AN:
If I had to split this story into 'Parts' then I would have to say that this chapter is the end of Part One, which is why it seems a good place to take a much needed brief hiatus. School and life have been very stressful lately, and with finals coming up I haven't been able to write as much as I usually do. I'm going to take a break from posting for about a month in order to crank out more chapters so I will never have to take a hiatus on this story again.
As usual thanks to all of my reviewers and my beta TouchingTrusting; you guys always keep me going. And don't worry, I'll be back soon. I promise.
PS: Miss M. Paroo, you wrote a literary critique? Could you please give me an email address or some way to contact you, I would love to read it.
Chapter Twenty Two: August Takes and Gives
Time moved and blurred in the quiet little world that he had created, and soon it was the end of August. There were times that she almost forgot that she was a prisoner, though his frequent veiled warnings or odd possessiveness always jolted her back to reality. She had been there nearly four months.
"Four months," Christine whispered to herself one morning as she stood in front of the bathroom sink and brushed her hair. The bright light seemed harsh in her eyes and she winced as the brush tugged at knots. "Has it really been that long? How is that possible? Where did my life go?"
For the first time in what seemed like a long time she thought of school, of her apartment, her major, the life she had planned before this. Carefully she set down the brush and stared at her reflection, pallid in the yellow light; she hadn't paused to really look at herself for so long. Christine touched the blue veins beneath her eyes and saw that they were the same shade as her irises. Then, slowly, she reached her thin hand over to touch the frail girl reflected in the glass, pressing her palm against the mirror. "Is this me?" she whispered. "I hardly recognize myself anymore. What will my life be? Who am I anymore?" Tears burned the back of her eyes but she didn't cry; she had cried so much those first days she seemed to have run out of tears. "Who am I?" she breathed.
When she emerged from her room he was waiting for her at the small table and he seemed more nervous than usual, his long fingers drumming restlessly on the wood, small staccato noises in the silence of the house.
He stood up as she entered, as if he were an eighteenth century gentleman. "Good morning, Christine," he said formally, as he always did. She smiled at him wearily.
"Good morning, Erik." They both sat and he watched her unnervingly as she ate, his fingers resuming their tapping beat on the table. "What day is it today?"
"It's August 24th….a Monday."
"Ah."
There was a thick silence for a few moments as she started to eat and he drummed on the table.
"Did you sleep well?" He asked suddenly, and his voice seemed anxious, more tightly strung than usual. Christine nodded as she bit into a pear. "You look rather pale," he continued. "And you have been losing weight." This was the first time he had ever commented on her appearance and she stared at him for a moment, confused, until he turned away. "Perhaps," he said softly and to himself, "Perhaps then this is for the best."
"Erik?"
He swung to look at her, his yellow eyes almost otherworldly in the dim light.
"Yes?" he asked, that strange tight sound still evident in his voice. Christine frowned at him.
"Is everything all right?"
He stared at her as if he had never seen her properly before. "Of course it is," he said quietly. "But I do…" his left hand swung nervously to his pocket, long white fingers pulling at the fabric with an absentminded gesture. "I do have something for you, though."
"Something for me?" He had not given her anything since those sheets of music so long ago, before they ever met, before she knew who he was. Despite herself she was curious. "Oh? What is it?"
"Finish eating," he said, his voice still strange but his lips curling slightly upward, "and then you will see."
She raised an eyebrow and finished quickly, surprised at how curious she was. A present from Erik? Something about him giving her a present seemed strange and out of place, and it took Christine a moment to realize why. Ever since she had met him he had done nothing but take from her. He took away her freedom, her life, he whittled away daily at her sanity, her equilibrium…
'But before we met,' Christine thought rather abruptly, 'he gave me many things. He gave me that beautiful music, he got me into the musical – though I didn't want it to be done like that- and he cared for my aunt when she was so ill. He did so much for me…before. Even if it was misguided, it wasn't all taking. And maybe in his mind he's trying to balance it out.'
She felt like even after months in his house she still had no idea who he was. She had a small grasp on his emotions, on what would make him angry and what would make him smile or release a rare laugh, but of his deeper self she knew nearly nothing. She still didn't even know what his true plans for her were, only that they were big, and that they included him staying in her life forever. But what she did know was that he considered himself the good guy, the giver and not the taker, the savior. The angel. She knew that he was so assured of his good intentions, of his love one day being returned, and that he had no idea why she always reacted so violently toward him, or why she was unhappy.
'Did he think that I would just love him because he loves me, that empathy alone and the strength of his emotions would drive me to feel the same way?' Christine let out a small sigh as she finished her food and looked up at him. 'How naïve. Oh Erik, how sad.'
He stood and motioned gently for her to follow him into the sitting room, but when she went to sit in her usual chair he unexpectedly grasped her hand with cold fingers and pulled her toward the sofa. Christine gasped slightly at the contact and awkwardly perched at the end of the couch, as far from him as possible, but with unusual determination he edged nearer to her until their knees almost touched.
Carefully he took her hand again and brought it toward him, and Christine felt something small and hard slide along her finger. He released her a moment later, his hand dropping to the side to reveal the small plain gold ring that rested on the fourth finger of her left hand.
'Oh God!' she thought, her eyes widening in shock. 'Is this…'
"I would like you to wear this from now on, Christine," he said, his gaze steady and intense. "This is my gift to you. As long as you wear this ring I will be your friend and I will watch over you, and nothing bad can ever happen to you. You will be protected. You must promise me never to take it off and never to lose it. It is very important." He touched the gold band lightly with one finger. "There will be only anguish should it ever be cast aside," he said quietly. "Do you understand?"
Christine stared, horrified, at the ring, still trying to understand what it represented. It was suddenly so clear to her what was at the end of the road, what his final goal was. 'I will be a married woman someday,' she thought, and a cold despair twisted in her stomach. 'But this is not how it was supposed to be!'
Outwardly, she offered him a weak smile. "Thank you, Erik. I'll…I promise to wear it. Of course."
"It is for you," he reiterated, as if needing to make sure that she understood the rather blatant subtext.
"I know," she whispered sadly. "I know it is."
He hesitated for a moment, then reached for his pocket and pulled out a slim, wrapped package. "And there is also this…"
She eyed it curiously but he simply held it, his gaze still fixated on her face. "I don't want you to open this now, not just yet, but I would like you to keep it with you." He held out the package with one long hand and as she took it his cold fingers brushed against hers.
"When can I open it?" Christine asked with a certain restrained curiosity, and he seemed to smile.
"Soon," he promised. "Just hold onto it until then."
She nodded doubtfully and wrapped both her hands around it protectively. "Ok, then. I will."
He nodded, satisfied, before standing and offering his hand to her, a strange gesture. Normally he rarely initiated contact but today he seemed desperate to have her near him; his eyes were pleading, sad. Christine hesitated for a second before rising and placing her hand in his, but surprisingly his cold grasp was not uncomfortable. He stood there for a moment, entwining her fingers with his and staring at the small gold band as it brushed his skin, before turning and guiding her into the music room. Christine felt a deep seated unease as she took her place beside him and began to sing. What was the matter with him today?
He stayed near her all day, speaking with her, watching her almost constantly. Christine could see how tense he was; his shoulders seemed hunched and knotted, his hands flexing almost constantly, an unnerving gesture. At dinner he sat across from her and didn't shift his gaze once, though his thoughts seemed far away. Christine cleared her throat.
"Listen, Erik," she sighed and resisted the urge to reach across the small table and take his cold hand. "Really, what is the matter? You've been so tense all day. Was it…I mean, is everything ok, with your work?"
He pulled his eyes away from her to study his hands. "No, no that is going well. I have it…I have a system, and it runs without me very easily unless there is a problem or unless something needs to be changed, but it has been quiet lately. These last few months have been like a ….a sabbatical for me. A rest time."
"Oh," Christine murmured, surprised. He had never spoken of his work before.
"Yes," he continued absentmindedly. "Everything works quite well…spokes in a machine…I am just the overseer. The world goes on around me, I am not even necessary….unless I make myself necessary. And I suppose that they are happy to get rid of me. I just take, you see….I so rarely give."
Christine stared at him, unnerved by the fact that his words echoed her previous thoughts.
"Are we going to go outside tonight?" She asked finally, trying to dispel the strange tense silence in the room. It was the night of their weekly outing and she was starting to think that he had forgotten. Christine was starting to feel a desperate claustrophobia when they didn't go out, a caged frustration of pacing the same rooms again and again, of being so cold but knowing that there was warmth outside.
Erik blinked at her as if coming out of a dream. "Yes….yes of course…if you want to."
It seemed an odd thing to ask, but Christine brushed it aside and nodded her head. "Please, I'm looking forward to some fresh air."
"Fresh air," he repeated rather dully. "Alright then, if it must be done let it be done now. Would you like to change first?"
Christine shook her head. "No, I'm fine, I have a tank top on under my sweater."
He stood up and once again offered his hand to her, which she took. His unusual behavior was making her stomach clench. Everything he did seemed barely controlled; when he held her hand he tightened his fingers almost painfully around hers, and he walked so slowly toward the door, his head bent.
"Where are we going tonight?" Christine wanted so badly to break the tension.
He didn't look at her. "Someplace you will like," he said quietly, so that she could barely hear him.
They moved without speaking through the darkened slanted hallways, though this time they exited through the front door and not the usual side door. Christine blinked to adjust to her surrounding, and was surprised to see a dark chauffeured car waiting.
Erik hadn't used a driver since her escape attempt, and something about it struck her as ominous. She glanced up at him but his face was resolutely turned away from her and he led her across the pavement to the car without a sound and opened the back door for her.
A few moments later he was seated next to her on the back seat and the car started moving. Though Erik was silent as always Christine could hear his slightly labored breath; he was hunched over slightly as if he were in pain, and without thinking Christine reached over to touch his hand.
He jerked back as if he had been burned and his gaze swung upward to meet hers. There was something strange in his feral eyes, something that she rarely saw. Fear?
"Erik…" she said softly.
Her hand was still hovering in the air and he seized it and pressed it between his own, draining it of its heat. "You are…happy here, with me, aren't you?"
The intensity of his eyes, his painfully taunt posture and his impulsive actions were beginning to scare her. "Yes…everything is….fine, Erik," she said, choosing her words carefully. Behind his head she could see buildings and trees moving and blurring as the car wound through city streets. He was silent for a few moments, as if trying to collect scattered thoughts.
"I have given you so much," he said with an almost unhealthy fervor. "I want to help you, I want to…to….wipe away your loneliness….our loneliness…and create something greater than ourselves, do you understand?"
Christine nodded, though she wasn't sure she did.
"And you have grown so much…so much….your voice….it is…you are just…angelic. I can give you…no, us, both of us…a life. I want to give that to you."
"I…" Christine half heartedly tried to tug her hand out of his grip but he didn't let go. "…thank you, Erik."
"It is beautiful, when you say my name," he said softly. "No one has ever said my name like you. It is almost….happiness."
He leaned closer to her, his eyes burning behind the mask, and Christine had to fight to not lean back. But he was getting so close!
He must have seen the look on her face because a moment later he leaned back and closed his eyes. "I want to give you so much, Christine, and all I ask is that you do not try to leave me. I won't…" he opened his eyes again to stare at her longingly. "I won't let you leave me."
"I know," she said quietly. She wasn't sure what to say. "I won't."
That seemed to be the right thing to say, because he released her hand and seemed to calm. "Turn around," he said.
"What?"
"I want to give something to you. Turn around."
The car had slowed to a stop. Heart in her throat, Christine slowly turned around to look out her window and into the night, and felt her breath catch.
It couldn't be. Tears brimmed in her eyes and she prayed that it wasn't a cruel joke.
There, sitting so quietly and perfectly in the summer air outside of the tinted window, was her apartment.
Christine's heart was pounding so hard in her ears that she barely heard his next words.
"You are free to go."
