Christine crept down the dark corridor behind her dressing room, becoming more and more distressed with each step. Why had she come? What if she couldn�t find him? And what on earth would she say if she did find him?!
Madame Giry had offered to come with her, but Christine knew this was something she had to do herself. She had made her choice when she left with Raoul, not caring a bit what became of her music teacher. Christine only could save Erik from his solitude, and if she wanted him to believe that she wanted that, she must go alone.
She couldn�t imagine his response if she found him--would he be shocked? Of course. Happy? She didn�t know. Would he be angry? Probably. Now that he had had time to stop and think about what she had done to him when she chose Raoul, he could be enraged. She was almost too terrified to continue, but she knew she must. She had to find Erik before it was too late.
She tried to call his name, but all that came was a strangled whisper. She wanted to call him--to find out if he was indeed still alive, but she couldn�t. If he was, and heard her, would he seek her out before she found him? If he was angry from her rejection, he might well kill her before she could tell him why she had come back.
And besides, how would she call him? She couldn�t very well call out, "Phantom!", and expect an answer. Nor "angel", nor "Erik". Erik might be his name, but she could not imagine calling him that. She had always been the Angel of Music to her, but since she now knew he was in fact not, what could she refer to him as?
She decided that question was unnecessary until she found him. If she found him. She headed downward toward the lake, somehow knowing how to get there without a thought. To her relief, she found the lake.
But to her despair, saw that the boat was next to the house on the other side of the water. How would she ever get across? She turned to survey her options. There were few, but the ceiling high above did seem to extend over the house--near where the portcullis was. Perhaps, if she could find a way to the portcullis, she could climb down into the lair.
She ascended the ramp to the next level, then headed in the direction of the house. Her candle flickered as she walked, and her mind raced with endless horrific imaginings of what could be following her, or causing shadows on the wall. The darkness that had so frightened her for two weeks terrified her further now. She guarded the candle carefully, knowing that if she put it out, she would be surrounded by nothing but blackness.
She reached the opposite wall and looked about for a staircase or some other route to the lair. She saw nothing and let out a small sigh. There simply must be another way in.
She walked back across what she guessed was the length of the house, and her foot caught something on the floor. She tripped and stumbled to her knees, watching in horror as her candle crashed to the floor and went out. She bit back a cry and pulled her bruised knees to her chest, willing herself not to cry. She would never find her way out now. She groped in the terrifying darkness for her candlestick. Her fingers didn�t find it--they instead landed upon a rope of some sort. Christine stared at the floor beneath her and to her amazement, detected a slight light beneath the floorboards. Could it be that there truly was an entrance to the house from here?
She dug her fingers at one of the faint lines of light, nearly crying in relief when it gave way and she could pull it up. She lifted the small trap door and stared into the faintly lit hole. She was shocked to discover that it indeed did provide a simple way for a person to climb onto the portcullis.
She didn�t allow herself another thought. She bunched up her skirts and stepped gingerly through the hole, keeping a firm grip above until her feet were secure on the ladder-like gate. Slowly she went down far enough to duck her head under the roof. She paused then, silently searching for the man she wasn�t sure she wanted to see. He was not in the room. Perhaps that was better, she thought, as she quickly descended. Seeing her come through the roof would probably have been a big enough shock on it�s own--if the shock of her actual coming back did not cause him to suffer heart failure first.
The portcullis was not raised, but she knew the way from here. She turned toward the lake and walked along the edge until she came to where the boat rested in the water. When Raoul had tried to enter the lair two weeks before, he had not known that there was a much easier entrance. Christine debated for a moment on whether to knock on the door, then quietly let herself into the house without invitation. There would be nothing worse than coming all this way only to have a door slammed in her face.
The first room inside the house was that that contained the organ and the throne. He was not there, and Christine was suddenly overcome with a mix of terror and sorrow. This room, only two weeks before, had been the place where she made her choice... The choice she now regretted.
She slowly entered the room, looking about to be sure no one else was present. A paper atop the organ caught her attention. She picked it up and studied it. A piece of unfinished music. Her breath caught in her throat. There were only three measures of music, each one dampened by obvious tearstains. She looked at the title. In Erik�s script, it read simply, "Christine".
Christine could not stop her own tears. They flowed freely down her cheeks, some landing upon the page, mixing with the spots from Erik�s tears. How could she ever have been so blind? Erik had loved her beyond comprehension, and she had thrown it away. Why would he ever take her back, after her betrayal?
*****
In the small bedroom that connected to the room where Christine cried, Erik�s head came up of it�s own accord at the sound of sobbing. These sobs were different, not like his own which he was so accustomed to hearing. These cries almost sounded like those of a woman.
He must be dreaming. He wanted to die. Perhaps he was finally going to have his wish.
The sobs persisted, however, growing more and more desperate. Erik tried to ignore them. Hallucination was a sign of hysteria, people said. This was it. He was going mad. Maybe the end was near... Madness and death often went together.
But the sobs continued, and he grew no more insane. Finally he could not take the sound, and he dragged his weak body up and toward the doorway, leaning heavily on the doorframe when he reached it.
He stared at the figure who lay curled into herself on the floor next to the organ, her fingers grasping a piece of paper. He knew immediately what the paper was. His attempt at music that had utterly failed. His proclamation after Christine�s rejection was true--his music was over, forever. Three measures into the piece, he had become so overwhelmed that he could not continue. He had not touched the piece again. Without Christine, music was nonexistent to him.
He moved his eyes from the paper to the one who held it; heard himself draw in a ragged breath. It wasn�t possible.
"Christine?" he whispered, not daring to believe what he hoped with all his heart.
He heard her sharp intake of breath, watched as she uncurled and slowly lifted her head toward him. Her tearstained face sought his, and he immediately, instinctively turned away. He should never have given up his mask--but then, he had wanted to die. There was no use for the mask after he was dead. Never had he dreamed he might see another human being, much less the only one he had ever loved...
"Erik?" she whispered.
How had she known his name? He had never told her, he was sure. Very few people knew his name... Had Madame Giry told her?
"Erik, I..." Christine�s voice was shaky. "I wanted to..."
"Why are you here?" he whispered bitterly. "You made your choice. You wanted him, not me. Not this wretched excuse for a man."
A very audible sob came from her lips. "I�m so sorry," she murmured, her voice drawing nearer. "I didn�t mean... I never wanted... I was wrong."
"Why did you have to come? Wasn�t it enough that you left me to die in my misery?" Erik didn�t mean to say the hateful words. They escaped his broken heart and flew through his lips before he could stop them. "Leave me."
"But Erik, I--"
"Just go!" He clutched his hand over his face to hide his tears. "You don�t want this loathsome face. Go away and let me die."
"I can�t," she whispered, her fingers delicately touching his shoulder. "I had to come back. I...I realized that I was wron--"
He whirled to face her, forgetting his tears. "You want me to believe that after rejecting me, you�ve changed your mind and now actually want me? You want to spend the rest of your life looking at this face? Well, look at it, Christine!" He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her close so her face was mere centimeters away from his.
A sob caught in her throat as she tried to pull away from his grasp, her eyes avoiding him. "Please, I--"
He didn�t let go. "Look at me!" he demanded, turning her head and holding it firmly before his. "Look at this abhorrent face!" He said nothing for a moment, simply held Christine�s face and made her stare at him. She said nothing, and finally he could take the silence no more. "I know you don�t want me," he said as he dropped his hand from her face. Still she stared at him as he continued. "I don�t know what prompted you to come back--probably you just felt sorry for me. I don�t want your pity--" he spat the word at her, "--I wanted only your love. But you didn�t offer it."
"No!" she sobbed. "You don�t understand! I�m sorry, Erik. I was wrong. I thought... I thought I made the right choice, but I didn�t. I realized that I do love you--more than possible. I�m so sorry that I betrayed you." Her eyes pleaded with him. "You must believe me, Erik!"
"Why should I believe you?" he snarled, forcing his anger to cover his hurt. "You didn�t want me then--why would you want me now?" He pushed her away and turned his back to her. "Leave me, Christine, please before I..."
"Erik, you must believe me," she wept. "I only realized it today. I know that you loved me all along... I think I loved you too, only I didn�t know it. But I�ve been having nightmares, and--"
"So you�ve come for peace of mind!" he exclaimed. He again turned to face her. "Well, here I am, deformed face and all. You want to kiss me again? Make me feel wanted, then leave me without a thought? Will that help your guilt?"
"Stop that!" she whispered.
"What?" he retorted. "Stating the obvious? You and I both know that you--"
"No," Christine murmured, "your face. Stop talking about your face."
He scoffed. "So you can�t stand to hear the truth, huh? I didn�t think you�d be able to bear it. I knew you�d--"
"No!" she protested. Tears again filled her eyes. "That�s not what I mean."
He felt himself crumbling. "It�s not?"
She shook her head. "I...what I mean is, I..." She looked up at him. "I wouldn�t change your face for anything."
He stared at her in disbelief.
Her fingers cautiously strayed to his deformed cheek. "I...I love you, Erik," she whispered, her eyes seeking his earnestly. "I love you just the way you are."
"But this face..." he protested, not daring to touch her hand upon his cheek as he longed to do. "You can�t possibly--"
"I do," she whispered. "I love you more than anything in this world, Erik."
"But...but, what about the Vicomte?"
She bit her lip, but answered honestly. "I have always loved him--but not as I love you. He was a friend from childhood, Erik--and that�s what he will remain."
His jaw dropped and his hands reached slowly, gently to grasp her shoulders. "You can�t mean that you--"
"I can�t marry him," she whispered. "Not when I�m in love with you."
"How did you get here? I sealed off the entrances. It was impossible to--"
"The mirror," she murmured, placing her other hand on his atop her shoulder. Her fingers caressed his, then suddenly stopped. He realized why. She had felt the ring.
Slowly she pulled his hand from her shoulder so she could see. He had slipped onto his smallest finger the ring she had returned.
She lifted her eyes to his slowly, and he read the regret in them. Christine wanted that ring back.
"How can I believe you?" he whispered. "You didn�t want me."
"I�m so sorry," she whispered, clearly agonized. "So sorry. I was so wrong. I know I can�t expect you to trust me, but what I say is true. I love you."
He stared at her for a moment, longing to believe her and yet finding it next to impossible. "I don�t know how to believe you," he finally whispered. "I...want to, with all my heart, but--"
She cut him off by standing on tiptoe and pressing her lips against his. Startled, he instinctively reached for something to hold on to before he lost his balance. The only thing that came within reach was Christine�s slender waist, and his arm curved around her and pulled her closer.
Her fingers caressed his face, gently stroking each deformation and scar. The feeling of her lips upon his own disfigured ones was inconceivable. When the kiss finally broke, he stared into her eyes for a long moment.
"I believe you," he whispered at last. "I believe you."
The tears in her eyes spilled over, and she leaned her head into his shoulder. "I love you," she murmured.
"Oh, Christine." He pulled her close against him, hardly daring to believe that she was real. "My Christine."
"My darling," Christine whispered.
He pulled back suddenly, remembering the ring. He tugged it off his finger and looked at Christine again.
Her eyes were still brimming with tears, and he cautiously reached to brush them away. He held out the ring to her, and her fingers took it, then slipped it on her left hand. "Thank you," she murmured.
He pulled her close again and held her tightly. "Christine, I love you," he whispered.
"I love you too," she replied.
"You�ll marry me?"
"Yes, my darling. I�m so sorry I ever--"
"Sshhh," he comforted. "It�s all right. I believe you, Christine."
She sank deeper into his embrace, sighing softly. "I�ll help you make your song take flight, Erik."
"Promise me you�ll never leave me."
"Never," she whispered. "I want to stay here with you forever."
Erik buried his face in her hair, too overjoyed to speak. He had never anticipated Christine�s return, so he had given up his mask. Suddenly he didn�t even care that his face was deformed--Christine had come back and she wanted him without the mask. He had found true love, and it had found him. Nothing could ever harm him; for he had his love in his arms forever.
