This vignette went through a lot of revision, but my beta and I finally went with what we found to be the most realistic version. Anyway, I'm sorry if it's a tad angsty. There will be two or three more vignettes after this one that bring everything together. Although this couple makes a fairy tale ending kind of impossible, I promise that the last vignette won't leave you depressed.
Thanks to all who continue to read. And thank you to all who have joined me on my latest story. You guys keep me writing.
And a huge thanks to MadLizzy for her help with this vignette. I hope she can forgive me for taking up her Saturday.
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It was his own small kingdom. If possible, he would have surrounded the new house with a crocodile-infested moat.
He rarely mentioned the idea of moving away from civilization because he knew Christine required people. When she brought it up, though, that had been an entirely different matter. It had only required a few seconds of thought to decide her suggestion was a divine one.
He watched her arrange the furniture, assisting whenever strength was required. She'd purchased a new oak coffee table and midnight blue leather sofa for their living room. The carpet was cream-colored, save for his basement where it was an appropriate grey. The interior was dark enough for him, but the windows allowed enough light in for her.
In some ways, the home matched the dream of his younger days. He had wanted a house away from the world—and had considered paying a female to remain with him. Of course, this was much better as he had never offered Christine money for her companionship.
Yes, it was much better.
After they had placed a good day's work into arranging their new home, his wife was curled up against him on the sofa. Eva was in her crib. Cordie, approaching older age, was curled up in a white ball atop the armchair. And he was wide awake, guarding and admiring his new home in the silence. He was the ugliest man with the most beautiful things in the world.
There was a low rumble in the distance as grey clouds continued to gather and shroud the home in shadows.
Christine's head shot up, her tangled hair falling into her flushed face. "What was that?"
"Thunder," he replied, hoping she wouldn't move.
"Is Eva okay?"
"Sleeping."
After staring toward the window with her lips pursed, Christine relaxed again, and he rested his chin on her head. He had noticed a slight change in her over the last few weeks. Although seemingly happy, she was rather paranoid—worse than him sometimes. Perhaps the presence of the infant made her nervous.
No. The change had come after Eva.
An unpleasant ache gathered in his midsection as he wondered if the isolation was putting her on edge. Perhaps she would simply need time to adapt to their new home. He would give her more attention; she would never be lonely with Erik.
Of course, Christine did eventually arise to fetch the crying child. Eva was not quite as bothersome as she had been in the beginning. She screamed less and was easily entertained with magic tricks, toys, and his voice. Her smile also reminded him of Christine's, which distracted him from his mother's eyes.
He also learned that he would never be the one to dole out punishment. One afternoon, Eva had given Christine's dangling golden earring a sharp tug. Christine released a yelp.
He had been seconds away from screaming at the child. No one was permitted to lay a hand on his wife, including the infant.
"No, no," Christine had said, pulling Eva's hand away. "You don't do that to Mommy. No."
His mouth had closed. Perhaps he realized that flying into a rage might result in two sobbing females. And, after Christine's reprimand, all was perfectly calm. She would need to handle all discipline. He knew how to cherish what he loved and destroy what he hated. Handing out fair justice toward someone he--well, he did not know how he felt about Eva--but the entire concept was completely beyond him.
As Eva was part of his domain, he did wish her to learn the necessary lessons of the world.
Christine did not always appreciate that.
One time, while sitting beside him, the infant had dropped a plush toy in his lap. It was some type of ridiculous bird with white hair on its body and green feathers on its head.
"I do not want this," he stated, removing the object from his being. "It is yours."
Eva placed the toy back on his lap with a grunt.
"Aw. She's learning to share," gushed Christine, clasping her hands together. "She wants you to have it."
"I do not want her to learn that." He had removed the bird for a second time. "I want her to learn to keep what is hers and fight anyone who tries to take it away." Eva gave him the stuffed animal again; he thrust it back at her. "I said this is yours. It is yours and no one else's. And if anyone attempts to take it, bite them as hard as you can."
"Erik!" Christine exclaimed. After glaring at him, she turned to Eva with a big smile. "Here, sweetheart. You can share the duck with Mommy."
Eva held the stuffed animal possessively against her chest; Christine shook her head.
He would be damned, though, if his offspring were ever manipulated out of a penny.
After retrieving Eva from the crib, Christine returned to the couch. Every time there was another rumble of thunder, she jumped. Her gaze wandered to the window, and her brow furrowed. Leaving Eva beside him, she stood and walked over to the glass, peeling back the curtains.
"What is wrong?" he asked, keeping an eye on Eva to make sure she did not fall off the couch and snap her little neck.
"Nothing. Just some boys on bikes."
"Yes," he replied with slight annoyance. "They tend to wander down my road. If they approach my house, I will…make it clear that this is our property."
She left the window, and he saw the tension in her facial muscles. What bothered his Christine? Did she still miss people so much? Christine returned to the sofa and gathered Eva in her arms again before scooting up against him. Her jaw was tightened. She took two deep breaths as though to relax herself.
Three weeks passed, and her demeanor remained the same. Christine smiled and laughed, but her eyes held worry and she was restless.
"You are quite miserable," he stated in resignation as they reclined in bed one evening. "This is too far away from other humans for you, isn't it? I thought perhaps you would become used to it…."
"No," she quickly protested with wide eyes. "Not at all. It's lovely here."
"Do not lie," he said without malice. "I see you glancing out the windows…waiting for someone…anyone…. You wish for a female companion, perhaps? We can go back to the city or suburbs. You must not be miserable."
"Don't you like it here?" she asked.
"I want to be where you are content."
She laughed and kissed his cheek. "But assuming I'm happy in either place, you'd rather be here?"
"It is more suitable for Erik," he finally admitted. "We are not bothered with others."
"I like it better, too. It's cozy like a nest…and ours…."
There was no lie in her eyes. "Then why are you so odd as of late? You stare out the windows. You pace. You cling to me in sleep as though…." His eyes murderously narrowed at the mere thought. "As though someone will take you away."
"Nothing is wrong," she replied. And now he knew she was lying.
"Tell me."
"It's probably nothing."
"Christine, I am always victorious at this ridiculous game. You will eventually tell me as you always do, or I will find out for myself."
"Oh Erik, there's this stupid…this stupid…boy and…."
He could already feel the heat rise. "A boy? Who? Where? Did he try to touch you? I will kill him…."
"No, no, no!" She rested a hand on his arm. "Please relax. This is why…never mind. I don't even know him. I've never seen him."
"What has he done to upset you?"
"Nothing…yet."
"Christine."
She sighed. "When I last met with Mr. Richardson, he said that someone may know about me. They might know I'm connected to your music. I don't know all the details."
His muscles tightened all over again as various horrific scenarios played in his mind. "Why did you not tell me this weeks ago?" he rasped.
"I didn't want you to be upset or…take any action. I thought it might go away on its own. Maybe it has. Nothing has happened since then."
"So some moron is hunting us?"
"I don't know. Like I said, I haven't heard anything since then. I've just been…watching."
"What is his name?"
"I don't know," she murmured. "I don't know anything about him. But please don't do anything."
"Perhaps I should at least return to the city and investigate this matter." He wanted to do something. More specifically, he wanted to hang the idiot.
"No," she protested. "Please, Erik. Let's see how it plays out."
"You mean wait until a herd of photographers show up at our door? The ingeniousness of that plan is astounding, my dear."
She slightly shifted away from him. "You don't have to be mean. I'm just as upset as you are…."
"I am not a…creature of inaction," he replied with less hostility. "I do not let people interfere with what is mine."
"No one will," she whispered. "But what if doing something creates a problem? What if we're perfectly safe right now?"
He half-grunted, half-growled. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing another kiss to his cheek. The action was probably meant to console him, but it upset him all the more. What if there was some vile piece of slime out there attempting to take this from him?
"Erik? Please?"
He glanced down at her. "I will do nothing. For now. But the moment it becomes apparent that someone is going to intrude into our lives, I will not stand by and watch like a swine awaiting slaughter."
"Deal," she whispered. "Neither will I."
Over the next few months, he became paranoid with her, watching out the windows or standing outside in the shadows of his home. After several years of not touching the lasso, he removed it from a small leather bag and threaded it through his fingers. Nothing occurred, though. There were no phone calls or visitors or letters. One evening, he finally threw his skeletal hands up in the air and fell onto the sofa. This was ridiculous. He was going to spend the rest of his life concerned with this. He hoped the idiot was lying dead in a gutter somewhere.
Eva glanced up at him from the floor where she was surrounded by her toys. They had a short staring contest. After a moment, she began to move toward him, scooting on her hands and knees along the carpet until she was at his feet.
"Finally, you can transport yourself," he stated, bending his neck to stare down at her. Eva was victoriously tugging on his pants leg. He stiffly patted her head. "Perhaps you will be able to feed yourself as well. It will soon be time for you to cease your dependency on Christine."
Christine whirled away from the window and let out a little cry. "She crawled? And I missed it? No! Argh!"
He nearly snorted. "I am sure she will do it again."
"But I missed it!" she exclaimed. He stared at his wife; sometimes the toddler caused Christine to behave oddly.
Christine collapsed on the couch beside him and picked Eva up. "We shouldn't be living in fear like this," she said. "You were right. I'm going to call Mr. Richardson. Maybe I'll go to a payphone so our number can't be traced."
"And what if you find out that it is hellish?" he asked. "If we are threatened? Exposed to where there is no lying your way out of it? What does Erik do?"
"I don't--"
"You must know," he harshly interrupted. "You are the one with the boundaries. You are the conscience. What does Erik do?"
She swallowed. "If it's that bad, we run. To another state or even country. You're familiar with Europe and India. We'll find somewhere safe."
He crossed his arms. "You would run and hide with Erik…again?"
"Of course," she whispered.
"And Eva?"
There was a brief flash of pain in her eyes and then resolve. "Well…she'll be a very well-travelled baby, won't she? It'll look good on a future resume." She smiled down at her daughter. "Can you say bonjour?"
He shook his head in disgust. "This is ours. All of it. We have played by society's rules, or at least most of society's rules to get it. If it is taken, you will be the one thing keeping Erik sane."
Christine rested her cheek on his shoulder. "You think I won't fight for it? It's all mine, too. Ours. But if worse comes to worse, I'll follow you, Erik."
Despite the situation, he did feel slightly better after she said that.
In some ways, he'd always imagined himself fighting each day to keep Christine.
But he realized that she was fighting, too. His Christine was battling to keep them together.
Not only did he have a wife--he had an ally.
Late on a Monday evening, all three of them drove to a gas station about an hour away from their home, Eva wrapped in a fuzzy pink blanket and sleeping soundly in the backseat. Erik had refused to allow Christine to go there alone, and so it had become a family affair.
"Back among people again," Erik complained, staring out the window at the passing cars and glaring lights. "I wish for my house."
"We'll be back soon enough."
"Vile idiots interfere with my life," he ranted. He'd been muttering throughout the whole trip. "If we are lucky, the moron will catch the plague."
Christine climbed out of the car, ignoring the other customers and knowing that she and her daughter would be perfectly safe with Erik there. With a deep breath, she walked to a payphone right outside the entrance and slipped in enough change for a long distance call. She dialed Mr. Richardson's cell phone number; he probably wouldn't be at work.
He sounded slightly irritated when he answered, maybe eating dinner. "Hello?"
"Hi, Mr. Richardson."
"Yes? What can I—wait a minute! Christine? Is that you?"
"Yeah. It's me."
He sounded excited now. "I haven't heard from you in a long time. How are you? How's the cute kid? How can I help you?"
"We're…fine." She took a deep breath and continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "I had to know what's going on. I'm constantly afraid that kid is going to show up at our door and ruin our lives."
"Oh. That." Mr. Richardson cleared his throat. "He's a weird kid actually. Sometimes high strung."
"But what about my music?" she pressed, not wanting a psychological profile. "Does he still care about it?"
"He mentioned it once about two months ago, but--"
"So what did you tell him?"
"I…told him the music was composed by a woman who simply wanted her privacy. And then I went to the kid's father and told him that if your privacy was violated, no one would ever sign with us again. I said, 'Why does your kid feel the need to annoy this poor woman?'"
Her heart skipped a beat. "What'd his father say?"
"He wasn't that interested. Just said he'd look into it and shooed me out."
"Oh no…."
"Anyway, I went back to the kid and said if he'd leave you alone, he could have a promotion on the West Coast. I told him he was wasting his time. After all, information about you is already in old newspapers. Christine Daae Ackart. Once engaged to the Count involved in the Falcon mess. A former opera singer. Who the hell is going to care if you compose, too?"
She swallowed. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he'd think about it."
She rolled her eyes in aggravation. "So do you think he'll still bother us?"
"I don't know. He doesn't have much to go off on. Maybe he'll take the promotion and leave us alone. He's always complaining about the weather here. How the heck can he pass up California?"
Christine wasn't entirely reassured. Like Erik, she wanted this completely fixed and with no loose ends. She wanted to go home with peace in her heart, but maybe that was impossible…."Is there anything I can do?"
"Not unless you want to let him meet you and satisfy his curiosity. I don't know if that'd make things better or worse."
She nearly glared at the thought. "No. I don't want to be anywhere near him."
"Then you'll have to leave it all to me," said Mr. Richardson. "You don't have to worry. I'll fix it. Just lay low like you were doing."
Christine paused. "Can I have his name?"
She wondered if he'd deny her the information, but Mr. Richardson replied, "Arthur. Arthur Wickham."
"Thank you. If he contacts me, I'll know who he is now."
"Exactly."
An awkward silence passed between them. "Well…thank you for talking with me," she said with a dismayed sigh.
"You're welcome. I'm promise I'm still working on it," he replied. "I think we'll be completely rid of him soon. Please, please, please keep in touch."
"I'll…try." She hung up and left the phone with an odd feeling in her stomach. The sky hadn't fallen nor were they completely safe. Sometimes it seemed like limbo was the worst kind of hell. When Christine returned to the car, she told Erik everything. "Now what?" she softly asked.
He said something in French, and she guessed it was a curse. "This is going in irritating circles."
"I know." Eva was making cooing noises in the backseat, and the sound made Christine suddenly burst into angry, frustrated tears. "Why won't people leave us alone?" she asked between sobs, staring straight out the window through blurred eyes. "It's not fair! I hate him! I want people to leave me and you and my baby alone! If it wasn't illegal, I'd let you kill him." She clamped a hand over her mouth as soon as the words left her lips, knowing it'd been a dangerous and irresponsible thing to say. Taking a deep breath and regaining self-control, she removed her hand. "I didn't mean that," she whispered. "Don't."
Erik was sitting in the passenger seat with his head tilted backward onto the headrest. With the mask, she couldn't see his expression, but his eyes were oddly calm. "And what do you want of me?" he softly asked. "Erik can make him go away. Erik can make us go away. Erik will do whatever you want."
She slid her hand into his. Ice against heat always created a comfortable warm. "I…I don't want you to do anything to him. You've come so far and…. But…maybe if you could just get everything ready in case we ever have to leave. Name changes, new identification…a foreign account. Just in case. Can you do that? Could you make us disappear if we ever had to?"
He squeezed her hand. "Of course. That is nothing."
She lifted his mask and pressed a kiss to her husband's lips. "Thank you," she murmured. Leaning back, she grabbed one of Eva's feet and gave it a tickle, making her daughter smile. "Ready to go home?"
"I am," stated Erik.
Taking another deep breath, she turned on the car and headed back home, always casting a glance toward her rearview mirror.
Hopefully, the world had grown tired of hearing about little Christine Daae and her adventures from over ten years ago. And Raoul. And Gavin. And the shadow man. They were just wives and husbands with their own uninteresting domestic lives. All had moved on.
Still, they would prepare for the worst. Even if Arthur Wickham soon disappeared, there would be others like him. She and Erik would have to always be cautious, going into public as little as possible…trusting no one.
Over the next few months, Christine didn't mind living a quiet and secluded life with her husband and daughter. She was a bear in her den, surrounded by the people closest to her heart. Erik, of course, didn't mind either. He was very content, even spending more time with Eva.
It was only when Christine saw Eva watching a children's television program one morning that she realized life couldn't be quite that simple. Eva was staring at several young kids dancing and singing on the screen, her dark eyes lit up with delighted fascination. She reached out a pudgy hand as though she wanted to touch them.
And it was then Christine wondered if Eva would ever be able to understand why she couldn't have friends.
