Hi, guys. Thank you all for putting up with another Raoul chapter. Here's a nice E/C vignette to make up for it.
We are jumping through time a little faster now. My belief is that some character development takes place through major events, and other (more subtle) development just takes place over time.
Thank you all for your support. Thanks to MadLizzy for editing.
Read and Review!!
They were closer by the time summer ended.
Erik relaxed throughout the warmer months, seemingly content with her and his music. Now that he had no more of himself to hide from her, he let his guard down whenever they were alone. Christine noticed the smaller things--such as him changing his shirt in front of her or allowing her to give him a quick haircut. She'd had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing when Erik grumbled that she was going to ruin the little hair he had left.
She was afraid he would become upset again when she returned to school. Erik was slightly anxious as she prepared to leave for her first day of the semester, following her around the house as she dressed and brushed her hair. When he bid her goodbye, though, there was more confidence in his kiss. And he merely said, "I will see you in the afternoon."
"Take care of my fish," she ordered.
"I shall cook them for your dinner."
"Erik!" She didn't believe he would. Although he never admitted it, Erik seemed to…respect the fish. He'd even started feeding them on occasion; it gave her hope for a cat someday.
Her classes were less threatening, mostly music history and other liberal arts courses that wouldn't have her pulling out her own hair. Christine was also involved in two solo performances that semester. She'd considered joining a college chorus, too, but Erik didn't want her "blending into an inferior crowd."
She'd replied, "I'd probably end up being the inferior one."
"My wife is not inferior!" Erik had boomed. "She is superior to everyone!"
It was one of the instances when she decided not to argue with him; a chorus might take up too much time, anyway.
At least every other night, Erik devoted his time to preparing her for the performances. Occasionally, he could be a little harsh, but she began to hold her ground whenever he crossed the line. "You are not even trying!" he exclaimed one night. "Where is your focus? On some boy at school?"
"I'm trying as hard as I can!" she had snapped. "And my focus is on all the homework that I still have to do tonight!" Her back and legs were sore from standing there and practicing all evening.
Instead of yelling at her again, Erik had blinked and then declared they'd done enough for one night. Although they had the occasional spat, they never stayed angry at each other for more than a day. It wasn't really in her nature to hold a grudge. And, after an argument, Erik would eventually start following her around the apartment until she smiled at him or gave some other sign that all was forgiven.
By the time of her first performance, both of them felt she was ready to sing.
"You'll come, right?" she asked one October night as she put on a pair of gold earrings. Her stomach churned, and her hands were cold. It was her first time performing on a stage in years, and she…needed him there.
"Of course," he fondly replied. "I would never miss your voice."
Erik rode to the college campus with her and walked down the sidewalk and toward the entryway of the auditorium. With one glance at the glaring lights in the building, though, he took a step backward. "I will see you at the end," he stated.
"No one would notice you," she said, hating the idea of him hiding in some cobwebbed corner. "You can come in with me and sit in the audience."
"They will notice," he replied. "There is far too much light and not enough space. Go inside. I will see you later." He disappeared before she could protest again. Christine sighed and went inside.
The night was filled with solo performances, choruses, and several orchestra groups. She sang a less difficult soubrette piece, and the enthusiastic applause that followed made her think it went well. Her strategy was to focus on singing only for herself and Erik, making the rest of the crowd disappear from her vision and mind.
At the end, Christine took off her high heels and ran barefoot outside to meet him, briefly reminded of the time Erik had first returned to her. He stepped out from behind a corner of the building, and she ran into the shadows and embraced him. "Where did you hide?" she asked.
"I am everywhere!"
"But where were you tonight?"
"Behind a curtain." He sounded irked, but his tone quickly softened. "But I could hear you perfectly."
"How'd I do? Honestly?"
"Very well save for a few of the higher notes. But we will work on them."
Christine hooked her arm into his, and they walked to the car. As she started the engine, she noticed Erik suddenly twitch and then turn his head toward the passenger window. Christine started to ask him what was wrong, but a knock on her window caused her to jump. She turned around to see someone standing beside the car. It was Sarah, who had also performed that night on the violin. After murmuring an apology to Erik, Christine rolled down her window.
"Hi there!" said Sarah. "I saw you and thought I'd say 'hi.' You did really well tonight."
"Hi," Christine replied after finding her voice. "Thanks. You did well, too."
"Thanks!" Sarah peeked into the car, trying to get a glimpse of Erik.
Christine shifted. "This is my husband."
"Oh." She continued to squint at the back of Erik's head. "Hi!"
Erik didn't say anything, keeping his face turned toward the window.
"Well," began Christine, clearing her throat. "I guess I'd better get going. Nice to see you."
"You, too," she replied, her eyes never leaving Erik.
Slightly annoyed, Christine rolled up her window and backed out of the parking space a little faster than she meant to do so. Erik said, "Her violin was out of tune."
Christine laughed. "Really? She's nice enough, though."
He made a noise but said nothing else, and they drove home.
To Christine's dismay, Sarah questioned her about Erik the next week. "What does your husband do?"
"He writes music," Christine replied, pretending to focus on a textbook.
"Is he shy?"
"Um…kind of."
"Aw!" Sarah exclaimed. "Where'd you meet him?"
"Um…work."
"What kind of work?"
Christine excused herself to go to class, even though it didn't start for another thirty minutes. It wasn't that Sarah was afraid of Erik as Marisol had been, but she seemed to see him almost like an exotic animal. On the positive side, at least Sarah wasn't going to run around telling people about the "scary man." Still, Christine made it a point to avoid her over the next few weeks.
Outside of that, though, the rest of the semester was peaceful. In November, Erik received a paycheck in the mail for his music. He refused to pay attention to it, but she still thrust the check into his hands and kissed him. He only said, "You may buy yourself something." Maybe she was mistaken, but Christine thought she heard slight satisfaction in his voice. And he did give her other compositions to send to the publisher, still insisting that he remain anonymous.
For all the peace and normalcy of the first semester, though, the next year started off on a somber tone. Although some might have questioned her judgment during the events, Christine always felt that she came out stronger and wiser after the ordeal.
It was early January, and Christine was curled up on the couch with a blanket over her legs, watching the local news with Erik. She was half-asleep, and the stern voice of the anchorman caused her to open her eyes.
"Early this morning, a neighbor discovered the body of twenty-year-old Dianna Monroe right outside of her condominium. Police are interviewing possible witnesses and have released little information…."
She briefly frowned at the television and then dozed off again after a few moments. It was one of the nights that Erik carried her to bed.
The next chilling report came three days later, and she was fully awake for the broadcast. Erik was out that night on a walk, stretching his legs and enjoying his freedom. He'd invited her to join him, but she'd pulled a muscle in her shoulder while vacuuming and wanted to rest that evening.
The female reporter's face was grim as she spoke toward the camera. "The body of twenty-seven-year-old Ashley Purcell was found in a dumpster right off Chestnut Street. Police have revealed that this may be the work of a serial killer and are investigating previous cold cases to see if there are any similarities. Both recent victims were young, white females, and authorities say the closeness in time and location of the two murders reveals that the perpetrator is willing to take risks."
"God," Christine murmured, her stomach turning once. Chestnut Street was only about a fifteen minute drive from their apartment.
Erik returned an hour or so later, and she was happy to have him back with her. He never commented on the murders, but, over the next week, he accompanied her whenever she went out at night. Christine never protested.
A third murder, also of a young girl, occurred a week later. The day after Christine watched the report on the news, Gavin phoned her and asked if she'd like to visit for awhile. She agreed to meet him at a café; it'd been some time since they'd gotten together.
After picking up her new textbooks from the college bookstore, she met him at the coffeehouse. It was a cute place that had a fake straw roof and was designed to look like a little hut.
"Hey," Gavin greeted her. His eyes were ringed with dark circles. "What's up?"
"Hi. Not much. I could use some hot chocolate." She put in her order and sat down across from him, continuing to notice his knitted brow. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah," he replied. "You?"
"Yeah. I'm good. School is starting again soon."
"Great."
She laughed. "Yeah. No more being lazy." Gavin released a half-hearted chuckle. "How's Rose?"
"She's good. Growing up fast."
"Great!" Christine studied him. "You don't look too happy. What's wrong?"
He hesitated and then softly said, "The…uh…murders."
"I know!" She lowered her voice. "Aren't they terrible? I keep hoping they catch the guy. Erik's been going with me everywhere at night."
"Yeah…." He paused again. "Don't tell anyone else this. I…uh…accidentally came across it at work, but the public isn't supposed to know yet. All right?" She nodded and leaned in. "The victims have all been strangled."
"Oh! That's terrible. And it shows it's the same guy."
"Yeah. It's scary…." Gavin was staring intently at her.
"It is." She shifted. "I hope they catch him."
"Yeah. Still no suspects."
"I…." She caught his gaze and slowly began to understand. Her mouth dropped open, and she flinched backward with a scowl, face flushing in anger. "How could you even think that?" Christine snapped.
"I don't think anything," he replied with alarm. "I just thought you should know everything."
"You wouldn't have called me here if you didn't think that!" She wished they were in a more private place. Luckily, there wasn't anyone else there besides the employees.
"I thought you should know that this is like the return of the Boston Strangler. For your own safety."
Christine squinted at him, her disgust growing. "He has never gone around hurting random people for no reason," she whispered. "He has never done that. In fact, you don't even know him now. You don't ever come visit him. He's doing really well."
"He doesn't want me to come visit him!"
"He might appreciate—oh, never mind! It doesn't matter. But he's not responsible for this!"
Gavin held up his hands in self-defense. "All right. All right. I believe you. I do. I thought I should tell you. Okay? If he'd been acting suspicious or disappearing at night or something. Just in case…."
"I'm leaving," she declared, standing up. Tears of anger pricked her eyes. Christine grabbed her hot chocolate off the counter and marched toward the door.
"Christine! I was being a friend! I wasn't trying to--"
Before he could finish, she walked out the door in a huff and headed home, heart pounding in anger. "How could he even suggest that?" she muttered to herself as she drove. Maybe she'd lost a friend that day.
After coming home, Christine started to make dinner. Her hands were trembling as she lit the burner, and she ended up dropping a can of tomatoes on the floor. Muttering under her breath, she fell to her knees and began to clean up the goopy mess with a wet paper towel.
"Christine?" Erik stood above her, watching her work with his head tilted. "Your visit was short. But perhaps Mr. Lewis makes for very dull conversation?"
She grunted.
"What is wrong?"
Tossing the damp paper towel aside, she stood up and shrugged. "Nothing," she replied. "I'm tired, I guess."
"Ah. You do not need to cook. I am perfectly satisfied with bread and cheese. You are the one who insists on these large meals."
Not hungry herself, Christine gratefully took him up on the offer. Stupid Gavin. He doesn't even know Erik now. How could he even think that? Jerk! She hadn't felt this angry since dealing with Falcon.
Erik went for another walk that night. He again asked her if she would like to accompany him, and the question was nearly too much for her. Christine wanted to go and take a breath of fresh night air…to be at his side, but was that like keeping an eye on Erik? She trusted her husband, and it was Gavin's fault that this was even on her mind.
"Christine? Do you wish to go or not?"
"No," she replied. "I'm tired. You go. Have fun."
He nodded and left, locking the door behind him. When he returned about two hours later, she was lying awake in bed. Once he was beside her, she cuddled up against him. Her Erik.
Three days later, another body was found, this time in a restaurant bathroom. Upon hearing the story on the morning news, Christine released a frustrated cry. "Why can't they catch him?"
"He is bold," stated Erik, obviously not realizing that she hadn't wanted an answer to her question. "Perhaps he will prove too bold in the end. And he enjoys the game with police. If he enjoyed the actual kill more than the game with authorities, he would keep a wider geographical distance between victims." He paused. "I wonder what his method is."
Christine turned to look up at her husband. Maybe it was the way her hand tightened on his arm…or maybe it was merely the general aura that settled around them…but Erik suddenly sensed her anger.
"What exactly is on your mind?" There was an edge in his voice as he stared down at her.
"Nothing," she replied, shaking her head. "Just that I hope they catch him."
"You are upset…."
"Yes. About this."
The yellow eyes studied her. "Something has bothered you for several days."
She squirmed. "Of course it has. Girls my age are dying!"
"You are thinking…."
"What?"
"You think Erik is responsible," he finally accused in a harsh, horrified whisper.
"I do not!" she exclaimed. "I have never thought that!"
"You do think that!" He jumped up from the couch.
"I don't!" she pled, leaping up with him and reaching out her hands.
"I know where I am! I know where I was! I am not mad! I did not do this!"
"I believe you! I never thought it was you!" Before he could run away from her, she grabbed him by his narrow shoulders. "I never thought that. Ever." She looked him in the eye. "You make me feel safe—not scared."
He was breathing heavily as he stared down at her, maybe debating whether to trust her. Her own heart was hammering in her ears.
She continued speaking while she had his attention. "I'm upset over this. That's it. I hate that some guy is strangling girls my age; it upsets me. But I never thought--"
"Strangling?" he interrupted in a raspy voice. "Why do you assume that was the method of murder?"
"Because…." She froze, realizing her mistake.
"Why, Christine?" He put his index finger beneath her chin and forced her to look at him. "Why do you think that? Even I did not know that."
She knew that it was no time to lie. "Gavin said so. He heard it from a private source in the media. I wasn't supposed to tell anyone."
"Lewis put the idea in your mind, didn't he?" Erik's eyes narrowed.
"He just...told me about the deaths. But I…I didn't want to talk to him for very long. I didn't ever think it was you." Christine was prepared for a tirade against Gavin, carefully laced with creative and gruesome threats.
"I do not want him in my house or my view," Erik only said through gritted teeth. "I do not want him near me."
"All right," she nearly whispered. "I don't want to see him either." She pulled on her husband's hand. "Here. Sit back down with me." The last thing Christine wanted was for Erik to lock himself up in a room and drown in self-loathing, especially over a stupid false accusation. He'd been doing so well….
Erik slowly sat beside her, obviously still shaken and angry. He was quiet throughout the rest of the day, often sitting beside the fish tank and staring at Romeo and Juliet. Christine was given some reassurance, though, when he spoke to her that evening. "You did not leave," he softly stated as she slipped on her cotton pajamas.
"What?" she asked.
"If you thought I was the strangler, you would have run away, no?" Thankfully, he didn't expect her to actually answer that question. "And you stayed, which means you believed me innocent."
"I never thought it was you," she stated, placing a hand to his bare cheek. "I love you. I know you. And I am not leaving." His eyes told her that he believed her.
Over the next week, she refused to answer the phone when Gavin called. Maybe it was unfair, but Christine felt the need to take Erik's side completely.
On a wonderful Friday afternoon, it finally came over the news that a suspect had been apprehended at a bar. The television screen showed a photograph of a bulky man in his thirties with dark blond hair and stubble, staring smugly at the camera. "They have the correct person," Erik stated with one glance at him. "Look at his eyes. He is...bloodthirsty."
And that was the end of it.
Or, rather, that was the end of the murders—not of all her problems.
Sarah called one night later asking questions about homework. The conversation was going well until Sarah said, "Maybe your husband could help us with the answer."
"I think he's busy," Christine replied.
"What's he up to?"
"I don't know."
"He works at home, right?"
"I don't want to talk about my husband anymore," Christine firmly stated. "It's my private personal life."
"Sor-ry," Sarah muttered, obviously offended. They hung up soon afterward.
Christine understood now. She'd subconsciously denied the truth for too long, and it was time to face the facts. No matter how much Erik improved, people wouldn't necessarily improve with him. At best, he was an object of curiosity to them--something to be stared at and studied. At worst, he was a threat.
She spent several days just being plain angry over this. Erik received her deepest affections while everyone else got the cold shoulder. She tried to put her focus into her studies and music, attempting to ignore people. The onslaught of negative feelings damaged her concentration, though, and Christine was left feeling helpless and tired.
As they were eating dinner one night, Erik stared at her for several minutes, studying her tense features.
She finally asked, "What's wrong? Do I have food on my mouth?"
"No."
"What's wrong, then?"
He hesitated. "You are…distressed."
"I'm fine," she replied.
"No. You are odd as of late."
"Tired, I guess."
"Do not lie to me," he commanded. "You are upset. You yelled at the fish today."
"I didn't yell at the fish. I bumped the table and almost knocked off the tank; it was just a shout of surprise."
Erik folded his arms against his chest. "You will tell me what is wrong. Is it a professor? An idiot boy? Erik will help you take care of it."
She swallowed, rubbing her hands together beneath the table. "It's…."
"What, Christine?"
"I want…." She tried to think of how to put it into words. "I want people to leave you alone."
"To leave me alone?"
"To not…bother you and judge you. I trusted Gavin, and he--I can't trust anyone! They're either really curious or have accusations or…and I don't want them to hurt you." She stared at the table and continued to wring her hands, not sure what Erik's reaction would be.
"Ah." He became very quiet. She didn't think he was angry because he stayed in the kitchen instead of locking himself away in the bedroom.
"I'll be fine soon," she assured him, attempting a smile. "It's been a weird couple of weeks."
His expression was a mix of confusion and frustration, as though he had spent hours trying to put a complicated puzzle together, only to find that the last piece was missing. He didn't reply until nearly thirty minutes later, after the dishes were washed and they had gone into the living room.
"I hate most people," he loudly declared, causing her to sharply look up from a furniture catalogue. "I do. It is very possible that I will always hate them."
"I know," she replied. "I under--"
"But I do not wish that for you, too," he swiftly interrupted. "It is not…right for you. Oh, do not misunderstand. I would be ecstatic to have you all to myself. It is a fantasy that the world will explode, and Erik will have no choice but to take you underground and…. But you are too precious to stay like that. You should not be bitter and pale and always fighting. "
"But--"
"No. I could not bear it if Er--I ruined you."
"Erik, you didn't ruin me," she whispered. "I just understand better now, I think."
"You do not need to understand any of it. I only need you to stay."
"But I had to understand…eventually…."
"Perhaps," he murmured, unusually resigned. "But you should not let it devour you."
"I won't." She took his hand and entwined their fingers together. "If we're doing well, after I'm out of school, maybe we could buy a home or rent a townhouse outside of the city."
He glanced up at her. "You would like that?"
"Yes. It would be peaceful and more private. And we could still go to the city sometimes."
"And you will still sing, and I will watch you?"
"Yeah." She smiled, feeling warmly optimistic. "Just like now except we'll have more peace and quiet." She leaned in and nuzzled his cheek with her nose. "And when we travel, we can stay in nice hotels."
"We will do that," he stated, sounding relieved. Erik pressed his fingers against her forehead as though trying to smooth out the lines. "And you will be happy."
"I am happy," Christine stated, placing her hand over his. And she was. Only now, she had different expectations.
Over the next few days, she did get over her anger. Unlike Erik, she hadn't been through something traumatic enough to give her a permanent grudge. When Gavin called again, she answered the phone and agreed to meet with him at the same coffee shop. His voice was strained as he repeatedly apologized. Situated by the goldfish, Erik merely grunted when she told him where she was going.
The beginning of her conversation with Gavin was predictable. "I'm sorry," he said, over and over. "It was screwed up to say that to you. I'd been having a rough week, and I was creeped out by the whole thing."
She accepted his apology, acknowledging that it was scary when something like that happened.
Gavin then surprised her by saying, "I'm off an assignment for a couple of weeks. In Turkey."
Her eyes widened. "Really?"
"Yup. Should be an adventure." He paused. "Marisol isn't thrilled, but she'll be okay."
"Oh. Well, at least Rose has grown up a little."
"Yeah!"
Over steaming cups of coffee, they exchanged a few more pleasantries and talked about their lives. Gavin had sent his book to a publisher and was waiting for a response. She congratulated him and told him about Erik's music. Gavin applauded Erik. Finally, they said goodbye and went their separate ways. Something had changed between them over the last months. Gavin was no longer her safety net; she didn't need one. Hopefully, they could still be friends.
Upon returning home, she kissed Erik. Knowing he wouldn't be interested in the details of her and Gavin's conversation, she only said, "Gavin is going on a trip to Turkey for his job."
Erik glanced up but didn't say anything.
"I'm not sure how Marisol feels about him being away for so long," Christine continued. "But…I guess that's not really our responsibility now." She sat on the couch and tucked her feet beneath her, nibbling on her bottom lip.
Erik returned to his book on the Middle East, and she picked up a textbook. They read together under the dim glow of the lamps. About ten minutes later, Erik suddenly said, "I would never leave my wife."
Christine blinked and started to defend Gavin. Then, she stopped—not because she thought Gavin was guilty of anything, but because there was the hint of pride in Erik's voice.
"I know you wouldn't," she softly agreed.
Shoulders straightened, Erik returned to his book.
After fondly watching him for a few moments, she scooted over so that their arms were touching. With a sigh of contentment, she returned to her book.
