AN: Hello again, after a long dely. Life down in Ecuador has been...interesting. I finished my original novel and, after friends and family proofread it, am hoping to somehow, someday, start searching for an agent.

Fanfiction . net has been grumpy lately and wouldn't let me post this, so I had to find a creative way around the error messages. If this results in any strange text or smushed together words, well, that sucks, and I'll fix it when ffnet lets me.

So we come (close) to the end of HTP. I think I keep putting off writing the last chapter because I don't want this story to end, but it will be written, I promise. As always, thank you all for coming with me on this (dark, wierd, creepy) amazing journey. It means the world to me. I don't really know what else to say but...read!


Chapter Thirty-Seven: Twisted Providence

After her tired acceptance Erik changed; the light of insanity didn't fade from his eyes but it was tempered into something apologetic and childlike. He ushered her from the many-screened room and into the kitchen, pulling out a chair solicitously and letting her collapse into it. He seemed frantically eager to please, wringing his hands together like a worried old lady, fluttering around her with nervous energy.

"We do not need to be married right away," he was saying, pacing around the kitchen and looking at her with a strange combination of affection and worry. "We can wait if you like. Longer engagements are the fashion now, and I always imagined that you would like a spring wedding. I already have a beautiful dress waiting for you, if you want to see it."

Without warning Christine burst into tears, drawing her knees up to her chest and hugging them fiercely. Trying to stifle the sobs was useless; they crept out of her in little puffs and gasps, red face all screwed up, nose sniffling and runny. Erik immediately dropped to one knee in front of her with a sound very near a moan.

"Now, now, no need to cry," he said with the uncertain hush of someone who does not know how to deal with tears. "Every girl is nervous before her wedding day, it is only natural. And…and I have something for you!" He was suddenly excited, as if he had struck the root of her problem. "Here; all is well." He dropped the ring, complete with broken chain, into her hand. "I have found it for you. No harm, my dear, but next time I would guard it more carefully. Chains are so undependable."

He fell silent, kneeling there and looking up at her red face with adoration. Christine sniffled again and gripped the ring with such fierceness that she was sure it would leave a red mark on her palm. "Please, Erik, don't kneel like that. Sit down." Her voice was scratchy and raw, and she gestured to the chair next to her with a weary flick of her fingers. She kept her gaze downcast, unable to look into his yellow eyes; she was too tired to try and decipher what she found there. In fact, she found that she was too tired to care about almost anything. A sort of numbness had settled over her brain like a fog, blocking out everything except for a deep, bone-weary exhaustion, the desire to curl up and sleep and never wake up again.

But there was one last thing that she had to do. "Erik," she said softly, still looking down at her clasped hands, the ring nestled safely inside. "You will keep your promise, won't you? You will let him go?"

There was a rather ominous pause, and then a sigh. "He will be released," he said in a tired, sad voice, as if in his madness he had forgotten the terms of her agreement. "Your boy will live a long and prosperous life, I am sure. That, too, is a wedding gift to you, my Christine."

"Thank you," she said quietly, and a strange sort of peace filled the corners of her brain, allowed the pleasantly numbing fog to seep in and wrap up her senses. Her final wish had been fulfilled. Now she had nothing left to worry about, and nothing left to fight. No more clawing and struggling toward a light she would never reach, no more screaming, no more tears. It was over.

"You are welcome," he murmured, and then brushed the edge of her knee with one long and trembling hand. "I want you to know," he began hesitantly, as if unsure of what words to use or how to form them properly, "that you never have to worry about anything in this house. I will never do anything that will make you cry. You will be happy, you may not believe it now but you will be! You will see."

He leaned forward. "Look at me," he said softly, and she complied. His feral eyes were less than a foot away from hers, the blank, staring mask a comforting barrier between the two faces. "My Christine," he whispered. "You will never have to fear anything ever again. Do not think…" he paused, as if about to plunge into ice-cold water, and then continued. "Just because we will be married does not mean that you will ever have to see under the mask. I would never subject you to that! And…I ask nothing from you in return. I will be happy just living by you, hearing your voice and seeing your smile. Nothing more. Erik would never…" he trailed off, lifting his hand hesitantly from her knee and sitting up straight as if unable to finish the sentence, but Christine understood his meaning.

"Thank you," she said again, and then decided to be brave. "If you don't want…what I mean to say is, well…" she reached out and tentatively touched the back of his hand, her fingers light on his protruding knuckles. They were cold, like the rest of him. "What do you want?"

He stared at her hand willingly touching his as if transfixed, then drew a breath. "All I ever wanted," he began in a shaking voice, the words hollow and lovely, as if coming from someplace far away, the sound only now reaching her after echoing off of walls and dark caves for a long time. "Was a little beauty in this world, a little love. A little kindness. You are good enough to give that to me, aren't you? Just every once in a while, just a little…some kindness." He looked at her with pleading eyes, wrapping her outstretched hand in his. The chill seemed to soak through her skin, icing over her bones. "That's all I ask of you."

There was a long moment of silence. Christine could hear the wooden ticking of a clock in the next room, the whispered hushes of his breath and the cool, steady beating of her own heart. Then she looked into his eyes and said, with quiet certainty, "I'm afraid I can't do that, Erik."

He froze. "What?" he asked, his voice more surprised than angry, like the words hadn't sunk into his brain. Christine sighed, gently.

"I promised that I would stay with you, and I will. I will even marry you, if that is what you want me to do. But I did not promise my heart, and I did not promise my kindness. I am sorry." She sounded genuine, her hand still clasped in his. "I can give you nothing. I have nothing left to give. But I am here, and that is what you wanted, isn't it? I will always be here."

He shuddered a little, dropping her hand as if burnt. "That is…that is not…" he stuttered, standing abruptly and backing out of the room. Christine followed him. Her heart rate was calm, her breath even. It was as if nothing could touch her anymore.

He almost flinched when she entered the room, refusing to meet her eyes; she supposed that they must look empty now, as blue and dull as the polished surface of a lake. The idea that she could make him flinch would have once made her feel powerful; it would have made a storm of ideas flood into her head, ideas and calculations and hopes. Now she merely marked it off as a curiosity.

"What were you going to say?" she asked flatly, and sat at the edge of the couch, hands folded across her lap, head listing to one side. She did not move or fidget, and when she blinked it was with a slow steady movement. She was so very tired. "'That is not…' what?"

"That is not what I wanted," he whispered.

"Of course it was," she reasoned. "You wanted me to stay. I'm staying."

"Stop that!" he snapped, backing away skittishly. Christine blinked.

"Stop what?" she asked.

"Stop acting as if you are dead!" he said. "Stop sitting so perfectly still! Stop speaking as if you have no voice!"

"I have no voice," she said simply. "I never have. Not with you. You never wanted me, not really. You wanted a warm body and a pretty smile." She smiled dully, like a doll. "Everything you have done from the beginning was just control, control, control. That is what I tried to tell you, so many times. I tried, Erik." Now she stood and took a step toward him; he backed away, his spine nearly to the wall. "Why are you so upset?" she asked, but her voice lacked curiosity. "You won."

"If I had not had control," he ground out painfully, the words little pieces of broken glass, "then you never would have stayed. I had to. I had to make you stay."

"Is that what you thought?" she asked, with a patience that was nearly boredom. She was just so exhausted, so tired of all of this, of these useless words, as if the sheer act of keeping her heart beating and remembering to blink was using up all of her energy. "That I would not have stayed? How silly. I would have stayed. Of course I would have stayed."

"Do not lie to me," he snapped, seeming to come to himself and taking a step toward her. She regarded him passively, her eyes half-lidded. "You never would have stayed! Why would you have stayed, if I did not make you? What possible incentive would you have had to stay with me?"

"You are a genius," she said plainly. "You gave me beautiful music. You made me appreciate life again, when I was ready to die. I was running from the control, not from you. Deep down, I think that you know that."

"You think I believe a word you are saying?" Erik hissed, in a voice as twisted and as dark as any she had ever heard, but still she did not move. "You are mocking me, you are taunting me, and I won't have it!" He approached her swiftly, one hand coming up to his face, and suddenly the mask was off, landing with a thump at their feet. "You would have stayed with this?" he snarled, wrapping his hands around her shoulders and pulling her toward him, the broken visage twisted. "I think you lie, Christine. You would have run from this. And why wouldn't you? Everyone else in the world has!" The skull bared its teeth furiously. "Look at me now and tell me you would have stayed with Erik!"

"I would have stayed," she said, her quiet voice breaking with emotion for the first time, her eyes flickering quietly with life like a stone thrown in deep water, sending ripples along the surface. She put her hands on his cheeks, cupping his death's face, running her thumbs along jagged cheekbones, fingers dangerously close to his hole of a nose. She drew him to her, until his fast breath brushed her skin and his wondering eyes were level with her own.

"I would have stayed," she whispered again, and kissed him.

It was not a long kiss, just a meeting of lips, her soft ones against his dry and flaking skin. She held it for a few beats; he didn't respond, just stayed frozen, as if his mind couldn't process what was happening to him, and didn't move even when she drew away, hands still cupping his withered cheeks.

"Poor Erik," she said, her voice wavering with emotion. One hand gently reached up to stroke his baby-fine hair. Then, pulling back, she gave him a sad smile as if nothing unusual had just happened and said, "I'm rather tired now. I think I will go lie down."

He hadn't moved, his body still tilted in a stooped position, but when she turned to walk away his hand suddenly shot out and grabbed her wrist with surprising strength. She looked at it and then at his face curiously.

"I'm sorry," he gasped out. She shrugged, a world-weary gesture.

"It's okay." Her voice was soft and near-inaudible. He didn't say anything else but when Christine tried again to walk to her room he tightened his grip on her arm, to the point of near-pain.

"Do not go," he said, and she realized in the cracking of his voice that he was weeping. Tears trailed down the parched skin of his emaciated face to drip off of his chin and onto the carpet.

"All right," Christine said. She turned back to him and managed to pry his hand off of her wrist but a moment later he was clasping her hands between his own. Strange, she thought, how they suddenly didn't seem so cold.

"I have not done much for you, have I," he murmured, staring tearily at their entwined fingers. "I love you so much and yet all I have ever managed to do is frighten you and make you cry." He glanced up at her bruised forehead with eyes that were surprisingly clear and lucid. "I have not done many good things in my life. I have never believed in redemption. However…"

He trailed off, his golden eyes studying her face, one hand brushing a lock of hair from her cheek. When he spoke his voice was thrumming and harmonious, sadly peaceful and in many ways more lovely than it had ever been before. "You are beautiful, but you are most beautiful when you are happy. I will do anything to make you happy, I know that now. You gave me one moment of happiness. I will give you a lifetime. Can you promise me that, Christine? Can you promise to be happy? And, perhaps, sometimes, to think of me with kindness, and not only with hate and fear?"

"Erik…"

"Promise me, Christine," he said, in a low and insistent voice. He was still crying.

Christine promised.

After she had spoken the words he sighed and closed his eyes. "You will live," he said with decisiveness. "And be happy. I can give that to you."

Then he paused and squared his thin shoulders. "Yes. I have one more gift for you. Do not move."

Then he left her, disappearing into a wall that had no door, leaving Christine standing in her sockless shoes in the middle of the sitting room. She was still exhausted, a headache threatening to bloom and blossom from her battered forehead. What was he doing? Where had he gone? She was confused and regretting her venture out of the peaceful numbing fog that previously clouded her senses, but now she could not seem to bring it back. Not after that kiss.

She wanted to cry from sheer weariness. Where was he?

A shuffling of noise, and he reappeared from the opposite wall. Christine turned with a start, words dying on her lips in sheer disbelief.

Raoul was half-draped on Erik's shoulders, his face bloody and eyes closed, the bizarre sight accentuated by the fact that he was not unconscious, but leaning heavily on Erik's thin form, barely able to walk.

"Raoul!" she gasped, rushing over to him, and when she did Erik unexpectedly eased him onto her shoulders, so that she was supporting her barely conscious friend.

"Erik, what are you doing?" she asked frantically, swaying under Raoul's weight. "He shouldn't be walking! How is he even conscious?"

Erik gave an apologetic shrug, looking for all the world like a little boy who had been caught telling a lie. "He is not as bad as all that," he said, not meeting her eyes. "I have an unfortunate tendency for the dramatic that I can't seem to suppress."

There was a pause, then Erik continued with an air of studied calm. "If you prod him he can walk, and support some of his own weight, but he's not really aware of his surroundings, and he probably won't remember any of this later. I would appreciate it if you did not divulge any privileged information to him."

"Erik," Christine said in a steady tone, wincing as she shifted Raoul's weight, which was threatening to crush her smaller figure. "What are you saying?"

He turned his back on her with tense deliberation. "The door is open; the light will show you the way out. Go to the hospital first. After that, you can do whatever you wish. Send the police, if you will. I will leave the door open. God knows I deserve it, after all of the things I have done. Perhaps they will be kind and put me out of my misery. One can only hope, I suppose."

"I…" Christine's mouth felt like it was filled with cotton; she could barely swallow, her tongue suddenly too thick to speak. "I don't understand."

"You have a wonderful life to live, Christine," he said quietly. "I suggest that you start living it. Remember your promise. And sing, won't you? Sing, and think of me."

"Erik…" Christine whispered, unable to move. Beside her Raoul groaned weakly.

At the sound of his name Erik finally turned; his shoulders were hunched, tears streaming down his barren face, hands curled into fists so tight that tiny drops of blood beaded onto his fingers. "Go," he whispered, staring at her desperately. "Just go, Christine. And don't look back."

She went.

Coaxing softly, Christine was able to get Raoul to move, slow, shuffling steps to the grey door that always appeared just when Erik wanted it to. She pulled her friend along, his figure draped on her shoulders, head of blond hair sticky with blood nearly obscuring her vision. She grasped the large handle, halfway expecting it to be locked; it swung open easily under her fingertips, and beyond it she could see the familiar hallway with its dim light drawing her downwards along the proper paths in the labyrinth of corridors.

And then, right before she and her beaten friend stepped out of Erik's cold and quiet apartment for the last time, Christine turned her head and looked back at him.

It was that look that changed everything.