chose to partake in the food, but she assumed he didn't—she had never seen him eat, after all.

They didn't arrive at their destination until well after the sun had set. The stillness of the carriage was off-putting after so much travelling, but Christine welcomed the ground as Erik opened the door for her. Without saying a word to her or the driver, he began to lead her towards the house. A lurch of uneasiness came over her as the carriage lumbered away, and they were left alone in front of this dark, old house.

She didn't have much time to take in its appearance once Erik had taken a key out of his coat and opened the door. In disturbing silence, he set down his valise and violin case and began to lead her through the house, his hand resting lightly on her back. It was dark as ink, and she was overwhelmed by the musty smell that typified unused houses as she was led blindly down hallways and around corners. When they reached a room at the end of the hallway, he let his hand fall away as he began to rifle through cupboards, bent on finding something. How he could see a thing, she had no idea, for all she could see were his two glowing eyes as he turned back to her.

And then the darkness was gone. Just like that, he struck a match and lit a candle that he had evidently procured from the cupboard, and set it down on the table. She could see now that it was a small dining room, made for only a handful of people to reside in. After her eyes scanned the room, they moved back to Erik who had set down a small bag she had not seen previously.

"I would like you to eat while I prepare a room," he said plainly, clasping his hands behind his back. "You haven't eaten since before Don Juan, and I can't have you becoming ill."

The frankness in his words struck her even as he walked out of the room. Don Juan… It hadn't crossed her mind to eat over the course of the last day and a half. And had it truly been less than two days since that night? Somehow, her heart did not ache with the sharp pain brought on by immediate sorrow, but rather with that dull grief that only time can bring. Indeed, somewhere between the stage of The Palais Garnier and Boscherville, she had been hardened and even jaded in her thoughts of the world that surrounded her—a numb vessel.

She couldn't taste the food that she had once declined in the carriage, though she knew she must eat, and not only for Erik's sake. Her fingers were shaking from lack of sustenance and a flood of unease, and she could feel the throb of a headache behind her eyes. And so, she forced each bite until she had finished, and sat dutifully at the table in silence. Even so, as he returned for her and began to lead her to another part of the house, she was still visibly shaken. If he noticed, he made no indication.

When he opened the door to the room, she scrutinized it carefully. It was well furnished, albeit dated. A beautiful canopied bed was the centerpiece of the room, and once her eyes had locked on it, she could not look away.

"I'm afraid I could bring none of your own clothing along, for obvious reasons. I've found a few nightgowns of my mother's if you'd like to be more comfortable. I will be sure to have new clothes for you by tomorrow." In her daze, she nearly missed the acidic tone as he spoke of his mother. She didn't have long to dwell, though, before he had stepped back through the doorframe. "I will be back soon to ensure that everything is adequate."

Christine didn't move for several moments after his departure, and instead contemplated the room. With forced determination, though, she finally moved towards the armoire that he had gestured to, opening it to reveal several beautiful, yet antiquated gowns. Pulling out one of the nightgowns, she slowly slipped off her dress and drew it over her head. How odd it was to wear clothes that were not hers—clothes that she did not know and that did not know her. She reminded herself silently that this had once belonged to his mother, who had been dead for some time evidently, yet even that thought did not jolt her. What did alarm her was that bed, and her thoughts of what were to come. With uncertainty, she moved to the bed and sat down, brushing her fingers over the sheets.

When he opened the door, she wasn't sure how much time had passed. She was pulled out of her reverie immediately, though, and her eyes locked on his in apprehension.

"Is everything to your liking?" he asked quietly, clasping his hands behind his back as he stepped inside the room.

"Yes," she replied deliberately, her throat tightening as she spoke. She wasn't sure if she had ever been so conscious of his smallest movements as she fought to read his next move. Nevertheless, it was still a shock to see him slowly move towards the bed and sit next to her stiffly, his eyes not meeting hers once.

"Christine…" he half-whispered, staring down at his hands with chilled gloom. "You will not loathe me forever."

She thought that her heart was already racing, but when he uttered these words, it pounded away even harder. Her entire mouth had run dry and her breath seemed caught somewhere in her throat, leaving her inexplicably unable to make a sound. When he sensed this unrest, he looked up and examined her.

"Christine?" he began, but stopped as words finally spilled out of her mouth.

"I cannot do this, Erik." Between her words and Erik's expression, she could barely contain her nausea. "I am fully aware of your rights as a husband, but I cannot do what you want." Tears threatened to fill her eyes in anticipation, though she quelled them as he slowly stood up with his eyes locked on her.

"What a despicable creature I must be…That you would think I would ever…violate you." He struggled, and the words seemed to be wrenched from his mouth. His difficulty forced him to look away, and he moved back to the doorway despondently. "It brings me great sorrow that you think so lowly of me, Christine," he murmured without looking back at her once as he exited the room.

And so she was left in enigmatic silence, staring at the door as the same pangs of sorrow struck her own heart.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Before I forget, I want to address the fact that I changed several marriage traditions and proceedings for the sake of the story. Do forgive me for not being precisely accurate, but I felt it necessary. Also, I made an immense effort to get out a handful of chapters before the next semester started. Unfortunately, college always slows me down, so don't be alarmed if chapters don't come out with the same expediency. I'm still writing and still working! And so, to make up for this, I wanted to give you a nice long and particularly juicy chapter. I'd love to hear what you think—I appreciate each and every review more than you know!

Until Next Time,

Christine