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The Phantom of the Opera, rather the Phantom of an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, was debating whether or not to start a fire. Not for any sinister purposes, of course, since he had more or less decided against illegal activity of a violent nature (and burning things down wasn’t his go-to anyway), but rather, because it was the night of the eclipse, thus in an hour or so, it was going to get very, very dark. On one hand, he was used to darkness, and he didn’t want to risk someone finding him in the lodging he had “borrowed” this week. On the other hand, he didn’t want to trip over himself again, and he was getting cold. He was also a bit foggy-headed from exhaustion and hunger, to make matters worse. He’d thankfully scavenged a few eggs from a distant neighbour, but eating them raw made him ill, and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be stealing anymore. If he didn’t eat, he’d die, so perhaps stealing was a necessary evil. On the other hand, he used to think the same way about murder. Furthermore, he wasn’t sure his life was worth much anyway, but he didn’t want to dwell on the thought too long, or he’d come to the same conclusion he always did when his mind wandered in that direction. Maybe it was worth building a fire, just to have something to do. But if someone saw the smoke, he’d have to make a run for it, and he felt so, so weak . . .
Just as he was trying his best not to think about how much worse things could get, they did exactly that. There was a knock at the door. They’d found him.
Immediately, he hid in the darkest corner of the room, which was still somewhat illuminated by a dwindling sliver of moonlight. He could escape through the window, perhaps, except it was right next to the door. If this had all happened a month or so earlier, he would have killed whoever was intruding upon his temporary residence (if there was no other way out), but he’d made a promise to himself that he’d never again do such a thing. He did wonder, however, if he could be pushed back into his old habits, given the right circumstances. Perhaps he really was a monster, when all was said and done.
But he was surprised to find that his sense of self-preservation was no longer functioning, and he in fact was ready to let himself die. Lord, it was a long time coming. He quietly accepted his fate as the knocking became more frantic. He just hoped that whatever they had in mind for him, it would be quick and relatively painless.
Then, all at once, he realized that it was not the sound of police nor an angry mob, but someone from his past that he recognized from her voice alone. It made him jolt.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
“Christine . . .”
He didn’t mean to say it, and he regretted it immediately, but she seemed not to have heard.
“Hello?” she repeated.
And then, addressing a second party- Raoul, he assumed- she verbalized her next move.
“We’ll just have to break down the door.”
He decided to save her the trouble and rushed to the door to meet her. Unfortunately, he opened it as she was just about to ram her shoulder against it, so she instead collided with him and knocked him to the ground. He tensed up, feeling her full weight upon him. She seemed confused, but soon got her bearings. Her eyes met his, and even in the darkness, they sparkled.
“I found you!”
Well, that at least meant that this wasn’t some kind of horrible coincidence, but on the other hand, he could think of no good reason why she’d be searching for him. He was running through a few possibilities when his mind fizzled out, because she had pulled him up toward her and was squeezing him quite fiercely. This meant that she was glad to see him, which was as relieving as it was puzzling. She soon let go, and his head hit the floor.
All at once, he snapped to attention, remembering himself as his hammering heart brought him back to life. He stood, helping Christine to her feet as he did. He brushed himself off as casually as he could manage. That felt like a normal action. When he realized that she hadn’t taken her eyes off him, his stomach twisted in a knot. It would be best, he thought, to let her speak first. That way, he wouldn’t make a fool of himself. But seeing the earnestness in her stare, and feeling himself shrinking under the power of it, he broke.
“How did you find me?”
“I used the dog to get to the opera and spoke to the rat catcher who told me to take the right tunnel, but I was dragged into the left tunnel and almost died, then I found directions leading me to where you were.”
“You almost died?! Christine- Wait, what directions? What dog?!”
He noticed a tall beast staring at him from the doorway. It was thin and long where it shouldn’t be, but was all in all taller than his waist. He shimmied up against the wall as it approached him.
“Christine, dogs don’t like me! Christine, it’s going to-”
It pinned him to the wall. He feared he’d die right then and there, but the dog simply sniffed at his hand, which was closed in a fist. When he opened his palm, the dog retreated. He huffed with relief.
“I thought he’d kill me for sure. He must be well trained.”
“I used him to sniff you out,” she explained, as though that was at all reasonable.
“How?”
She seemed to remember something.
“Oh!”
She reached into her bodice and pulled out his mask. The sight of it made him freeze. Christine smiled proudly.
“I used this. You left it behind.”
“Yes, on purpose. Surely, you didn’t risk your life just to return it?”
A thought occurred to him.
“Wait, you said that you almost died. If you went down the left tunnel, why aren’t you wet?”
“I changed.”
“You brought a change of clothes?”
“Well, no, the horses ran off with my luggage, but they caught up with us eventually.”
“Caught up? How’d you outrun the horses?”
“We flew.”
He didn’t know what to make of this, so he laughed a wheezing laugh and shrugged it off, leaning against the table behind him.
“Alright, you flew.”
There was a long silence. He rested his hands in his lap, staring down at his thumbs as he tapped them together.
“. . . Why did you bring luggage? Did you plan to be gone for a long time?”
It seemed as though the thought hadn’t occurred to her.
“I . . . Well, I suppose I didn’t know how long it would take to reach you. I wouldn’t want to be without supplies for days at a time.”
She jolted.
“Wait, no, I would have had to return by tomorrow afternoon for the wedding.”
“Whose wedding?”
Her voice was quiet.
“Mine.”
The air seemed suddenly thick. Neither of them knew what would happen next. But he spoke first.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
There was another silence. Once again, he was the first to speak.
“So you packed for several days . . . because you forgot your own wedding?”
“I didn’t forget. I had other things on my mind.”
She waited, then took a shaky breath.
“And I suppose . . .”
She swallowed.
“Oh, never mind. The point is, I found you.”
His face felt heavy.
“. . . Christine, why are you here?”
She seemed unprepared for the question. With a hint of defiance, she asked him something puzzling.
“Well, why do YOU think I’m here?”
She seemed to want to lead him into some kind of trap, but he was too exhausted to deduce what reaction she was trying to fish out of him. So for once, he was completely honest.
“I don’t know, Christine. I’m surprised to see you at all.”
He leaned against the table near the back wall of his temporary domicile, trying to steady his racing heart.
“But now that you’re here, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I’ve been sorry for a long time, and it’s been killing me that I didn’t get a chance to tell you.”
“But you had time to say that you loved me.”
His breath caught.
“I’m sorry for that, too. I wasn’t thinking.”
This did not have the intended effect.
“You mean you don’t love me?”
“No. No, that’s not what I mean. It wasn’t something you needed to know, that’s all.”
“. . . What if I did?”
He didn’t want to believe that she meant it the way he hoped, which was also the only way she could possibly mean it. It was best not to entertain that thought at all. And yet here she was, and he knew, he just knew why she was here. But he dared not suggest such a thing.
“Christine . . .”
Suddenly, they were enveloped in total darkness. Christine gasped.
“The eclipse! Oh, I forgot that was tonight. Never mind, it will pass eventually.”
They waited. And waited.
“. . . How long do these things usually take?” Christine asked.
“Normally a few minutes.”
“Oh, good.”
“But this one is projected to last until morning, which to me seems astronomically implausible, but outside of celestial navigation, that’s never been my strong suit.”
Christine groaned.
“So we just have to wait here in total darkness?”
“Well, I can light a fire, if you find the matches. I’m just worried I’ll be found out, but you can answer the door if someone comes. No, ignore that, I shouldn’t be asking anything of you-”
“I’ll have Ariel guard the door.”
There was a noise that he deduced must be claws on wood, and after a bit of fumbling, Christine shut the door. It didn’t matter, given there was no source of light except the stars, which peppered the window and gave him a vague sense of the room.
“Christine, I’m going to look for the matches. Be careful not to trip.”
He shuffled forward, right into her. Immediately, he wheeled around.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were so close,” he said stiffly.
He pawed around, searching for the matches. When his fingers grazed something on the table, he made a nervous grab for the box, but ended up knocking it to the floor. He sighed and got on his knees. As he crawled forward, suddenly his head was enveloped by fabric. This surprised him, since he didn’t remember having a tablecloth, but he soon realized it was Christine again, standing still and silent above him. He tried to fight his pounding heart.
“Christine, I think you’d better not follow me.”
He heard her crouch down in front of him. His blood was ice. He flinched as her hand met his. She grabbed his wrist as he attempted to withdraw, and with her other hand, put the matches in his palm.
“Thank you,” he whispered through a crack in his voice.
He stood again. When he struck the match, the light in Christine’s eyes made him jump. She had already stood up, and she was so close and already staring at him, as though she knew exactly where to look in the darkness. He was not used to being perceived, and especially not so intensely. She didn’t seem afraid of him. But he couldn’t say the inverse wasn’t true.
Slowly, Christine set his mask down on the table without breaking their gaze. She did it absentmindedly, as though she didn’t care about it in the slightest. But he took the opportunity to be a coward. He grabbed the mask and set it on his face. Immediately, Christine’s eyelashes fluttered, and whatever spell was on her evaporated with her look of yearning.
“You don’t have to-”
“I want to be polite.”
“But-”
“I’m going to light a fire.”
He could feel her eyes on him as he shuffled toward the fireplace. He almost burned his sleeve as he adjusted the logs with his hands. He looked around for a poker and startled when he saw Christine holding one out for him. Her unblinking gaze disturbed him greatly.
“Christine, could you perhaps wait over there?”
She backed up, then almost tripped on a rug, which was quite dilapidated. She gave a sheepish wince, but as she looked away from him (finally), she noticed something.
“What’s in the cellar?”
“Cellar?”
“There’s a trapdoor beneath the rug. You didn’t notice? You, of all people?”
He frowned.
“I’ve had other things on my mind!” he snapped.
She withdrew a little, and he rubbed his forehead.
“I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you. I’m just hungry- Oh, not too hungry, I was just too busy to eat, that’s all.”
It was an unconvincing lie, but Christine did not call him on it. Instead, she ran outside and came back with a carpet bag. She pulled an apple from inside and handed it to him. He took it as daintily as he could manage, then withheld from taking a bite, although he was dying to. Christine watched him as he stood there with the apple in his hand. He shrugged.
“You worry too much, Christine. You really didn’t need to come all this way to see how I was doing. You know I manage just fine.”
“That’s not why I came.”
He took a bite of the apple, trying to look suave.
“Then tell me why.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
He took another bite, fighting the urge to gnaw at it until it was safe inside his long-empty belly. Christine sighed and leaned against the wall, staring at the ceiling.
“It’s just hard to put into words, that’s all.”
She rolled herself off the wall and wandered over to the window, gazing up at the stars.
“It just feels different from how I thought. I don’t know why I can’t just be happy. I have everything I could ever want. I never have to worry about losing my home or going hungry . . .”
She noticed that he had devoured the entire apple, even the core. He hadn’t meant to make it so obvious, but he was beyond starved, and couldn’t resist any longer. He knew that she had no doubts about the purported stability of his situation now. She huffed and grabbed another apple from her bag.
“For heaven’s sake, just eat something! You don’t need to put on a show!”
When he didn’t take it, she shoved it between his teeth. He bit down, then it fell to the floor. As juice trickled down his chin, she reached up and wiped it away with her thumb. He couldn’t decide whether to stiffen or melt, but she seemed too preoccupied to notice.
“There’s no need for a little charade to make me feel better. I brought food, so eat whatever’s there while I explore the cellar.”
She flung the door open.
“There might be more food down there, and we may need some for the next few days.”
He called out to her as she disappeared down the staircase.
“Aren’t you . . . Aren’t you getting married? . . .”
She didn’t answer. He grabbed the fallen apple and shuffled toward the opening, then almost fell backward as her face popped out of the darkness like a groundhog. She was smiling.
“You’ll never guess what I found.”
“What? . . .”
She procured a bottle of wine from the darkness. He swallowed as she thudded up the stairs.
“I don’t see how that helps me.”
“Well, YOU don’t have to have any.”
He watched as she uncorked the bottle and started downing it without hesitation. His eyes went wide.
“Christine, I don’t think you should do that.”
“Then it’s a good thing I don’t have to listen to you.”
“Christine, you’re getting married tomorrow . . .”
She paused, took a breath, then kept drinking. He reached out gently and pushed the base of the bottle down. It parted from her lips, and she glared at him. He swallowed.
“Christine, please . . .”
She sighed, then waddled over to one of the seats by the table, collapsing on it and slamming the bottle beside the leg of her chair. He pulled the other one closer to him, then sat facing her.
“Christine, I’m worried about you.”
“About me? I’m not the one going hungry. Eat something. Please.”
The carpetbag was close enough that he could drag it to his seat when he leaned over. When he looked inside, he was greeted by many, many apples. His eyebrows nearly migrated off his head.
“Please understand that I’m not being fussy, but I’m genuinely curious. Is this all you packed?”
“I was in a hurry.”
He took a bite of an apple, chuckling through it.
“You really don’t think things through, Christine.”
Her eyes were distant.
“No, I don’t . . .”
She sat in silence as he devoured the apples one by one. Finally, she gave in.
“I don’t think I’m getting married tomorrow.”
He stopped eating. The remark filled him with a dread beyond anything he’d ever experienced, and that was quite a feat, given his life thus far. After a long silence, he put his hands in his lap.
“Christine, this is all very worrying.”
“I know. But it’s worse for me.”
“Aren’t you happy with Raoul? You were supposed to be.”
“Well, that’s what I thought too, but it turns out that when you check off a list of things that are supposed to make you happy, it still isn’t enough to make it so. I have everything I could ever need. People would die to have what I’ve been given. But somehow, I can’t make it work. And I know it’s my fault. I’ve always been the piece that doesn’t fit. I don’t belong with these people, who live normal lives and act the way people ought to act. I’m not one of them, and I can’t pretend to be. I’m putting a terrible strain on everyone around me, and they’ve shown me more patience than I deserve, but they keep waiting for me to become a perfectly functional human being, and deep down, I know that I can’t be. Not now, not ever. I’ve tried. I’ve tried so hard. All my life. But now Raoul’s family is at my throat and he’s torn between standing by me or the people he cares about, and I knew it was wearing on him, but I didn’t want to believe he’d actually hit a breaking point, and he hates me so much, and he hasn’t even thought about intimacy during all of this-”
“Christine.”
“Well, it’s true. I feel so unloved.”
She sat with her elbow on her knee and her palm on her chin, leaning forward expectantly. Her eyes were wide, but her mouth was covered by her knuckles. She was waiting for him to say something, but he kept his mouth shut to avoid making things worse. She was sweating.
“Aren’t you going to say something?”
He shrugged.
“I think I’d better not.”
She sighed and turned her face to the ceiling as she melted in her chair.
“It figures. The one time I need you to be inappropriate, and you can’t find it in your heart.”
He laughed.
“Christine, you already know how I feel about you. Anyone would be lucky to have you. And mark my words, you’ll get married tomorrow and forget you ever had these doubts. You’re probably just nervous.”
He really wanted to believe his own words, but truthfully, he’d never seen her in this state. So he decided to be tactful.
“And if it doesn’t work out, you’ll be fine. It may hurt in the moment, but you’ll survive.”
“And how are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m fine.”
She looked around, then twisted her mouth pointedly.
“I’m emotionally fine,” he clarified, “Or at least as fine as is possible for me.”
“And where will you go from here?”
He swallowed.
“Oh, I was thinking Germany. I’ve not been there yet. Worth a try, I suppose.”
Christine smiled distantly.
“I’d like to go to Winnipeg.”
“Winnipeg? Why?”
“It’s far, far away. Beyond the reach of civilization.”
“. . . Well, no. But I understand the impulse. It’s tempting to put as much distance between yourself and other people as you can, but everyone needs everyone else.”
“Hm. I ask again, what are you going to do now? You’re clearly in a lot of trouble. Don’t YOU need someone too?”
“I’ll make do.”
“But what’s left for you now, except running until you die . . . or coming home with me.”
He sat upright and batted his eyes.
“Christine, I can’t do that!”
“Why not? It’s a big estate. I could hide you.”
He snorted.
“Christine, that’s sweet, but don’t sabotage yourself on my account. Can I tell you a story?”
“Yes.”
“I saw a rat caught in a trap once. It was struggling to escape, so it wasn’t exactly dead yet, but there was obviously no hope for the thing. I wouldn’t have saved it anyway- I don’t like rats, they make a mess and chew your feet while you’re sleeping- but I remember feeling a certain way about it.”
“A certain way? . . .”
“Well, it was kind of a visual metaphor, if you follow. I don’t like rats, but I don’t like seeing anyone suffer. It hurt to see it scrambling around, but I didn’t let it out because I knew it was one less rat to gnaw at me while I slept. They don’t do it out of malice. They’re just hungry, and so they do what rats do. I know what it’s like to be hungry, but I still couldn’t bring myself to show the thing mercy. I understood then why people hate me. It’s not that they want to hate me. I’m just in the way. I cause problems for them, just by being what I am. The obvious solution is to die, but I don’t want to die, so I end up suffering like that rat.”
“I don’t think comparing yourself to vermin is particularly helpful.”
“But it’s apt. And I’m really no smarter than a rat, when all is said and done. The rat didn’t know that the food was bait, but I am well aware that any kindness shown to me is for the purpose of harming me in the long run. Even so, I do sometimes believe that someone might be kind to me without ulterior motives. And it still hurts when I’m proven wrong. Anyone who claims to be good and sweet and kind is only doing so to exploit others or to make themselves feel better.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
He waved his hand.
“Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ve been scrambling in the rat trap since the day I was born. In a way, I’m already dead, but I persist nonetheless. Even in a hopeless situation, I try my best to escape. If I’m dead either way, I may as well try.”
Christine swallowed.
“Well, what if someone let you out of the trap?”
“Let’s not mix metaphors. A little kindness won’t fix broader issues.”
She tightened her lips.
“First of all, you were the one who brought up bait in the first place, and don’t think I didn’t notice how you turned this whole thing into another excuse to portray the entirety of our species as somehow being universally against you, when first of all, I’m here, and second, you’re a murderer. But I am here, nonetheless.”
“Right, can I ask about that?”
“No. Furthermore, I’ve already told you that getting here almost killed me, so I’d appreciate it if you could at least acknowledge that ONE person cares about you.”
“Well, I never said you had good taste.”
Seeing her deep, bitter frown, he sighed.
“But I do appreciate it. And I think I like you more when you stand your ground. It’s refreshing to be talked to like a human being. I’m not used to being challenged . . . Well, not outside of the occasional angry mob, anyway.”
“Well, you just watch your attitude, or I’ll light a torch.”
As she took a pointed sip of her wine, he found himself laughing giddily, and was suddenly reminded that despite everything, he really did get along with Christine. The warmth of that feeling was soon replaced by a pang in his chest when he remembered that he’d ruined everything between them. And yet she was here. She was here. And she still hadn’t explained herself, exactly. He didn’t want to push her, but he really did need to know.
“Christine, can you please tell me why you’re here? I know you don’t want to, but-”
“I was worried about you.”
“Oh. Well, don’t be worried.”
“I’m even more worried than I was when I left.”
“Don’t be. If that’s all this was-”
“It’s not just that. I . . . I thought I ought to tell you that I was getting married.”
“You didn’t have to. I mean, either way, it’s none of my business, so I really don’t care.”
“You don’t care at all?”
He tightened his lips.
“All right, I DO care. But it’s none of my business, like I said. I’m glad you’re going to be happy, finally.”
“But I’m not! I told you-”
She choked a bit, then bit her knuckle to steady her nerves.
“I have to get married. I have to. I made a promise, but now everything’s falling apart-”
“Christine, I can’t help you with that.”
“But you can! You’re the only person who’s ever loved me!”
He felt anxiety gripping his heart. He stood so quickly that the chair fell behind him.
“Christine, that’s not true.”
“But you do love me, don’t you?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It’s true! . . . Isn’t it?”
He took a deep breath.
“Christine, I think whatever you’ve been going through has impaired your judgment. You just survived a life-threatening incident, you’ve gotten yourself drunk-”
“I’m not drunk.”
“You’ve had alcohol, anyway. In any case, you’re not in your right mind.”
Christine’s eyes brimmed with tears.
“I suppose back when you said there was nothing wrong with me, that was a lie as much as anything else you’ve told me. You’re no different from any of THEM. You’ve always thought there was something the matter with me.”
“Christine, you’re an unusual person, but I don’t hold that against you.”
She said nothing, either because she didn’t believe him or because the sobs prevented her from speaking. He dared to put his hand on her arm, and she slammed herself against his chest. He didn’t mean to, but he wrapped his arms around her, and once it was too late to back down, he squeezed her. It was right about then that he lost track of everything. He was crying too now, and he held her against his chest, rocking back and forth.
“I’m sorry, Christine. You know I love you. I’m not supposed to, that’s all. But it’s not because of you or anything you’ve done.“
She sniffled.
“You’re the only person who’s ever loved me, and it’s only because there’s something wrong with you.”
“Well, I can’t argue with the last part, but you are loved, Christine. You deserve better than what you’ve been put through . . . especially by me. I can’t help but feel this is my fault. Truthfully, I think you ought to forget about me and go on living your life. Nothing good can come of this.”
“Why not?”
“Well . . . It’s something I feel to be true, even though I can’t explain it precisely.”
“I think you’re a coward.”
“That could very well be the case, but don’t forget that you haven’t explained yourself either. You said you were worried about me, but now that you’ve seen that I’m alright-”
“You’re not.”
“Regardless, I’m safe for the time being, so you have nothing to fret about. But now you’re talking about your marriage-”
She swallowed.
“It’s not just that I was worried. I missed my angel.”
Every time he thought he’d grown immune to Christine’s remarks, he was slammed down by another, as though he was struggling to shore with his back to the waves. This one was enough to make him ill. He had still been holding her until that moment, but he soon lifted his hands off of her and backed away, though she seemed drawn to him a little as he did.
“Christine, I was never your angel. You know that.”
“Then I missed my friend.”
He sighed, letting his tense arms go limp.
“I would have liked to have been your friend.”
“Aren’t you still?”
“I don’t feel I can be, after everything I put you through.”
“Is there a reason we can’t start over?”
It was a tempting offer. He wanted very badly to believe it possible, but he was immensely suspicious of her change in heart. Had he broken her, somehow? Was she feeling the lingering effects of his hypnotic power? If that were the case, if he’d ruined her forever, he knew he’d have to die for it. And yet, a small part of him- a small, but insistent part- wanted to believe that she felt something for him. There was evidence to suggest that it was the case, but it seemed unnatural. Still, the hope persisted, no matter how many times he tried to suffocate it.
“Christine-”
“Stop it. Stop dismissing me when I’m trying to help.”
“I haven’t said anything yet.”
“You were going to! You were going to tell me that I’m being silly, that I don’t know what I’m getting into, that I’m not attracted to you.”
He almost lost his balance. That could have meant anything, he told himself. Except it certainly didn’t. So he simply ignored it and moved on.
“Agh-”
Well, he tried to move on, but what actually happened was that he found himself on his knees. She caught him beneath the armpits before he could fall flat.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m just a little stunned. Did you really mean it?”
She suddenly looked defensive as she helped him back up on his wobbly legs. She pushed him away with one hand as he regained his balance.
“You’re fine.”
“Christine, did you say-”
“What I said was that YOU’D say I wasn’t attracted to you. That’s all.”
“Yes, but that implies-”
“I’m not implying anything! What I meant was that I was often drawn to you.”
He narrowed his eyes. She gave an insistent glare, then waved her hand.
“Besides, we both know it would never work. You’re a liar and a murderer. And you don’t even feel badly about it- Do you?”
She was speaking so sharply during this interrogation that he sensed she might be fishing for something from him. She seemed to be doing that a lot recently. Clever as he was, the one thing he struggled to grasp was the meaning behind her words, though he knew that she had a nebulous purpose. Since he had repeatedly failed to grasp the rules of her game, he decided to answer honestly.
“I regret lying to you, of course, and I’ve never enjoyed killing. I killed to survive, though I can’t for the life of me figure out why I valued my own life so highly. I suppose I was waiting for the chance to prove myself worthy of life, though in doing so I demonstrated the exact opposite.”
“How would you have proven yourself worthy?”
“Through my music, I thought, but obviously that didn’t go as planned. It’s perverse that so many people died for an opera that turned out so rotten.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I always liked your music. It was your method acting that I took umbrage with.”
“Right . . .”
He had almost forgotten that he was wearing a mask again, and as he scratched the back of his head, it jostled a bit. He put it back in place with shaking fingers. Christine stared at him with pity.
“Why don’t you take that off.”
This time, he made certain to ignore her request altogether. He needed some way to keep a wall between them. But her desire to look at him was so tantalizing. He was starting to forget how frightening the prospect was. No one had ever wanted to look at him outside of a fetishistic desire to gawk at his difference. He felt guilty denying Christine this one thing, and even worse at the next part.
“Christine, I think you should go.”
Panic. She didn’t expect that, apparently.
“Why?! I just got here, and I won’t be able to see a thing outside!”
“Then I’ll leave. You can rest here until morning. The bed’s not too comfortable, but there aren’t any bugs or other vermin in the mattress-”
“Why are you so desperate to get rid of me?”
“I’m not. But there’s too much history between us.”
“Well . . . can’t we just start over, like I said?”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“No, no you’re wrong. See, all we have to do is decide to make it so.”
She cleared her throat.
“Look at me, minding my own business . . . Oh! A stranger! What is your name, good sir?”
She stared at him for a moment.
“No, really,” she whispered, “I don’t know your name.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Oh, then I feel less bad about not knowing it. Anyway, back to business.”
She brushed herself off and fussed with her hair before adopting a rigid posture that seemed to be approximating dignity.
“Kind monsieur, I’ve lost my way. Perhaps I could stay here for the night.”
“Am I kind, in this scenario?”
“Well, yes, you’re being yourself.”
“But I’m not kind.”
“You are plenty kind outside of your episodes, and you’re missing the point.”
“Episodes?”
“Oh, you know, when you get upset and shout at me or murder people or drop a chandelier on a crowd of- Well, anyway, I don’t know about any of that, in the story.”
“Then I’d disclose it to you.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“I would. I mean it.”
“You lied to me constantly.”
“But I wouldn’t anymore. Wait, is the premise that we’re meeting now or back when we first met?”
“I don’t know, it doesn’t matter.”
“I find this game very confusing. But carry on.”
She sighed.
“All right. We’ll just say we’re meeting for the first time tonight.”
“Well, it’s past midnight now, so-”
“This morning, then . . . What’s the date, again?”
He narrowed his eyes and gave her a side-glance.
“Shouldn’t you know the date of your own wedding?”
“Quiet! Besides, you don’t know about that.”
“Then you should probably tell me.”
She gnashed her teeth.
“Fine! Hello, kind stranger! I am getting married today!”
“Nice to meet you. You’re unusually loud. Also, many people have died by my hand and I’ve done horrible things that I’ll never live down. Well, goodbye!”
He twirled his hand.
“See? It doesn’t work.”
She held the tip of her index finger, fiddling with it uncertainly as she broke eye contact with him. She seemed to be thinking of something to say. He exhaled.
“If it’s any consolation, I made myself a promise to change. I don’t . . . . I don’t think I even have the stomach to do it anymore. To kill.”
She looked up into his eyes. He hadn’t realized how close she was standing until then.
“Why not?” she asked.
He found he couldn’t easily explain it.
“You made me decide not to,” he answered, “And I think it’s the kind of decision that will stick with me.”
She smiled softly.
“If only we’d met sooner. I think about that a lot. Where we went wrong, what might have been . . .”
“I think about that too. But it’s best to leave it alone, I think.”
The look in her eyes broke his heart. She seemed to be doing her best to come up with an argument against him, but she was falling short. Tears welled up in her eyes as she once again came up to the wall between them. She had tried so, so hard to find a way around it, but her efforts were wasted. He had to admire her tenacity, and wonder why she even bothered, but more than that, he felt sorry for her. She wanted so badly to get close to him, to undo the damage he’d done, and he really couldn’t fathom a reason for this. He’d never heard of any game that so yearned for the feeling of wire around its neck.
And yet he knew that he couldn’t hurt Christine anymore. He refused to. He was impressed with himself for pushing her away thus far, but he hated himself for not insisting that she leave. Despite everything, he wanted her here. Perhaps he wasn’t as reformed as he thought. The idea that he might just be this way forever, that he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about Christine whether or not she was present, that he’d fail to stay away from her again and again . . . Well, it made him want to die. He tried not to give in to despair, but it was overtaking him like never before. But he had a chance to prove to her that he had changed. As much as it hurt him, he had no choice.
“I’m sorry, Christine. We should go our separate ways.”
“No!”
“Christine, don’t cry . . .”
“. . . Then there’s nothing I can do to change your mind? . . .”
“It’s only sensible.”
“Can’t I convince you, somehow?”
“Of what? TO what?”
“I don’t know!” she shrieked, “And I don’t understand why everything has to be so complicated when we could just . . . just . . .”
Her eyes met his. She was heaving from the effort of speaking with such volume, but slowly, that subsided as her face shifted almost imperceptibly. She did not break their shared gaze.
“You know why I’m here.”
“I do.”
“So why not? What’s stopping us?”
“Many, many things.”
“Forget all of it. It doesn’t matter to me.”
“It should.”
“Well, it doesn’t. This is what I want. Don’t you?”
“. . . I do.”
“Then nothing else matters.”
And then suddenly there was her mouth on his, so much softer than he ever imagined and he could physically feel the warmth radiating off her cheeks. It was so perfect, all of it, even the slightly sour taste of wine in her mouth, and he thought even just the feeling of her hair brushing against his shoulder would make him drop dead on the spot but then his tongue felt hers and he understood the meaning of the phrase out-of-body experience. Almost as soft as her lips was the palm of her hand at the back of his neck, and when her fingers ghosted along his scalp he wondered why he ever bothered putting a wig on. Slowly and deliberately he matched the rhythm of her kissing, and wondered how she learned to do it so well, and then had to keep his mouth from forming a grimace against hers when he remembered the exact reason. To distract himself, he dared to slip his hand down her side and rest it on her hip, and was rewarded with a pleased little noise from deep in her throat. She liked it. His angel wanted his hands on her. This was…
…just too much, and he couldn’t find the words for why, even internally, couldn’t even offer her an explanation as to why he suddenly pulled himself away. She looked at him in shock with those big dewy wounded-deer eyes, and words still failed to come to him, especially when he noticed how the blush on her face had spread all the way down to her bodice. His best effort at explanation turned out to be a big heaving gasp, and then something to the effect of, “I can’t— I haven’t ever, like you— Christine, don’t doubt that—” and then incoherent sputtering. Her hand was clutched to her chest. Surely he’d ruined this. That was probably for the best. He wasn’t sure he could handle what would’ve come next.
When Christine’s eyes flickered downward, her eyes weren’t hurt when they met his again— now they were sparkling. The corner of her mouth turned upward and that familiar gorgeous smile bloomed onto her face, but tinged with something new. Mischief? Was she amused by this? Why? He made his best effort to ask her about it with only his facial expressions; she seemed to pick up on it, and her eyes flickered downward again, more pointedly. It was only then that he was fully, horrifyingly aware of how his body had been reacting to all of this— the tightness of his pants, the patch of liquid forming at the tip of his erection that was somehow visible even on black fabric. This was quite a normal reaction to seeing Christine and being close to her— hell, even the scent of her perfume caused it most of the time— but this was the first time it had been fully on display for her, besides that one mortifying time when she’d had him cornered against the grate. Now he was even more frozen than before, and for possibly the first time in his life, he had absolutely no idea what to do with his voice or his body.
Whatever he expected to happen after that, it was not Christine maintaining eye contact with him while deliberately stepping backwards, her lips parting to let out shaky little breaths and betraying a hint of nervousness— really? She was nervous?— despite the absolutely radiant grin on her face. His eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from the way her skirts swayed around her hips as she backed up, and his focus on that was so single-minded that he jumped a little when she fell backwards, and finally he saw that she had tossed herself onto the bed.
The full gravity of the situation was somehow pushed to the back of his mind as his feet carried him towards her, feeling that same magnetic pull that always drew him close to her whenever he heard her sing. It really was like he was outside of his body watching all of this, even though it was all just so visceral. At the opera house, every time he’d watched her from afar, he’d felt something like an invisible pair of hands twisting around inside his ribcage, gripping his heart, twisting and wringing it methodically. Those hands had begun to torture him even more insistently whenever he was physically near her, squeezing his heart so hard he struggled for breath. Those sensations were absolutely nothing compared to how he felt now, as he knelt on the bed, feeling his coat being removed from his back as if someone else was doing it for him. He just had no idea what to do after that, and Christine let out a melodious little giggle when she wrapped her hand around his upper arm and pulled him to lay down on top of her.
Then she looked him in the eye again and said the absolute last thing he’d ever expect to hear. “Take your mask off.”
A pause as he registered what she had just said, and he shook his head, trying to clear it just a bit. “What? No, why should I—”
Her hand cupped his cheek clumsily. “I want to see your face. Let me look you in the eyes while you love me.” Her thumb ran along the curve of the mask, under his eye.
He swallowed, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest, ice in his veins. “I… you can take it off. If you wish.”
He was blindsided by just how quickly it happened. She practically ripped it off his face. Immediately there was another unfamiliar sensation on his body: the air on his entire, bare face. Her breath on his bare face. His breath was shaky, and it took him a moment to find the courage to look down at her again, fully expecting to see that look of horror again. To his absolute shock, there was not even a trace of it. Her mouth was hanging open, but somehow differently than it had been a moment ago. Then the edges of her eyes crinkled, her brow furrowed, and she smiled. She actually smiled. “There you are,” she whispered. “My angel.”
Thankfully he didn’t have to figure out what to do next because then her lips were on again, so much slower and more languid this time, like she was really savoring it. He struggled for a moment before finding out how to prop himself up with one hand as he hovered over her, and as if the kiss wasn’t enough, more and more sensations revealed themselves: her breasts pressed against him, and he could feel the hard points of her nipples even through the layers of fabric between them. Her waist curved into her hips so invitingly, her thighs were just as firm as one would expect from a former ballerina, and between her legs there was an absolute furnace of heat.
Christine let out an amused little “oh!” and it turned out he’d been feeling that warmth between her legs with absolutely no subtlety. She gave a what-will-I-do-with-you shake of her head, but didn't move his hand away. “I know you’re eager, but you can’t rush into it right away.”
“I— I’m sorry, I—”
“I’m just making fun of you. Goodness, you’re so tense.” She giggled and gently backhanded his chest. He was a bit relieved, but still wary. “Well, no point in keeping this dress on.” Her voice became melodic again, flirtatious. “Would you like to take this all off for me?”
She may as well have asked him if he’d like to perform brain surgery. He’d always been very careful to avoid watching her or the other ballerinas when they were indecent, so he had no idea how any of those layers of clothing she was wearing worked, let alone how to take them off. She must have noticed the dumbfounded look on his face because she quickly said, “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll do it.” Her fingers made unbelievably quick work of her corset and petticoats, and he barely had time to register what she was doing— should he learn how to do that for himself, for next time? Would there be a next time?— before she was tossing her dress onto the floor, and then removing the last bit of white fabric that was clinging to her hips, and she lay back down. He almost had to look away, because those hands around his heart were trying their best to choke out all of his breath before he could take in the sight that he’d fantasized about for so, so long.
Somehow, even though her fully nude body was laying before him, it was the small details that drew his eyes all over her: a little dimple on her right inner thigh, a little stray curl at the top of her forehead, a tiny dot on her cheek, the hint of muscle tone within the softness of her stomach. He must have been staring at her far more intensely than he thought he was, because Christine’s lower lip pouted a bit and she crossed one arm to cover her chest. “I… I did that too quickly, didn’t I? Oh, this isn’t what you imagined at all, is it?”
Finally the words formed within him and they spilled out of his mouth, overflowing. “My angel. My darling. I can’t say— you are so perfect, my angel.” That little pout turned into a tiny smile. “I’ve seen the paintings and the drawings of women and I’ve tried to picture your face on them, I have seen you in my mind’s eye so many times, but I—” he swallowed, “You are so much more radiant than I could have thought. Please relax. I could sit here for hours and just look at you.”
“Well.” She was looking at him with heavily-lidded eyes now. “You shouldn’t just look.” When he wasn’t able to make himself move, she gently grabbed his wrist and placed it at her collarbone, encouraging it to move down her chest. When he allowed himself the indulgence of cupping one of her breasts, they both inhaled sharply at the same time. It was just so much softer than he’d thought. There was no comparison he could make to it. He did his best to sear the feeling into his brain and, emboldened by her shallowed breaths, he experimentally rolled her nipple between two fingers. There was no music she’d ever sang that was nearly as beautiful as the sound that came out of her mouth when he did that, and her back arched up off the bed, just slightly. Despite his hands shaking, he did it again, pinching just a bit harder, feeling the fullness of her breast in the palm of his hand. He tried a couple of different ways of doing it, experimenting to find the right pressure and the right rhythm, and the sounds he got from her were nothing short of magical when he finally got it right. It was like he was playing her like an instrument, like he was finding just the right pitch to create the most beautiful and otherworldly symphony ever written. All he knew was that he just wanted more of it.
There was no way he could have taken her clothes off properly, because he was barely even able to remove his own, throwing off his suit in what was surely a very undignified display before practically pouncing on her, eliciting a breathless laugh as the mattress bounced under them. He’d read enough erotic scenes in novels to know what he was supposed to do next. The thought floated in the back of his mind that he probably wouldn’t be able to do it very well, but all that really mattered right now was getting more of those gorgeous sounds from her. He could make her sing for him even more. His hand wrapped around his cock, he did his best to position himself, he—
“Goodness, wait!” He froze. Somehow Christine’s blush had intensified even more, painting her face a deep crimson. She was avoiding his eyes. “You have to… touch me before you do that. It is my first time, you know.”
“First?” he repeated, his jaw slack. She nodded. Her first time. He was looking at her, touching her, in a way that her fiance never had, and probably the bastard never would. The hands squeezing his heart threatened to steal all his breath as his fingers trailed down her waist and over the curve of her hips, and through the patch of curly brown hair between her legs. This, he had no idea where to even begin with. A thumb rubbed gently across her warm wetness turned out to be a good start; she stirred a little beneath him and took in a sharp breath. A bit more pressure applied, and the sound it elicited was quiet but so much deeper, more primal. He added a second finger, gently stroking her from the bottom to the top. Cautiously he tried a few different patterns and noted her reactions— she seemed to love it when he moved his thumb in little circles, especially at the crest of her lips. He didn’t even intend to slip his fingers inside her but her lips were so slick that he found his first two knuckles drawn in without even trying. She was making high-pitched keening sounds and sweat shone on her brow. It was so overwhelming, all of it, even the smell of her, and God the heat. If he hadn’t known better he’d have felt this and thought she had a deadly fever.
A guttural noise, the loudest yet, came from her when he curled his fingers upward just a tiny bit. Every tiny movement he made after that, even unintentional, made her gasp or whimper. After a moment, he didn’t even need to move because she was bucking her hips against his hand, and she was squeezing around his fingers with surprising force— he’d vastly overestimated how delicate this part of a woman would be, but then again he didn’t have much of a frame of reference. When she opened her eyes again they were wild, desperate. A little hiss between her teeth, as if from pain, and her voice was hoarse when she said, “All right. Do it. Please.”
He hesitated. “Did I hurt you, my angel?” He’d managed to ruin this already, hadn’t he? What kind of monster would hurt a woman just with a touch of his hand?
“It doesn’t matter.” Her hand gripped his shoulder— he was also sweaty, he hadn’t noticed— and she pulled him back so he was on top of her again, their bodies pressed flush together. It seemed that the fever heat had spread to him as well, and he was aware of the sweat on his own skin, but not nearly as much as he was aware of the softness of her body against his. She made eye contact again, and his heart skipped a beat. “My angel, please.”
He did not need any further convincing. It took a bit of awkward fumbling to position the tip of his cock at her entrance— everything between her thighs was so soaking wet that it was difficult to even line it up correctly— but when he finally pushed inside her, he was immediately made aware of it in every way possible. She practically sobbed into his ear, and the heat and the grip around him, not to mention her hand squeezing his arm so hard it was almost painful, filled him with a primal urge so powerful that it terrified him because all he could think about is how he just needed more. Every cell in his body was screaming for him to just push inside her and fucking pound at her until… he couldn’t think about it. If he thought about it, he wouldn't last even a minute. As he methodically slid his whole length inside her, as slowly as he could possibly manage, he had to grit his teeth, and he tried to focus on something besides the overwhelming sensation— the fire crackling, Christine’s curls spread out on the bedsheets— but nothing was able to draw his attention away, until she spoke again.
“Angel.” She was panting, and he couldn't blame her. “It’s so… you’re so… my angel. Oh, my angel.” He took in the sight of her face, her lips fallen open, her eyes closed in ecstasy. “You can move. Please.”
His muscles shook with the exertion, the effort of holding in the feeling that threatened to overpower him, and of thrusting while holding himself up— this was a bit more physically intensive than he’d expected it to be. He slid all the way out and then hilted himself inside her again, taking a second to savor the deepest muscles within her squeezing him tight as she shuddered hard. Another thrust, a bit faster this time, and she was growling. The way she was gripping the bedsheets for dear life, he would’ve worried that she was in pain, but judging by the gorgeous noise that spilled from her lips after that, she was most definitely enjoying herself. He found a rhythm and, though he still shook and was mentally going over sheet music to keep himself from losing his composure, he was able to thrust in a way that made her tighten around him and her legs wrap around his hips.
Even though so much of this was so overwhelming, somehow the most overpowering sensation wasn’t a physical one, but rather the feeling of Christine’s gaze on his face. His real face, maskless. He had to stop just for a moment to take in the full weight of the reality that she was looking right at him, at every part of him, and there was nothing in her expression but love and want for him. She wanted this, wanted to see this. She wasn’t looking at him as a terrifying opera ghost or a teacher but as himself, as the man he was. That’s who she so desperately wanted inside her.
When he felt his hips start to move again, the word madman that people had used so many times to describe him felt completely fitting. The self-control in his body had evaporated. He was an animal, a monster, his thrusts hard and jagged, born out of pure need and the desire to make her his. For his eyes only, not that bastard’s property, no one else’s to touch or hold or fuck like an animal, but his beautiful Angel of Music. A moment of clarity, and he thought another look at her face would quell the tempest inside him, but her eyes were closed and she was laughing. She was laughing open-mouthed and her voice bounced with each thrust as his body moved hers back and forth, and there was no more guilt and no more shame, he was just savoring every single inch of her and every single second of this.
When she stopped laughing, he was concerned until she started moaning— low and deep, and then as the sound encouraged him to move even faster inside her, growing high-pitched and far more urgent. She must have been about to reach her climax, which was ideal, because despite his best efforts, he was not far behind. In his fantasies he’d been able to make her come apart over and over before he did, but just like all of this, reality was so much different than anything he could come up with. Spontaneously he decided to try something; when he thrusted in a particular way, her chest heaved even more, and her moans became more pleading. So he slowed down just a tiny bit, angled his hips upwards, and—
“Angel! Oh my God!” she wailed, and when he kept up the pace— devastatingly slow for him, but his pleasure wasn’t what mattered at this moment— she squeezed around him so much harder than she had before, and her hands were gripping at his back for dear life as she whimpered and choked out sounds that, somehow, surpassed the beauty of everything he’d heard before this combined. It wasn’t even the feeling of her around his cock that tipped him over the edge— it was the sound of her voice that made his hips thrust mindlessly until he saw white. The climax washed over him like a tidal wave, relentlessly dragging him under, and the hands around his heart gripped so hard he legitimately felt like he may pass out. Every single inch of his skin sang with joy and he was falling apart, he was exploding, this was it, this was everything he’d ever wanted.
She went still just a second before he did, and they both collapsed, the Phantom slowly regaining his vision with his head on her chest. She was quietly murmuring something but his ears were ringing and he couldn't hear it. His body was limp, all his bones had turned to jelly. He’d melted into a puddle with her. They’d become one. What more could he ever want?
Slowly, as he held her, a sense of unease tugged at his gut. It felt like reality seeping back into his mind. He started to remember the lives they’d led before this, how there wasn’t really anywhere to go from here-
Christine rolled on top of him.
“Again?”
“Absolutely.”
And that was how a once-in-a-lifetime mistake became a once-in-a-lifetime mistake he’d make twice more that evening. But then, when they were both physically incapable of doing anything more, he realized how far he’d gone. He had no doubt that Christine cared for him, and his first instinct was to be angry with her. But he was at least able to admit to himself that it wasn’t her he hated for what had happened. What he’d done, rather.
Christine was sleeping in his arms, and when he shifted to avoid letting his tears fall on her hair, she reached out for him. He paused, then slipped out of her arms slowly.
“I’m so sorry. Goodbye, Christine.”
His voice was so quiet that he may as well not have said anything. But he didn’t leave just then. He stared down at her as she breathed softly, taking her in one last time. He didn’t know how long that lasted, but the warm light of the fire was absent by the end of it.
Then, he turned and left her behind, opening the door softly and stepping over the sleeping dog. It would be better for Christine, he thought, if he vanished without a trace. Perhaps she’d realize then that he was a monster, and furthermore, she’d not have a chance to convince him otherwise.
For the briefest of moments, he considered going back. He wanted to make it work, truly, but he was penniless and shunned by all. No life he could give her would be worth living. He desperately wished he was anyone other than himself right now.
He shut his eyes so tightly that the tears started to fall uncontrollably, but when he opened them, he was still the same person in the same situation, and nothing could undo what he’d done to her. He would very much like to die, he thought.
Well, if he was to die, he’d better go as far as he could before doing it. So he walked and walked and walked, and by the end of it, he wasn’t thinking about death anymore. After all, if she found out that he’d-
He forced all thoughts of Christine out of his mind and resolved to move on to whatever was coming next. It would be difficult, he knew, but he would survive. It was the only thing he knew how to do. So he walked toward a rising sun, too far to see Christine standing in the field outside of the farmhouse, surrounded by a blanket of mist with only a few tall blades of grass poking out around her.
He did, however, hear a distant scream.