Gift Five
"The Vow"
(Part II)

CHRISTINE DAAÉ'S JOURNAL
(entry cont.)

Weeks of planning, and I have finally done it.

Everything is in place now. As the stagehands and the other ballet girls would say: all the cards have been drawn, all the dice have been rigged, and all the stakes have been called. It is just a matter of cutting the string and letting loose this terrifying scheme. It is a scheme just twisted enough to rival one of Erik's own creation. I believe Erik will be furious; no, I rather know he will be furious with me. And yet I do believe this is truly the only way to go.

I came up with the idea soon after we spoke in the parlor that afternoon. I recovered quickly from my bout of illness, but Erik lapsed into it the day after. Oh, I hope he doesn't read this - but he is positively dreadful when he is ill! He was still giving me the cold shoulder back then, but even under normal circumstances (whatever those may be) I doubt he would have told me of his symptoms.

It was by chance that I heard him collapse, in the middle of the night, in the wash room at the end of the hall. There was a tremendous clattering of soaps and toiletries that I found scattered around him on the tile floor when I arrived in the doorway. He spoke no word and answered no question I gave to him; and I feared him dead right then and there. I placed my hand on his neck as if I were a medical doctor and to my great relief I felt the gentle thrumming of his pulse.

He does not recall how he arrived in my bed, because his memory has lapsed for that time; but the truth is I carried him to my bed, and tucked him snuggly in my sheets. He was shivering and covered in little beads of sweat, so I figured he must have had a fever that broke at some point during the night. I ran to his macabre bedchamber to retrieve the quilt I had knitted for him and then laid it across his slumbering form, and then ran to the kitchen to pour him a glass of warm milk.

I stirred him for the milk, which he accepted like a child before drifting back into his sleep. I feared the dreams that such an illness would give him; on normal nights he suffers such terrible nightmares that he often wakes up screaming and sobbing. As it was, the milk must have quelled these hallucinations temporarily, as he had the best night of sleep I'd ever seen him have. Or perhaps it was the sickness that ceased his night terrors… maybe it would do Erik well for him to get sick more often?

Over the course of the next three days, I took care of Erik as sweetly as he had taken care of me for the past year. He was half-conscious for some of it, and in those lucid moments he protested adamantly against me doing anything for him at all. I managed to keep him fed, with the same sort of comfort food he had given me – nothing delicious nor impressive, but still something to ease the pangs of hunger and the scratch of the throat. Also – and Erik is thankfully ignorant to this as well! - I bathed him once. It was after that first night, when I had carried him to my bed and he reeked of sweat. I stripped him of his nightshirt and washed him with a sponge and basin… I did my best to remain proper with him, and only uncovered what absolutely had to be seen. That is to say – I have now seen every part of his body, but I did not let my gaze linger…

I sat up all night, watching over him. I do not know why he collapsed. He has never been a healthy man as long as I've known him, and I suspect it was more than just the sudden illness that caused his fall. I found medication bottles on the tile floor when I went to clean the mess up, but I do not know what the medications are. I do not know if they are the type to have created his health problems or if they are the type to treat them; and even now that he has recovered I've still not received an answer to that question. He says it 'isn't something I should concern myself with.'

And yet I should! I have never been more afraid than when I saw him on the wash room floor. What would I do if he were to die? I would be stuck down here! So it is only logical that I take an interest in his health. But even more so…

Even more so…

I have every right to be selfish. After all, Erik is my captor, my warden, my jailer, and I his prisoner. My life above his should be first on my mind, if that is truly all we are to each other.

So why is it, then, that the first thought in my head, upon seeing him on the floor, was not 'Now I'm doomed to die down here, oh help me, Lord!', but instead 'Please, God, just let him be okay'?

It was that night, as I kept guard over Erik, ready to fend off the clutch of death should the reaper try to pay us a visit, that I realized what I had to do. As I wrote, my preparations are now in order. And Erik is well again, and our conversations have forgotten most of his ice-cold frigidness, and I truly believe that now is the time to at last snip the string…

Please, please, please, let Erik understand just this once…

She found him in the parlor, again perched over that little canary-bound book.

He seemed so peaceful that she nearly lost her nerve. Standing as she was, in the archway, unable to advance and unwilling to retreat, she settled on watching his still frame. He must have known she was standing there - sometimes she thought he truly had eyes on the back of his head - but he made no indication or acknowledgement. He merely kept on reading, touching his fingers to his lips with interest as he seemed to take in a particularly thought-provoking passage.

There are so many ways for this to go wrong, Christine worried, shifting on her feet. If I backed out now -

What would happen if she backed out now? Everything would remain just the same. But would that be so terrible? Life had not been all that wretched for the past year. Cold, and lonely, perhaps, but definitely not loathsome and unbearable. Did she really want to ruin things with this insane plot?

It is true; life with Erik thus far has not been unbearable. But why settle for that? Why not strive for something more? Do I truly want to live a life that is merely 'bearable'?

That settled it. She broke through the threshold to the room, and rounded armchair upon which Erik sat. She kneeled before him, skirts pooling around her form. He didn't look up, even when she placed her head on his knee.

"Erik," she said, heart thumping in her chest. He had to feel it, didn't he? She trained her eyes on the licking flames of the hearth to steady herself. Now or never… "May I ask you something?"

He turned a page in his book, and replied, distractedly, "You may ask me anything you wish, Christine."

"Do you love me?"

He set his book down instantly at that and stared at her with an amused expression that wrought itself across his horrible features. "Really? You're asking me that?"

"Yes," Christine said, more confidently. He seemed in good humor today. Perhaps this wouldn't be as bad as she thought! She drew herself back and leveled her gaze with him. "Do you love me?"

"Of course! Do I not tell you this enough? You are my heart, my soul, my life… I love you more than words can say!"

"If things were different, then, would you marry me?"

The corners of his mouth twitched downward. "Different in what way?"

"In whatever way you think would matter," Christine said, sensing the conversation slipping slightly out of her control. She reached for the reigns. "In whatever way could convince you that I do in fact love you."

"Christine…" His hand slowly trailed up his chest to clutch his heart. "Oh, Christine… "

"Well?"

"If I could rid myself of that annoying Christian concept of a conscience – yes, I suppose I would marry you, then."

"But would that let you believe I loved you?"

"Of course not," Erik frowned fully. "Nothing could ever make me believe that. We've talked about this before, Christine. You don't have a -"

"But what if I did have a choice?"

From the folds of her skirt, she extracted a ring and held it up so Erik could see it clearly.

"I am asking you for your hand in marriage, Erik. I see it not as a burden nor as a favor, and I wish for you to not view it that way either."

"Oh, sweet, lovely Christine… where did you even get this?"

"Truthfully… it's but a prop, from the Opera," Christine admitted. "I have no means for purchasing a real engagement ring. Please do not be offended -"

He plucked the ring from her fingers and turned it around several times, examining it as he spoke: "Very well, then, that this is not a real engagement ring, because this is not a real proposal! Now, up, Christine, get off your knees…"

"I will not, dear, until you hear the second part of what I have to say," she said, placing her hands a little above either of his knees. "I have secured for us a time in the little white chapel of Montmartre for tomorrow before dawn. Raoul has been instructed to be waiting just outside, but he has not been told what or who to look for. There will be a hired cabriolet, too, waiting around the corner, although Raoul has not been told of that, either. God willing, Erik, if all goes right, he will be none the wiser, and will think nothing more of the morning than that some inconsiderate associate of his brother has stood him up. And yet, he and the cab will be there, should either of us come to our senses and choose – yes, choose, that wonderful word - to flee with him instead…"

"Either of us?" Erik asked seriously, failing to be amused by her attempt at levity. "Who helped you with this? I watched you very carefully during your rehearsals…!"

"The boxkeeper, Madame Giry," Christine answered. "I spoke to her through her daughter Meg, during my breaks from my rehearsals. It took some time to arrange, given the circumstances, but I have managed to keep everything quite secret."

Erik shook his head in exasperation. "Christine, whatever made you think this was a good idea?"

"We will be married at last," Christine explained, "and without question of our love to one another. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Erik stared at the ring in his hand.

And then turned his gaze up to her.

"These cruel gifts of yours," he said, bottom lip quivering as his eyes filled with tears, "Christine, I beg of you to make them stop."

"Erik, what's the matter?" she fretted. "I did this for you to -"

"You wish to marry that boy after all, don't you?" he accused. "At least you're honorable about it, and you came to tell poor Erik face to face. But truly, Christine, you didn't have to disguise it with such an obvious and miserable lie…"

"Raoul? No, that's not -"

"He's a very dashing young boy," Erik wept, hiding his face in his hands, one still clutching onto the golden ring. "Erik could never hope to compare. Oh, but he is such a poor excuse for a man! I can pretend no longer with you... and Erik can bear no longer to keep you here. This farce is at its end. Here, come with me."

He suddenly stood and led her into an office that she had never seen before, even after living with him for a year. He rifled through some drawers in his desk, before removing a small envelope and handing it to her.

"There are forty thousand francs in this envelope. It is a small pittance compared to what the boy can provide for you, but it is all I have as a wedding gift."

"Erik, I can't accept this -"

"You won't even accept a wedding gift from me?" Erik asked heartbrokenly. "Then – please - take it as your dowry. It's money, Christine, and I want to give it to you." Then, desperately, he added, "Or I can say I don't wish for you to have it, and you can take it forcefully from me, as if I never wished for it at all. Would you like that more, Christine?"

Just like that, her heart shattered in a million pieces.

Again… how is it that he's misunderstood again?! I can't stand this anymore!

"Oh, what does it matter what I would like?!" Christine cried. She threw up her hands. "Why can't you accept a single thing from me? Why must everything I do be underhanded and ill-intended? I am not an evil witch, Erik, I'm your wife – your living, breathing wife! Let me be a wife to you! Let us make it official in the eyes of the law! Let us be married in a real church, without question, without pause! Let me give you little presents, Erik, and let me kiss you! Let me sleep beside you in bed without guilt!"

Suddenly Erik reared up against her, tears burning his eyes as a flash of anger struck him. "And you have done all of that and more, my dear! Or have you not forgotten our first night in bed? You were a wife to me then, were you not? And how about after that, when you decided you were tired of playing the marriage game with me, and shoved me unceremoniously from your bed? That was quite the show of love! I suppose I should be rather grateful for that little gift! Or perhaps I should remind you of that fiasco with the Palomino Fino?"

"The sherry? Above everything else, it's the sherry that you're upset about?!"

"Even now!" Erik cried. "Even now – you don't see it!"

"I don't see what?!" Christine demanded desperately. She reached out and clutched his cold bony hands, fighting him as he tried to break free of her grasp. "Tell me! Teach me! What don't I see?!"

"You have always been nothing more than a naïve child!" Erik said harshly. "Always pittering around this wretched house with your face pitched with pity! Woe is Erik! That he must live here! How unhappy he must be! Have you even spared a single thought for me, Christine? The real me, not the imagined version you have of me in your head? How I must truly feel to live in your presence? To be the recipient of these so-called gifts?"

"I -"

"A photograph! What sort of callous gift is that? As if to tempt me with the fact that one day you won't be here – as if to say you wish not to be here!" He finally shook free of her clutch. "Christine, when will you learn? I asked you from the outset not to give me gifts! And for good reason: because your presence is the only present I shall ever need!" He scoffed that last sentence, riddling it into a joke as ridiculous as the words he used to say it.

Erik's humor can really be as bleak and black as the inside of a coffin…

"And I'm sure you think your attempts are admirable and noble! How could you not? Woe is Erik! That he has never received a single gift from another living soul! I must be the first to bestow such blessings upon him! And so he must be overjoyed with anything I get him!" Erik turned from her, his shoulders suddenly shuddering and his words turning wet as he drowned in his tears. "Would you believe it? I have not always been the arachnic recluse you see standing before you, Christine!… I once was a man of some society, too, if you would believe it… not a good society, yes, but some society… I knew people, and they knew me… and despite your beliefs, I have in fact received gifts before… gifts that I have truly loved… gifts that I have truly cherished..."

"I did not mean to imply -"

"I have never been so lonely as I have been with you," he declared in a whisper, still refusing to turn around and look at her. "Do you even know what it means to be married?"

She bristled. "I am not so ignorant as you might believe."

"So you know, then, that there is a very physical aspect to marriage?"

"Yes."

"Does that frighten you?"

What was the use of lying? "It may have before, but no longer. Please, Erik, is that what this is about? Are you so afraid of -"

Erik's shoulders tensed. "Physicality is just one dimension of a marriage. I am sure you would be fine. You could convince yourself to bear with it. But it is certainly not what I would be seeking from you."

"Then what, Erik? What do you want?"

"The sanctity of marriage," Erik said with much deliberation, "is wrought upon the idea of two souls fusing into one. The point of the sacrament is for both the husband and the wife to love each other – to teach each other – to better each other… so is that what you want to agree to, Christine? To better me? Make me a better man? I could truly use some help in that regard, don't you agree?"

"You are upset -"

"As well I should be! But I know I am wicked, and I know I need salvation. I would love for you to save me, Christine. And I think you could quite possibly love the concept of it all, too. We could put your good Christian heart to good use on a rotten case like me. Wouldn't that be something? But there's another half of it, too, which is what offends me to my very core."

"And what is that?"

He took a breath, and finally turned to face her.

"Do you really think I could better you?"

All the anger had left his eyes; left instead was the child he had repeatedly accused her of being.

"Do you think there's anything in you that I can improve upon? Unlike you, I am irreparably broken, Christine. I cannot be fixed. And yet, in this short time we've lived together, I have found myself repeatedly waking up as a better version of myself than I was the day before. Can you say the same? Have I done that for you?"

He paused, staring into her eyes, pleading for a response – any response - but Christine found that she had no answer to give him.

"Leaps and bounds, Christine, leaps and bounds," Erik said. "I am a far better person than I ever was before I met you. It is the exact reason why I am so attached to you, and why I am so reluctant to give you up. Your love fuels the fire within me."

Then he sighed.

"You asked me what I want… I want to make you feel the same. I want to do for you what you have done for me. But, Christine, you must know I am not the right man for the job. Your boy – Raoul – would certainly be a better fit -"

"Perhaps he would be," Christine agreed softly, finding her resolve. "Perhaps I would be very happy with him. I have no doubt that he will make a wonderful husband and father one day. But, Erik, you are missing the point still."

"Which is?"

"The ring is for you, Erik. I have chosen you. I wish to be with you." Christine grasped his hands once more, and this time he didn't pull away. "Please, my dear, know that I was never trying to be cruel with my gifts. I merely wanted to do for you what you have done for me."

"We are very hurtful to each other with our little displays of love, are we not?" Erik mused. "As though we've offered each other a bouquet of roses, but forgotten to clip the thorns…"

"We'll learn," Christine promised. "One day. But only if you agree."

She uncurled his fist, to find the ring still sitting in his palm.

He picked it up with his other hand and studied it.

"Tomorrow before dawn, you said…?"