Chapter 7

Having Erik as a guest became normal to Christine surprisingly quickly. By mid-week, they had found an easy routine of sharing the cooking and cleaning. Erik was not a great cook, but Christine was still impressed; Raoul had never touched a pan in his life. Erik also kept Aunt Alice company during the day, which was beneficial for both of them.

As opening night drew nearer, Christine's anxiety about her upcoming conversation with Raoul grew. Sometimes during rehearsal she would look out over the vast theater, taking in the grandeur and beauty of the space. The theater was a haven for her. Within these walls she had escaped from the suffering of day to day life and instead lost herself in the music and stories of the stage. In those moments, she was certain that this was what she needed most. Then later, she would think of the warmth of Raoul's arms and think that she could live without everything else if she had that.

Christine came home late from the theater on Thursday, the day before opening night. Dress rehearsal had run late due to some technical errors and issues with the chorus. By the time she arrived at home, Christine was exhausted, her limbs heavy as lead.

"Erik?" she called as she entered the apartment. Her question was met by silence. Maybe Erik was asleep and didn't hear her.

She popped her head into her aunt's room to find Aunt Alice fast asleep. She then entered the kitchen, which was pristinely clean, then the sitting room, which was also empty.

"Erik?" Christine called again, becoming more and more nervous. He couldn't have left, could he?

She threw the door of her bedroom open as tremors of anxiety started to run through her fingers. Sitting at her vanity, was Erik.

"Erik! What are you doing in here?" Christine asked breathlessly.

He looked up at her, his face stone cold and wordlessly held up his white mask. "Why do you have this?" he asked with a terrifying calmness.

Christine's breath caught in her throat. She had intended to give Erik the mask at some point, but it hadn't felt right yet. Now, though, fate had twisted her hand. No, not fate, she realized. Erik had invaded her privacy and found the mask.

"Why are you in my bedroom?" she retorted.

They locked eyes, waging a silent war. Christine stared him down, as anger bubbled in her chest. How could he invade her privacy then be angry with her? After all she had done for him!

Erik broke the silence. "You had my mask all along! And you never gave it to me! This mask is my freedom and my protection, and you kept it from me."

"I intended to give you the mask at some point, Erik. I wasn't keeping it from you on purpose. And what gave you the right to come snooping in my bedroom anyways?!"

"You were hiding it on purpose!" he cried. "I see through you now. This is your revenge! You want to control me, and this is how you do it. You've denied me my freedom and my ability to hide my face."

"You don't have to hide your face here!" Christine cried. "I want you to feel at home!"

Erik continued as though she had never spoken. "You lure me with your beauty and your 'innocence' that you know I cannot resist and then you trap me like an animal! How could you Christine?"

"You are not my prisoner! Why won't you believe me?" she pleaded desperately.

"You will lie to me no longer," Erik said through his teeth. He strode towards the door, which Christine was blocking. She put her hands on his shoulders and shoved him backwards. He grabbed both her wrists with a grasp of iron.

"You won't be able to stop me," he sneered. Then he shoved her violently onto the bed and fled from the room. Before Christine could compose herself, she heard the door of the apartment slam shut.

Christine sat still for a moment before collapsing into tears. She shook with anger and hurt. She had just seen the man that Meg had warned her about–the unstable, terrifying, angry ghost that had taken his revenge through murder. The man who knew no boundaries and would take everything to extremes. She could still feel his grip on her wrists and was reminded of the power he held. It made her uneasy. And he had come into her bedroom and searched through her belongings. She felt violated in some ways. She shuddered.

Christine was also so confused, too. Hadn't she proven to Erik so many times over that she wasn't seeking revenge or holding him captive? Why did he keep accusing her of this? She knew the answer, though. Erik had been exploited and abused for his entire life. It would take a lot more than a few promises and a week together to prove a lifetime of experiences wrong.

Christine didn't know where Erik would go that evening, but she also knew a woman searching the streets of Paris alone for a ghost would be dangerous and fruitless. Erik was self-sufficient. What Christine feared most was the danger he posed to himself.

When she had cried herself out, Christine halfheartedly prepared for bed, her flood of emotions finally having been replaced by numbness.

Erik had not returned by morning, and Christine needed to leave for the theater by mid-morning. She prepared a breakfast for Aunt Alice and brought it to her room.

"Good morning, Auntie," Christine said quietly.

"Good morning dearest." Alice gave her a fond smile. "Tonight is opening night, yes?"

Christine nodded. "Opening night and I'm seeing Raoul after the performance."

Aunt Alice took her hand. "Do you know what you are going to say to him?"

Christine shook her head. Her chest ached, thinking about the two men she cared about, both of whom she had argued with in the past week.

"Oh darling, don't worry. Raoul is a good man. He will listen and understand however you choose," Aunt Alice said, responding to Christine's pained expression.

"It's not just that, Auntie. Erik ran out last night."

Alice's eyebrows shot up. "What?! Why?"

Christine explained how Meg had given her the mask and how Erik had found it the night before.

"Oh honey," Alice said, "he's a sensitive man, that one. When he first walked into my room I had to coax him to show me his face because he kept it covered with his hand. It took a long while, and once he did show me, he started to cry. I understand why he reacted that way, but I do not like the violence with which he reacted."

Christine nodded. "He is violent. He has murdered. And yet, I care and know I must find him and bring him back."

Aunt Alice nodded. "Your father always taught you to do the right thing. I expect you to do nothing else."

"And Papa always did the right thing, even when it was inconvenient for him," Christine said wistfully, thinking of when he invited a homeless woman over for supper when they barely had enough money to feed themselves.

"He taught you well. Now go to the theater, perform, talk to Raoul, and deal with Erik after that."

Christine nodded and bid her aunt farewell for the day.

The music swirled around her as Christine stepped to the front of the stage. She looked out over the vast darkness. Her character had just lost everything. She was alone and broken. The orchestra began the mournful tune of her aria, and Christine let the heartbroken melody envelop her. Thinking back to her lesson with Erik, she took a deep breath and began to sing.

The aria beautifully expressed brokenness, and Christine felt it course through herself, relishing the power of feeling an emotion created by music. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes as she sang of the hope her character once had as a little girl and of the betrayal and heartbreak she had found as an adult. As she sang, Christine felt taller, stronger, and more mature, as though her character became part of her own life experiences.

Christine held the last note longer than needed, and the orchestra brought the aria to a close. There was a brief moment of silence before the audience erupted into applause. The tears that had been threatening to fall during the aria finally slid down her cheeks and a small sob shook Christine's chest. This was why she performed. What a privilege it was to tell this story and to inhabit this character.

Christine bowed her head in acknowledgement of the audience, then turned to exit the stage. Madame Giry was standing in the wings and placed a hand on her shoulder with a nod, an acknowledgement of her performance. She and Madame Giry locked eyes for a moment before a small body slammed into Christine's side, giving her a bear hug. Christine hugged Meg back, sobs and laughter shaking her body. Christine even saw Madame Giry's shoulders shaking with laughter as well.

The three of them stood together in the wings for the few moments before Christine and Meg had to return onstage. The opera continued flawlessly and all too soon, the curtain closed on their final bows.

Christine returned to her dressing room, the excitement of the performance slowly being replaced by anxiety. Raoul was standing outside the door, waiting, when she arrived.

The moment he saw her, his blue eyes filled with emotion. "You were… incredible," he breathed.

"Thank you," Christine said cordially.

Raoul looked unsure. "May I…?" He opened his arms slightly, indicating he wanted to embrace her. Christine responded by putting her arms around him.

Oh, the warmth of his embrace; it made Christine feel as though all of her troubles were gone. She pulled away.

"Let me change," she said quietly, then slipped into her dressing room.

Twenty minutes later, she and Raoul were in his carriage heading towards his family estate. Raoul said his brother was not home and that his chef was preparing a wonderful meal for the two of them. They fell into an easy banter of small talk and quips, although the remnants of their argument a week ago seemed to cut their laughter short.

A servant greeted them at the door to the estate, silently taking their cloaks. Raoul offered Christine his arm and they walked inside together. They went immediately to the dining room, which was set with two places around the corner of the long table, lit with candles. It was very romantic looking. Christine smiled.

Raoul pulled out a chair for Christine before taking his own seat. Immediately, their glasses were filled with wine and bowls of soup were placed in front of them.

"Bon appetite," Raoul said, before taking a spoonful of his soup. Christine followed suit, sighing at the delicious burst of flavors. They ate in silence for a few minutes.

"Your aria today," Raoul said, "you sang it with such emotion. Were you crying at the end?"

Christine nodded. "I've sang that aria so many times, but tonight was the first time it moved me like that."

"Why is that?" Raoul asked quietly.

Christine was aware that they were dangerously close to the conversation they needed to have. "I think when I perform I stop thinking about the technique of it all. I already know the technique–I've been rehearsing that for the past few weeks. So, when I'm onstage I just become the character. And I just felt her pain so viscerally that it was overwhelming."

"We felt everything out in the audience tonight as well. I've never heard a theater so silent then erupt into such thunderous applause."

Christine smiled at his praise. "That's why I perform," she said.

Raoul opened his mouth to respond when two servants entered the room with the main course. Raoul shut his mouth, looking frustrated. Christine looked up at the servants and thanked them both before they left.

Christine picked up her fork and knife and cut into the delicious-looking piece of meat on her plate. It tasted even better than it looked.

"Your chef is truly incredible," Christine said, almost groaning at the amazing flavors.

"Christine," Raoul said, his voice full of emotion. "I'm so sorry."

She reached out and squeezed his fingers but said nothing.

"I love you so much. I don't want to lose you," he continued. "I just don't want you to face the ridicule of being a working woman in the aristocracy."

"Raoul, I'm already ridiculed. I'm a poor girl playing at being a part of your high society. Stop claiming this is about protecting me," Christine said, the last words coming out sharper than she intended. Raoul winced.

Christine sighed. "You were never concerned about what others thought of us when we first got together and when you proposed. What changed?"

Raoul took a deep breath before responding. "Philippe had a very long conversation with me last week about you. He reminded me of my place and of my duty."

"What does it matter what he thinks!" Christine cried.

"Because he's right! I will never be able to deal with people judging us for the rest of our lives."

Christine blinked back tears. "Why did you seek me out in the first place if you knew this would never work?"

Raoul looked away. "I never thought about it. I saw the beautiful girl I knew from childhood and I heard her sing with the voice of an angel and I knew I loved her. And I still do." He turned to her and looked at her with pleading eyes.

"How can you ask this of me? All you ever asked of me before was to love you."

"That was the words of a boy in love not realizing the realities of life. You must realize the same, Christine. It's time to move on and start the next chapter of your life. With me."

Christine shook her head. "Less than a year ago I started a new chapter in my career–I became a singer rather than a ballerina. I'm not ready to move on from that yet."

Raoul leaned away from her, Christine's words hanging between them. "This is your decision, then?" he asked.

Christine nodded, a few tears falling from her eyes. She looked at Raoul and saw his eyes were shining with tears as well. "I love you so much, Christine. That will never change."

Christine looked down at the diamond ring on her left finger. Slowly, she slid it off and held it out to Raoul. "Thank you for giving me this. It was an honor to wear it."

Raoul took Christine's hand in both of his and started to cry. He shook with sobs, leaning over their joined hands. Christine ran her other hand through his dirty blond locks. Slowly, he composed himself and took the ring from her palm.

Christine stood. "I should go," she said.

Raoul nodded and walked with her out of the dining room. When they reached the doorway, he turned and looked down at her, his eyes swimming. For a moment, Christine was back on the rooftop in Paris. She reached up and pulled his face to her own. The kiss was tender, a goodbye. When she pulled away, she took in the color of his eyes and the details of his face one last time, then fled.