He led her back into the familiar rooms of the lake house, past her old room, down the corridors past the main room, towards a familiar door which she had always avoided. The dark door with the black door knob which led into Erik's room stood before her and they were about to go inside.
Amelia still felt has though she was violating some secret space, as Erik opened the door and led her through. He had not said another word to her since they entered the house, and now as her curiosities were about to be satiated he merely said, "It will be dark, I will light some candles."
As he walked effortlessly into the dark room using his amazing night vision to find his way, Amelia started to see the room as he lit clusters of candles around the room. She expected the room to be dark and vampirish but in truth it was a very Spartan room. No frills, just a simple room, a bed, a small piano, and a portrait. Amelia couldn't help but glance over at the bed, the bed where he slept. This scenario felt so intimate but these weren't the circumstances she had imagined.
The portrait was still too dark to see clearly, but as Erik lit up the room more she could make out the image painted on the canvas. It was worn, but the person painted was clearly Christine. The same blue eyes, blond hair, rosy, round cheeks, and even the same angelic smile, this Christine wore a pink satin gown and posed with a nosegay of white gardenias.
Initially, Amelia felt annoyed, why would he bring her here to his space, to prove to her how much he loved Christine? "Erik, what does this prove to me other than how much you love, Christine? Are you trying to hurt me more?" She sat on his bed and shifted a hairpin that was digging into her head. She felt Erik sit down next to her and every nerve in her body reached out to him. She folded her hands together tightly, ignoring every instinct.
Erik's voice filled the room when he spoke, "That's not Christine, Amíe." He had never called her that before, she turned towards him, "Erik… I don't understand." He stood up and walked towards the painting.
"She was my mother."
Amelia gasped, "Your mother… but," her mind was whirling. So many stories hypothesized that perhaps his obsession had to do with his mother, but this… "I didn't think that was real," she blurted out. He looked at her quizzically, "What do you mean by that?"
"I… I don't know," she lied, "So that's what you're telling me? That you never really loved her? That this was all just an attempt to get your mother to love you?" He stared from her to the painting.
"I don't know, Amíe. I just know that when I saw her, and heard her, I haven't thought clearly since. It wasn't just that she looked like my mother or sounded like her when she sang, there was something else. Maybe it was the need to be accepted, I don't know."
"Oh Erik, you must admit it's a little twisted. She's your mother, so you basically pretend to be her father… and then that kiss…" she closed her eyes trying to get the image out of her brain.
"That kiss was wonderful and in some ways it did heal something inside of me, but Amelia, that kiss… I'm trying to tell you. It was wonderful, but, afterwards, I just knew what I needed, and I knew what Christine needed."
"Erik, that kiss is all the evidence you need that Christine is in love with you," Amelia had no idea where he was going with this.
"I don't know that she is, Amelia," he still wasn't wearing his mask and he tried to smooth what little hair he had, "what matters is that she is much better off with the Viscount. He can give her everything, much more than I can."
"You must love her a lot to make that choice," Amelia snapped.
"You are so infuriating," he exclaimed, pulling her to him, "I am trying to tell you that after all of that, after everything I went through, after holding another woman I loved in my arms, knowing she wanted me too. After all of that, none of that could compare to having you in my arms."
She stared at him, her skin was tingling again and before she could respond he had pulled her closer and kissed her. Amelia did not even try to fight him, she allowed herself to get lost in his touch. She carefully caressed his deformed cheeks. He still flinched a bit but did not pull away.
All this time she had been in love with the idea of this man and now to know him and discover him as a real person. It was all too much. Her brain buzzed through the ecstasy she was experiencing and she carefully back away from Erik's embrace.
"Amíe, what is it? Forgive me, I did not think to ask how you felt, but it seemed your intention were pretty clear." His eyes bore in to hers, hopeful and yet fearful. He could not be happy so easily without the threat of disillusionment. Amelia closed her eyes hating herself for the obligation she now felt to be honest.
"No Erik, I…" she took his hand, "I do love you, I swear to it. But, I feel I have not been honest with you and I fear that, I know that once I am truthful to you… you may not love me anymore."
Erik chuckled, "With all the truths that you know about me, how could anything you have to say deter me from loving you? You love me despite all of this," he gestured to his grizzly face, "and this," he placed her hand over his heart, "you love me despite my past, the terrible things I have done. Please let me share this burden with you and love you in spite of it?"
"Oh Erik, you are not making this easy," she nuzzled into his chest and allowed herself one last untainted moment listening to his beating heart and feeling his chin rest on her head. She was about to tell him everything. She prayed he could truly be opened minded.
She began indolently, "Erik, what year do you believe that I was born?"
She felt Erik's chest shake with laughter, hard laughter this time, "Oh ma petite chère, I do not care what age you are! I know I am older than you…"
"No Erik I don't care about that, I mean… you might think I was born in say… 1875, correct?"
"If you are twenty years of age, then I suppose that would be the assumption?" he replied.
"But that is not the year of my birth, Erik, the year of my birth is 1988," she blurted out.
"If you are trying to imply that you are some sort of mad woman, I can assure you I am mad enough for the both of us," he finally answered.
"No, Erik, I'm telling the truth. I'm…" she tried to find a less cliché was of saying this, but the words failed, "I'm from the future."
"Amelia, I'm not sure what you are trying to tell me, but I'm growing impatient of this game."
"It's not a game, Erik. I mean maybe it started out as a game, but I'm in too deep now, and I need to be honest with you. I have been in love with the idea of you for almost two years. I came here to find you, I came here from the future to find you. I know it sounds pathetic and it is, but it's the truth."
"And what would possess you to think that I would ever believe such a ridiculous story?" he retorted.
"Fine, don't believe me. That's the truth. There is nothing I can say to prove this to you except for the fact that in my world, many people know your story, or at least the basics. That's how I knew what was under your mask, or at least my best guess."
Erik stepped back from her, "Amelia, perhaps my affections for you have clouded your opinion of my intellect but I assure you that I am very skilled at telling if someone is lying."
Amelia put her wrist in his hand, "Fine. Test me, take my pulse, see if I'm lying."
Erik smiled, "Just because you believe you are being truthful does not mean that what you are saying is factual."
This was getting tedious, "Then how may we resolve this?" Amelia asked dramatically batting her eyelashes.
"Amelia?" Erik's voice sounded far away all of a sudden, "Amelia!"
Amelia blinked her eyes again against the fuzzy images and darkness that plagued her vision all of a sudden. Erik was beginning to disappear and Amelia felt herself falling. His voice rang inside her head until everything was completely dark. When Amelia opened her eyes the scenery had changed. There was no light, no lake house, no portrait, and no Erik. She was back in the present.