To Those Without Pity

"All that we don't know is astonishing. Even more astonishing is what passes for knowing." -Philip Roth

"Nadir."

The remark was clipped at best, and I fought to conceal the gnawing apprehension that was consuming me. It seemed that not a day had passed since I last saw him—his mask was precisely as it once was, and his eyes held the same stony indifference that had always characterized him.

"What do you want?" he asked sharply, his eyes flashing with disdain that thinly clouded a deeper sense of anxiety. Never before had I seen him so uneasy, and it took me a moment to respond.

"I would like to come in," I said, my tone inundated with amicability. "I believe that is the etiquette for old friends." I smiled warmly, but his expression did not so much as flicker.

"You are not welcome here," he hissed in a low voice, his eyes narrowing further. Before I could utter another word, he continued on in an even deadlier tone. "I know full well why you're here, and I will not abide by it."

"I'm not sure what you mean," I replied cautiously, but I knew what was coming before he said it.

"I've known about your association with the police since the moment you came to Paris. And I will by no means allow you to come into this house and destroy what I've created."

"Who's there?"

These words brought about the most wonder within me, for the moment Erik heard them, I saw something strange invade his features. And what a beautiful sight that fleeting moment of adoration was, barely discernable in his eyes as he turned around.

With his body out of the way, I saw Christine for the first time, standing in the front hall with a bewildered expression on her face. She looked vastly different from when I saw her during Don Juan. She had been overcome with stress at that time, and was frantic with worry at every moment, but a different woman stood before me at this moment. She was paler than she had been, and her eyes looked tired; it was in her frail wrists that I could tell she had become thinner. And yet, there was a newfound wisdom that graced her features, which made me nearly forget how gaunt she looked.

"My name is Nadir," I said quickly, pushing aside all thoughts of her appearance. Erik turned back and glared at me, but I continued before he could object. "I am a friend of Erik's."

Rather than continue to throw his maligning gaze at me, Erik turned to Christine to gauge her reaction. I couldn't have been luckier, for rather than dwelling in hesitation, her face lit up. Perhaps she rejoiced in the fact that Erik had a friend, even if he would never admit to it. I was even more fortunate that the moment Erik saw her elation, he couldn't bear to say anything otherwise.

Suddenly, she was rushing towards us, and Erik stepped out of the way just as Christine held out her hand to me, her eyes bright with glowing encouragement. I wished to keep my eyes on Erik, but I resisted that urge and met her gaze.

"Welcome to our home." I took her hand slowly, suddenly watching her every move in disbelief. My eyes shifted back to Erik, and I saw him register those words—our home—and he reluctantly opened the door further, allowing me to enter.

"Why don't you two go to the library so that you can catch up? I'll prepare some tea," she offered, closing the door once I had stepped in. Was she always this obliging, or was she just pleased to have someone else in the house?

"It's always tea," I heard Erik mutter, and I barely caught Christine's smile falter minutely before she bounded off for the kitchen.

The moment she was out of sight, Erik's eyes met mine once more with smoldering irritation. "You dare to use my wife in order to come into this house? You dare to take advantage of her good nature?"

I didn't hear, though, for my mind had halted on his first words. "Your wife?" I couldn't conceal my shock, and he didn't pretend to overlook it.

"Come," he said crisply, not bothering to indicate a direction before beginning off down a hallway contrary to where Christine had gone. We walked in silence, and the sound of our footsteps echoing throughout the space made my trepidation mount. The instant we entered the room and the door clicked behind us, he was speaking once again in that low, animalistic tone.

"If you upset her in any way, I will end you. Her presence is the only reason I haven't done so already, and I will not have you troubling her." With that, he turned and stalked over to a chair, sitting down moodily without offering me a seat. Nevertheless, I swallowed hard and followed him, sinking down into a seat across from him.

"You're married…" I said after a moment, struggling to maintain eye contact as he stared at me challengingly.

"I am," he snapped without apology, clearly prepared for any misdirected word I might say that would give him an excuse to pounce.

"Forgive me for being candid," I began nevertheless, prepared for an interruption that I did not receive. "But did she consent to this union?" The double-meaning was evident, but he did not falter.

"Is that such a shock, that she could love me?" he contested, cocking an eyebrow in blatant opposition. He was prodding, waiting patiently for me to make some mistake, but I would not fold so easily.

"Does she?" I dared in return, primed for his subtle backlash. I could see the vehemence in his limbs as they stiffened, his hands gripping the arms of the chair heatedly. I remained calm, though, fully aware that the success of this conversation was fully dependent on my reactions. Therefore, I remained stoically still, blocking any negative judgments towards him that were brewing within me.

He maintained his threatening stance for several moments, watching me with discerning eyes until he finally leaned back in the chair in some kind of petulant defeat, crossing his arms. This worried me more, for when he became childish, he didn't throw tantrums—he found someone to murder. Still, I held my ground.

"So I take it the marriage was less than traditional," I offered diplomatically, hoping that my serenity would pacify him. Rather, he laughed cynically, not bothering to hide the malice lacing it.

"We're truly married, if that's what you're asking. It's a proper union," he spat, watching me with some kind of twisted pleasure. His grin only widened when he saw my breath catch at his words, and concern flood my features.

"A true union?" I asked in disbelief, the words painfully articulated. Images that I dared not see crossed my mind, and I almost shuddered to even consider such things. The thought of Erik violating the young girl was inconceivable, unless of course Christine had somehow consented. But then, how could she consent after what had occurred with Raoul? With these thoughts racing through my mind, I saw his smirk indeed fall without a pause, and his expression became unreadable.

"No," he said finally, looking towards the fireplace that was softly crackling. "I would not do that to her." It wasn't sorrow or regret that played behind his eyes, but something different that I could not identify.

I didn't have much of a chance to speculate, though, for Christine had entered the room with a tray of tea. She deftly moved towards the table that separated Erik and I and set down the tea tray, before handing me a cup and saucer.

"I made his Russian for you. I assumed that if you were old friends, you might share his love of bitter tea," she said genially. "But if not, I brought another cup with something milder." She motioned to another cup and saucer, and I smiled to her warmly.

"The Russian is perfect," I told her, my eyes flickering to Erik, who was watching her with a shaded reverence which he hid the moment she turned to hand him his tea. He murmured a small word of thanks, which she looked almost surprised at. Nevertheless, once she had served us both, she made a move to leave.

"No, please," I said quickly, reaching out a hand to signal for her to stop. "You've been the perfect hostess, Mademoiselle," I began, but Erik cut me short.

"Madame," he corrected plainly, his lips pursing at the mistake. Yes of course, she was married now…

"My apologies—Madame. Please come and sit with us."

She looked confused for a moment, but then finally conceded. "I'll just sit over here. I don't want to interrupt," she said politely as she moved towards a chair in the far corner, only stopping to take a book off the shelf before sitting down.

I opened my mouth to stop her once again and invite her to join us, but Erik read my impulse and interjected before I had the chance. "This is not your home," he said with the slow and deadly clarity that was so common with him. "Let her do as she pleases."

I nodded silently, though I couldn't take my eyes off of her. "She looks different." My voice had lowered to accommodate her presence, and I spoke with as much self-control as I could. I didn't want to risk riling him up, but I also knew that we couldn't remain in some passive limbo.

"She looks precisely the same as when you saw her," he growled quietly, though I saw him sneak a glance towards her, just to make sure. When he was satisfied with this glimpse, he looked back smugly without another word.

"She's pale," I replied without missing a beat, once again determined to study his every move as his features hardened defensively. "And she looks dreadfully thin. Do you give her nothing but tea?" I asked with more spite than I had intended. This evidently hit a nerve, and he looked once more to Christine, who was reading obliviously with no sign that she had heard a word we were saying.

"Erik, I'm afraid that you're killing her, keeping her indoors and not taking proper care of her," I said before I could process the words that were coming out of my mouth, and I knew immediately that they were not the right things to say. Immediately, he leaned forward in his chair, every bit of hatred he could muster directed unswervingly towards me.

"You know nothing of our life here. I do let her out. She was at church just today," he hissed, though I could read the defensive nature of his words. Though I may not have been wholly correct, there must have been some seed of truth that was resounding throughout him. "And I brought her out even after we were seen at the park. Which is invariably why you're here, I suppose." His tone was purely mocking, and I could see just how terribly he wished to lunge forward and attack me.

"I will not deny that he was the reason we found out about your whereabouts—…" I began, but he stopped me before I could carry on.

"We?" he asked, bitterness evident in his tone. "You and that Prideux and the ever-insufferable Philippe de Chagny?" He raised an eyebrow, as if to dare me to deny my affiliations. When I didn't respond, Erik leaned back in his chair and watched me with a smolderingly livid expression. "I would like you to leave, Khan."

"And I would like to speak to your wife." Wife…The word felt foreign of my tongue, but I hid my involuntary detachment. After all, despite never having consummated the union, they were still legally bound in marriage. If what Erik said was true, that is.

"Absolutely not," he replied without a second's thought, no visible sign of acquiescence in his body.

My eyes travelled to Christine, who was still enraptured with whatever she was reading. Perhaps she felt my eyes on her, for she looked up after a moment and smiled briefly before looking back down without concern.

"It's the only way I'll leave you alone," I said as my eyes travelled back to Erik, who did not take the words well. He scoffed and crossed his arms once again, looking towards the fireplace resentfully. "I've already decided, Erik," I said sternly, shaking my head. "I must hear it from her own mouth without your presence looming over her."

"It?" he challenged with eerie equanimity. "And what exactly is it?"

"I need to hear that she is here of her own accord. That you are not forcing her into a life she does not wish to live," I told him simply as I gripped my teacup a bit tighter, hoping that he would grant me this.

"Does she look miserable?" he continued, his tone void of any harsh edge. "I do not keep her in a cage, and if she had wished to run away, she would have done so already." He seemed satisfied with this answer, but I certainly was not.

"But does she refrain from running away because she is happy, or simply because she knows what you're capable of? And what you would do to her?" I asked, and the thin ice I had been walking on since I entered the house shattered beneath me.

"I would never do a thing to harm her," he roared, rising in horror as his tea slipped out of his hands, shattering on the hardwood floor in a mess of porcelain, tea, and dregs. My eyes flew to Christine, who had let out a small gasp as she stood up, tossing her book behind her on the chair. Without saying a word, she rushed over and kneeled down before us.

"Let me clean this up for you," she murmured, already picking up the porcelain and placing the pieces in her bare hand. Both Erik and I instinctively moved towards her, both assuring her that she needn't do so, but she had already stood up, an unfazed smile on her lips. "No, please, sit down. I'll go get a rag and clean this right up. Please."

She had glided out of the room before either of us could utter another word, and we both sat down in silent embarrassment.

"I will allow you to speak with her," he said, and I looked up at him quickly, taken aback by the statement. He would not meet my eyes, though, as he continued. "You will come back tomorrow. If you dare to deceive me in any way or attempt to turn her against me, I cannot guarantee your safety. And don't you dare delude yourself into thinking that I am not completely and utterly dedicated to that threat."

"I would never take your words in jest," I replied solemnly, only just realizing that I had been holding my breath. As he looked at me, it became clear without a word that my welcome in his home had worn out, and we both stood up in understanding.

It wasn't until we reached the front hall when we heard Christine's voice behind us.

"You're leaving?" she asked and we turned around to see her there, a rag hanging limp in her hand.

"I will be back tomorrow," I said graciously, all too aware of Erik's stiff presence beside me. "Thank you for allowing me into your home."

"You're always welcome," she responded, and I felt Erik tense even more, if possible. "And merry Christmas!"

I couldn't stop myself from glancing to Erik, who was conveniently refusing to look at either of us, before I looked back to her. "Thank you, my dear."

Erik wasted no time in opening the door and ushering me out without a word, exchanging no pleasantries before he closed the door behind me. I could barely discern the sound of calm voices behind the door, and when I was confident that they would not quarrel tonight, I took my leave.

I was encroaching on a world that was not mine, and I still couldn't say what my motives were, or what I truly hoped to accomplish. What a terrible place to be—I knew that I could not stand by and do nothing, if only because of my overactive conscience; yet I was painfully sensitive to the fact that Erik would have no remorse if I crossed him. But we were bound to honor the others' debts, and more importantly, he wouldn't dare disregard me if he knew it meant the loss of Christine.

I craved to know the ending, to understand how this farce would resolve; and yet, more than anything, I dreaded to know what would become of us when this twisted narrative came to a close.

My apologies for the slight delay—it took some finessing to get the stories to converge as I wanted them to. I hope you enjoyed it! It was a pleasure to write Erik and Christine's story from a new point of view and throw new eyes into the equation. Please let me know what you think, and as always, thank you for each and every review. Cheers!

Until next time,

Christine