The moment of truth came the next morning. She was doing her best to prepare herself for the inevitable confrontation, though her heart still skipped several beats when he at last knocked on the door.
"Christine, you will be late for rehearsals," he said, already sounding annoyed. "This is not the time to sulk."
She didn't reply, forcing herself to take several deep and calming breaths. He was going to yell, he was going to be upset. But if she refused to give into his demands, he would have to yield.
A few moments later, he tried again, this time pounding loudly. "Christine. Wake up."
"I'm awake!" she finally said, her voice cracking. "I'll be right out."
No use hiding anymore. She finally left the room, still wondering if she was making a mistake.
He skulked and glared at her as she ate her breakfast, and she did her best to ignore him, though her skin prickled and the hair on the back of her neck stood up as she felt him glower. He was sulking, angry, wanting her to give in and tell him that of course she would sing, Erik, and of course she would never tell anyone, and oh, Erik, you're just amazing, and I'm so grateful to you…
She resisted rolling her eyes, instead finishing her meal and clearing the table. As she washed the breakfast dishes, he hovered in the doorway, still watching her, as if sizing her up. She didn't look at him, trying instead to focus on her task. This was now a game of will. And she knew Erik's will was so much stronger than her own. But for Mr. Khan, she had to win.
"I don't believe you," he suddenly said, folding his long arms over his chest. "You would never jeopardize your debut."
She was silent, rinsing the suds from the last cup and turning off the water. Then she grabbed the kitchen towel and began drying the dishes.
"Fine," he snapped. "Be a damn little mouse. I suppose you don't need to go to rehearsals. No need for a mute in an opera. You'll stay here and keep me company instead." He whirled around and went back to the piano.
She released a breath, momentarily leaning against the counter for support. She had anticipated much more yelling, but maybe that was still to come. The thought of not going to rehearsals at all was terrifying. He really could keep her here if he wanted. But she had to know. If Mr. Khan was dead, then there was no reason for any of her sacrifices.
Quietly, she finished drying the dishes, still steeling herself. She'd been yelled at by Erik before. Plenty of times. When they had first met and she initially took lessons from him, all he ever seemed to do was yell at her. And if he locked her up…well. She'd been locked in here before, and she had survived.
She lingered in the kitchen, not wanting to go out and make him think she was worried or close to breaking. Instead, she started to pull out bowls and cups, humming quietly to herself to try to stay calm.
Just as she knew he would, he appeared in the doorway, scowling.
"What the hell are you doing?" he said.
"Baking," she said, taking out the container of flour. "Since I guess I'm not going to rehearsals. Maybe a strawberry cake."
"I would be happy to take you to rehearsals if you gave up this stupid crusade," he said coldly.
She opened the fridge and grabbed the strawberries, knowing it was annoying him that she didn't look at him.
"I need to see Mr. Khan," she said quietly.
"I told you I would pass along any message you had," he said. "Why do you need to bother an old man?"
She didn't reply, cracking two eggs in the bowl.
"Goddamnit!" he snarled, pounding a fist into the doorjamb. Then he stormed off.
Her breath was a little shaky, and she closed her eyes for a moment, saying a quick prayer, asking for strength. "It's okay," she then whispered to herself. This was not so bad. Not yet. She just didn't want him to come back and start grabbing at her, shaking her. That always terrified her.
She was measuring the flour into the bowl when he came back.
"You're going to be late," he said. "You would really throw away your chance for greatness, for everything, on a feeble old Iranian?"
Christine wavered, just a moment. Then she gave what she hoped was a careless shrug.
"I need to see him."
He swore again, leaving the room, and she winced as she heard a loud clatter. He had kicked over the dining table chair. Tears threatened the corners of her eyes. She really was going to give it all up. Everything she had ever dreamed of, what she had worked so hard for. All those hours preparing, and she was going stand there and bake some stupid cake instead.
She hastily wiped at her eyes, taking another deep breath. This was the price she would have to pay. No stage in the world was worth being trapped with Erik forever as his...
He returned for another assault, and she whirled around to look at him as he said, "I did nothing to that boy."
"Raoul?" she said breathlessly. "He's—he's okay?"
Hearing Raoul's name made him, if possible, even more annoyed. "As far as I'm aware," he said icily. "I never touched him. Does that satisfy you?"
A warm relief spread over her, but she couldn't let herself be swayed. She had made her threat, her demand, and if she gave up when he offered her something else, he would never take her seriously. And he could still be lying. He could be lying about both Mr. Khan and Raoul. The only way to make sure he wasn't would be to see with her own eyes.
"I—I still want to see Nadir," she said. "Please."
"Why are you being so damnably obstinate?" he hissed. "What the hell has gotten into you?"
She gave the strawberries a rinse and began to slice them, her fingertips growing red with the juice. Behind her, she could hear him take a step closer to her, and she flinched, bringing her shoulders up to her ears, trying to brace herself. Then he left, muttering under his breath.
If she would no longer perform, what use would Erik have for her? Some live-in maid, some little dormouse housewife? Maybe he would throw her back out on the streets. The thought was both terrifying and alluring.
Several more minutes passed, and then he returned. Christine busied herself with the batter, hoping he didn't notice the way her breath came trembling from her lips. Perhaps this would be the time that he grabbed her.
"Get your shoes," he then said shortly. "You are already late for rehearsals."
She looked at him quickly, setting down the spoon. "You mean—?"
He held up a hand. "I will take you to Khan. I don't want to hear anything about it."
Obeying silently, she left the kitchen, abandoning her cake. Within two minutes, she had pulled on her shoes, grabbed her bag, and was waiting at the door. Erik took her wrist and yanked her through.
She could tell he was in a very bad mood, so she was silent, letting him glower as he hurried through the tunnels.
"Hurry up," he would snap occasionally. "You are late."
Christine said nothing and allowed herself to be pulled along. She had to resist the urge to smile. She had done it. She had finally won something.
When they stopped in the small room by the alley, however, she couldn't help herself from trying to ask.
"You promise you will—?"
"For god's sake, yes!" he snarled, wrenching open the door. "Now go, you stupid girl!"
She received a very stern three minute lecture from Mr. Reyer when she showed up late. She played the contriteful role, nodding sorrowfully and promising not to be late again. Then he shook his head, annoyed, and sent her on her way.
Her rehearsals went much better than the day before. She could hardly believe that she had managed to stand up to him, especially after what had happened during the past few days. She could remember those early lessons in the old, decrepit theater downtown, where one raised word was enough to send her cowering into compliance. Maybe it wasn't something anyone normal would have been proud of, but she had to allow herself some happiness for any small victory.
There were so many people she didn't recognize at rehearsals. Several strangers sat in the audience, some very far away in the back of the house, some in the front row. Everyone seemed to be talking to someone else all the time. It was bustling, exciting, and Christine felt, for the first time in what felt like weeks, the flutter of nerves at the thought of performing. Tomorrow she would be performing on this stage.
Well—if things went according to plan. She had been disappointed once. She knew all too well how badly things could go in just one day.
Rehearsals took much longer than usual, as all last-minute changes, tweaks, and updates were being implemented. Christine tried not to be annoyed as she spent much of the day simply standing around, waiting to be called here, sent there, stand here, look there. She also had to wait in the wings and endure another tantrum from Carlotta Giudicelli, who apparently was not agreeing with the feedback of some creative director.
When Christine was finally dismissed for the day, she was grateful, though her stomach was beginning to twist in nervous anxiety. Maybe Erik had lied to her just to get her out the door. But even if he had, she could still talk tomorrow. He had to recognize that threat.
But he was waiting for her, obviously still irritated. He didn't even take her down to the house to change or eat, instead saying, "Come. I would like to get this over with quickly."
Christine followed him back outside, down the alley, and to the familiar car that was waiting.
"Thank you for taking me, Erik," she said softly after several long minutes of silence in the car.
He finally looked at her with narrowed eyes. "This is not a good idea. Nadir is in no state for visitors. But you insisted, and I live to please you."
The last sentence was said with the slightest hint of sarcasm. Christine did not want to say anything that might upset him and have him turn the car around, so instead she looked back out of the car windows. They were heading into a suburb of the city, somewhere she had never been before. The blocks of concrete apartment buildings were older, a little rundown, and the corners were littered with convenience stores, their windows glowing with neon signs. Tiny hole in the wall restaurants were sprinkled here and there. They stopped outside of one nondescript building, the sun low in the sky, a blazing orange sunset splashing across the squat, shabby concrete complex.
Inside was more rundown than she had expected it to be. The building had the lingering odor of old cooking and trash that was always taken out a few days too late. She followed him up a few flights of stairs, looking around curiously. She had not imagined Mr. Khan recovering in a place like this. From behind a closed door, a television blared, and she could faintly hear a baby crying a few floors above them.
They stopped in front of a chipped door, and Erik pulled out a key, looking at her.
"Do not cause a fuss," he said. "Keep silent to let him rest. We will stay only a few minutes."
She nodded, her heart beginning to pound loudly. She was suddenly very nervous. If—when she saw Mr. Khan alive, what would that mean for her? Would she feel resentful, having sacrificed all chance of freedom to save him? She hoped she would feel charitable and proud to have made the choice, but she worried a selfish side of her would be angry at him.
Erik opened the door, gesturing for her to enter, and she did, recognizing the apartment almost instantly. It was where she had woken up that terrible night, the night she had seen Mr. Khan bleeding, Erik hovering above him, his mask off. Her stomach clenched. She was glad she hadn't had any dinner yet.
The air was musty and stale. The place had an unkempt, stale feeling, as if nobody had been there for several days. Christine could see two apples rotting on the countertop. It felt like a very bad omen.
He led her down the small hallway, past the tiny bedroom in which she had woken up, and to another door at the end of the hall. Erik paused, pressed one long finger to his lips, and slowly opened the door. The bedroom was bigger than the other one, but not by much. There was a bed, a nightstand, and a beat-up chest of drawers. A window let in the last wisps of the summer sunset, making the room glow eerily, casting everything in an unsightly shade of orange.
Mr. Khan was lying in the bed, apparently sleeping. It looked as if the room had been turned into a makeshift hospital room. An IV bag was hanging from the headboard, and the nightstand was covered with supplies. Bandages, bottles, pills, scissors, towels. It was all a harsh reminder of the reality of what had happened just days ago. A gun, a bullet, blood…She squeezed her eyes shut, wondering if she should ask Erik to take her back. It was easier to forget what had happened in the underground house.
But she approached the bed, hesitant, clasping her hands together, her gaze fixed on the man in the bed. He was gaunt, pale, and his hair was dirty. She could see that he was breathing.
Thank God.
"Is he okay?" she managed to whisper shakily.
"He will live," Erik replied. "Hush."
It reminded her too much of her father. Lying in that hospital bed, too thin, fingers almost brittle. She remembered he had been on oxygen and wondered if Mr. Khan needed oxygen as well. Tears welled up in her eyes. She couldn't help but touch his hand lightly, relieved to feel his skin was warm.
"Christine," Erik began, his hiss a warning to her to stop, but Mr. Khan's hand twitched under her touch, and he slowly opened his eyes.
He looked around the room and then caught sight of her, and her stomach dropped at his expression. He looked horrified.
"Oh my god," he said weakly, his voice a horrid rattling sound. "Christine. Oh, no. Oh, god. What are you doing here?"
She pressed her hands over her mouth, a few tears slipping down her cheeks.
Before she could get a word out in reply, she was snatched backwards, and Erik dragged her out of the room, pushed her into the hallway, and closed the door in her face. The snick of the lock sliding into place told her that it was useless, but she tried to open the door again anyway.
"Erik? Mr. Khan? Let me in! Erik!"
She could hear them speaking on the other side, and she pressed her ear to the door, listening as intently as she could. But their voices were so low, so hushed, and she couldn't understand anything. Desperately, she lay down on the floor, pressing her ear to the crack between the door and the scuffed, uneven floor, and to her surprise, she was able to hear some phrases, though they were all from Erik, as his voice was not as weak.
"...safe with…worried…take…rest…"
None of it made any sense. She refused to accept that, though, and listened as long as she could, though she got nothing from the scant words or phrases that drifted to her.
Suddenly, she heard heavy footsteps approaching, and she scrambled away, trying to stand. The door swung open before she could get out of the way, smacking her in the face, hard, and she gave a cry and fell back against the opposite wall, cradling her nose, which had begun to bleed.
"Shit," she heard Erik say quietly, and he closed the door and crouched down beside her, awkward in the cramped space, his bony knees nearly touching the wall behind her. He pulled her hands away from her face, and he gave an impatient tutting sound with his tongue.
"You have a terrible eavesdropping habit," he said, pulling out his handkerchief and pressing it carefully against her nose. "Keep it up and one day something will actually break."
She didn't know if that was supposed to be a threat or just advice to keep herself from getting hurt. Not wanting to know, she instead took the handkerchief with a murmured thanks. After she wiped away the blood, he again pulled her hands away. She wished he had taken her to the front room to examine her. She felt trapped in this tiny hallway, pinned to the wall by his long legs, continually being touched and fussed over.
"Let me see," he said, taking her chin in his cold fingers, angling her face upward. "Why do you make things so difficult for yourself? Bruising your pretty face right before opening night…Come, let's go home." He took her arms and hauled her to her feet. She wanted him to stop pulling her around, stop pushing and shoving and grabbing.
"But Mr. Khan…" she tried to protest, holding the handkerchief underneath her nose to catch the trickling blood.
"He needs rest," Erik said, opening the front door and pointing, a clear gesture. "The last thing he needs is you hovering around him hysterically. Now go."
She hesitated, feeling sickened at the thought of just abandoning Mr. Khan. He had looked so much worse than she had anticipated. He was alive, yes, but to see him in that state had been shocking.
"Come," Erik said, snapping his fingers, like she was some disobedient dog. "Now."
Giving one last glance over her shoulder to the small, rundown apartment, she stepped out and went down the stairs, Erik following close behind.
The sun was below the horizon when they emerged, the evening stuffy and warm. She tried not to cry as they returned to the car and got back in. Her nose was throbbing, her shoulder hurt from where Erik had pulled her up, and she felt so, so ashamed. Mr. Khan, shot because of her, feeble and frail. Nadir had done everything he could to get her out, and it had nearly cost him his life. She risked glancing over at Erik, who was, as usual, watching her closely, and she looked away again quickly. If Nadir, Erik's supposed "friend," the only person she knew of who also knew Erik, couldn't get her away, then who could?
And if Erik was willing to shoot his only friend in order to keep her, then her situation really was hopeless. She remembered Mr. Khan's words from months ago, painful now that she at last saw the truth in them.
Erik is not a man to be trusted or to become attached to. Everything he does is for his own selfish purposes. He doesn't love. He can't love.
"There's no need for tears," came a soft voice, and she jumped a little in surprise, turning to Erik. "I told you he will live."
Christine brushed away some tears distractedly, not entirely conscious that she had been crying at all. She checked her nosebleed and saw it had stemmed somewhat.
"I'm worried about him," she said shakily, truthfully. "Why did you do that to him?"
The atmosphere in the car immediately turned tense.
"You were there," Erik said stiffly. "He tried to take you from me."
"But you didn't have to…to…" She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.
"Oh?" He sneered slightly. "You think he would have let us waltz out of that place with nothing but a wave goodbye? He would have sent us on our merry way, is that it?"
She sniffled pathetically. It hurt her nose, making her wince, and she wished she hadn't said anything in the first place.
"Perhaps you've forgotten already," he said, "but he had the gun on me. He would have pulled the trigger had I not stopped him."
"He wouldn't have," she whispered.
"He would," Erik said. "I suppose to you Nadir is nothing but a kindly old man. I've known him for twenty years. He would have done what he thought needed to be done."
For just a brief moment, she let herself imagine what would have happened if things had gone differently that night. Would Nadir have used the gun? She didn't think so. He was using it as a warning, just bluffing. And Mr. Khan would have been able to get her out to whatever safe place he had arranged for her.
But reality was dark and unforgiving, and she used the blood-stained handkerchief to hide her tears as best she could.
"I told you this was not a good idea," he said. "You should be resting and preparing for tomorrow. Now you've done nothing but upset yourself and bruise your face."
Tomorrow. Opening night. It all seemed so silly somehow, meaningless compared to the stark reality of what she had just seen. Mr. Khan's life was worth more than any of that. She knew she would never say a word to anyone if it meant keeping him alive.
Her nosebleed had stopped by the time they returned to the Opera House, though her tears lingered, falling occasionally. Their walk down to the house was silent, broken only by her childish sniffles. He did not try to comfort her.
When they at last entered the bright front room, he took the soiled handkerchief from her and gestured toward the bedroom.
"You should rest," he said. "You must calm yourself and focus on tomorrow night."
He'd apparently forgotten that she hadn't had any dinner, but she didn't feel particularly hungry. Being away from him sounded more appetizing than anything else.
She nodded and went to the bedroom, and he followed, watching her from the door.
"Sleep well," he said. "Focus on your performance. And Christine."
She turned to look at him.
"Don't ever threaten me again."
He closed the door on her, plunging her into darkness.