To Those Without Pity

"At the center of your being you have the answer; you know who you are and you know what you want." -Lao Tzu

You know that he murdered Raoul.

The words resounded through her mind with throbbing purity, and time passed meaninglessly as she sat in her room, encompassed in a still reverie. Her silent vigil had begun as soon as she parted ways with Nadir, and she thanked the heavens that Erik didn't come to find her after his friend's visit. Her mind raced without pause, but no matter how she spun it, the outcome was the same. How was she to love a man who had killed Raoul? How was she to love a man who had killed anyone?

But then again, how couldn't she? The very thought of being separated from him made her ill, for she couldn't deny her innate and inexplicable attachment to him. And when she thought back and recalled the past, she always thought first of the good he had done—of the park, and of their music, and the church, and his comforting arms after her petrifying nightmare. Of course, on further thought, the less pleasant sides of him came to mind—her nearly constant fear of his heated nature, his actions on the night of Don Juan and its aftermath, his abhorrence towards God—but they all seemed shaded by his brilliance. And more than anything, this instinct she felt to ignore his faults, no matter how grave, frightened her to her very core.

She turned her options over and over in her head, but no solution presented itself. Either she left Erik and lost a man she needed to hold on to and feared his wrath for the rest of her life, or she stayed with him, disgracing Raoul's memory and discounting any love she had for him. But then, was love something that was so exclusive? After all, she had loved her father, and yet she had also loved Raoul, and something in her loved Erik as well. Yes, each of these loves was singular, as if they were different facets of the same gem.

Still, this did not satisfy her. Too much of her mind was screaming that she had to choose one, that it was an exclusive sensation that could only be felt once. And the idea of denying her love and affection of Raoul seemed ludicrous—unless, of course it had been only affection.

Christine had already drifted out the door of her room before she realized that she had even stood up. Her senses mutely noted the darkness flooding the windows as she glided mindlessly through the house, not quite knowing what her destination would be. Her mind didn't fully grasp her movements until she had stopped in the music room, with nowhere else to go. Her eyes glided over the contents of the room and stopped on the covered piano—the piano he had never touched, always preferring to make music with his violin.

The thick layer of dust that covered the untreated wood was evident as she toed near it. Without thinking twice, she felt her hands gravitate towards it, and she gently lifted the cover to reveal the cracked ivory beneath. The instrument had not been touched in countless years—it had the air of a neglected masterwork, always yearning to be played once again.

She had slid into the piano bench before a beat had passed, and her fingers brushed weightlessly over the yellowed keys. Gently, she let the weight of her index finger push down one key, and the twang of unused strings reverberated softly through the room. It was far from perfect—the piano clearly hadn't been tuned in recent memory—and yet it brought an indisputable smile to her face. And with that small joy emanating through her veins, she let her second hand come up in order to play.

It was all muscle memory, to be truthful. It was a simple two-handed tune that her father had taught her years ago, and her fingers clumsily plucked it out. Her mind got in the way as it tried to correct her fingers and show them where they ought to land, but when she finally let her thoughts fly, her muscles found their way. Nothing extravagant or remarkable—merely an unfettered melody, easy enough for a young girl of another time to master and find pride in.

"What are you doing?"

Her fingers slipped off of the keys at the imposing words, and she turned fluidly to see Erik standing stonily in the doorframe. There was no hint of amusement in his masked features, and she stood up slowly, her eyelids drooping numbly as her deadened state returned to her once again.

"Did I ever give you permission to touch that?" he demanded, and she watched him wearily for a moment.

"No," she finally said, watching as he registered her expression. Although his appearance didn't soften, she felt a change in his tone as he held out a hand to her.

"Shall we go outside?" The words were just welcoming enough for her to grasp his hand and trek silently to the front door. Despite the hours of time that had lapsed since she had taken her walk with Nadir, she was still clad in the same coat, never having thought to take it off in her daze.

When they sat down on the front steps, Christine's eyes immediately drifted upwards to take in the velvety sky. The sliver of a moon overhead barely shrouded the stars, and they burned bright above their heads. In her peripheries, though, she could see that he was merely staring ahead into the distance, perhaps too wrapped up in other thoughts to remember the heavens above.

"It was my mother's piano," he said after a beat, and she slowly shifted her glance to look at him. "She forbade me to touch it, no matter how much I begged." It was evident from his words that this was merely the tip of the iceberg—that this story had far more depth than he would ever admit, but she did not push him. Nevertheless, she murmured an apology before looking back up at the stars with half-lidded eyes.

He was watching her. She could feel his eyes boring into her form, but she pushed back any discomfort she felt. And in truth, she was just barely beginning to accept the inevitability of always being watched by someone.

"He's said something to upset you," he understood solemnly, and she paused a moment before responding.

"Will you be cross with him if I say that he did?" she asked plainly, her face expressionless.

"I will kill him if he did," was Erik's easy response, and despite her qualms, Christine couldn't help but to smile vaguely at this.

"He merely reminded me of a few things," she said, though the thought of his acute words made the smile fade off of her lips. She saw him turn his head back to look out at the drive, and she continued to let her eyes drift across the skies with as much contentment as she could muster.

"Are you angry with me?" he pressed, and she could hear the subtle note of preemptive guilt in his voice. She knew in an instant that it was an indistinct question, for he could well be referring to his stern words regarding the piano, or something larger, something less concrete.

With this, she propped her elbows up with her knees, resting her head gently on her clasped hands as she looked hard at the ground before them. With every second, she could feel his alarm mounting, but nevertheless, it was some time before she could finally respond. "I don't know what to do, Erik," she murmured, her voice nearly carried away by the breeze.

"What did he say to you?" he urged, his voice significantly more insistent than the first time.

"Why did you kill him?" Finally, she looked at him head on, off-put by just how close he was, and constantly defying her desire to put more distance between them. Despite this, she felt that the lack of sensation from earlier in the day protected her from his relentless eyes, and she stayed mutely still. And with every moment she remained stoically motionless, she was astounded by his increasing vulnerability. How odd it was to see him cracking under her gaze, after so many years of falling prey to his severity.

"I couldn't bear the idea of losing you," he finally said, and she felt a wave of shivers crawl up her arms. "And I knew no other way to keep you from leaving." The words were weak, though he always had an innate sense of formidability that kept him from seeming feeble or pitiable.

"I would have stayed." The words were out of her mouth before she could process them, though the reverberating silence gave her ample time to consider them. But instead of keeping such thoughts in her head, she found herself voicing them almost impulsively.

"Those last few weeks were such a blur. I was caught up in so many things, and I didn't know how to stop." The words were surging from her lips and her numbness was finally lifting as she spoke dynamically at the ground. "Raoul was telling me things and I didn't know how I could not trust him, and you frightened me more than I could say, and I just wanted to be safe. And he told me the only way to be safe was with him," she continued, finally turning to look at him with disheartened eyes. "And I believed him."

She paused for an instant, but when he didn't respond, she looked back at the ground as a look of wonder crossed her features. "It's astonishing, really… It all seems so far away, and I can barely think of a thing that happened during that time." A moment elapsed in silence before Christine looked up slowly, her jaw slackening in realization. "My God…. I've met Nadir before." She turned to him, expecting the same shock, but he remained passive as he studied her. "How could I not recognize him earlier—he was working with the police…"

"Yes," he said without a falter, and her brow tensed in confusion.

"Is he truly your friend?" she pressed, her head cocking slightly as she grappled for understanding. This time, he didn't respond immediately, and she could see him turning his response over in his mind.

"That is one word for it," he sighed at last, and she could sense yet another profound story that was thinly veiled by his simple response. With this, they fell back into silence as they both turned their attention out to the swaying trees. It had only been a few minutes, though, when Christine found herself speaking once more with hesitation.

"I can't see what is right and what is wrong," she murmured as she gripped the concrete step with a bit more alacrity. "I will forget about Raoul for hours at a time, even days. And then all at once, it will all come back. And yet, each time it hits me, the pain has faded. And that seems criminal, to forget about the souls of the dead."

Instinctively, she prepared herself for a barrage of attacks from her husband, but they still did not come. Even as she looked at him, there was no irritation or anger behind his eyes, and she felt herself relax visibly.

"And then I see you, and I know what I should think and how I am meant to feel, but my mind seems to have stopped working completely, and I've started questioning if I ever loved Raoul, and if I was really destined to be here, with you, and…" She stopped her outburst dead, her eyes widening faintly as her lips wilted into a frown. "And why am I saying all of this to you?"

There was no arrogance in his face, nor did he even seem pleased with her words. Rather, he held that indecipherable expression that always perplexed her, and she resolved to let out a low sigh of contrition.

"Am I a terrible person for saying such things to you?" she questioned, her voice barely above a whisper as she stared pensively at him. He didn't break her gaze once, but shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"Christine, you are the kindest person I know." His tone did not match his unreadable features, for his words held nothing but warmth and esteem. She drank in his voice as she studied him, waiting for some indication of what she was meant to say next.

But then, ever so slowly, something else happened, something she had not quite planned. Intuitively, she felt herself leaning forward, closing the gap between them tentatively. Their resolute focus didn't break until her lips found his, and she closed her eyes with deference. As she pulled away, she felt her heart beating painfully against her chest, her breathing staggered as their eyes locked once again.

"Erik, I—…" she began, but felt herself stop short before any further utterances escaped her lips. He merely watched her, though, his eyes brimming with curiosity. Her breath caught in her throat, and she was at a loss for speech for a moment, before she finally cleared her throat and looked down at her hands uncertainly. "Can we go inside?"

She barely dared to look back up at him, but rather than disappointment or frustration, she found restful understanding in his eyes. He held out a hand and breathed, "Yes, of course," before helping her to stand. And as he moved to let go of her hand, she held tight as they entered the house, only releasing him when they wordlessly parted ways to their separate rooms.

She was acutely aware of her empty hand as she turned the doorknob and entered her room silently, and could still barely breathe as she sat down on her own bed. Something was so very different, and she wasn't sure whether to attribute it to the night, or her mental sedation from earlier in the day, or something else altogether. One thing was entirely certain, though—things were shifting, and she couldn't say what resided at the end of this path. But in her bones, she could feel the change, and somehow she knew that it was time to forgive. It was time to let go. It was time to atone.

It's when you look up the moon cycle for December 1881 when you truly know you've become a bit too obsessed as a writer. But no matter! I hope you all enjoyed this one, and please let me know what you think! I want to extend another huge thank you for each and every review, and I hope to hear from all of you. Cheers, and happy reading!

Until next time,

Christine