Erik and Christine: A Re-Telling

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He had been waiting on the terrace of Delmonico's for an hour and was smoking his seventh cigarette of the evening when Enrico Casazza and Maestro Toscanini finally came out to him.

"I am terribly sorry, Mister Y," Mr. Casazza began, "but Miss Daae will not be with us tonight."

"She was feeling...quite unwell, Signor," Toscanini quickly interjected.

"Unwell?" Erik said, "she seemed fine at the gala, where is she now? Has a doctor been summoned?"

The maestro hid a knowing look.

"I do not think so, I tried to persuade her, but she was very...reluctant. She said all she needed was a little rest. But, in truth," the Maestro's voice turned somber," her health has troubled me for quite some time now."

"What do you mean, Arturo?" Casazza said.

"This past summer, when we worked together in La Boheme at La Scala, there were days when she was not...herself...she was often tired, and preoccupata, as if there was a great burden she carried. Cristina has always put her art above everything, but that time...," he shook his head, silently asking heaven to forgiven him his lies. He was aware that Erik was hanging on to his every word, "why, just this evening, at the curtain call, her hand was like ice... and she begged me to lead her off the stage." That much was true, "She is always so brave, but I cannot help thinking that this...burden she carries is too much for her to bear alone..." he let his voice trail off again.

"She went back to the Plaza, then?" Erik asked, tossing the half smoked cigarette to the floor and making his way to the doors of Delmonico's

Toscanini nodded solemnly.

"Gentlemen, I must beg your leave," Erik said and left them on the terrace.

The two Italians watched as Mister Y hurried away.

Toscanini breathed in the cold autumn air.

"Ahh, to be young again," he whispered.

"I thought you said Christine only had a headache," Casazza said.

The great man turned to his old friend.

"Enrico," he said, "you have spent too many winters here in America, you have forgotten what it is to be Italian and...appassionato."

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James had not yet fully stopped in front of The Plaza, before Erik was out of the car. He strode to the front desk.

"Oh, good evening, Mister Y," the young man at the desk greeted him, "what can we do for you, sir?"

"Good evening, Tom. I'd like the keys to my suite tonight."

"Of course, Mister Y."

The concierge opened the top drawer of the desk, and started looking for the keys to Erik's suite.

"May I offer the staff's congratulations, sir? We've heard that the Metropolitan gala was an outstanding success," the young man said, still rummaging through the rows of keys in the drawer, "Now where are they? Just give me a moment, Mister Y, I'm sure your keys are in here."

Erik gritted his teeth, his patience was starting to wear thin.

"Here they are, sir," Tom said, smiling and handing over a pair of keys to Erik, "will you be spending the night with us?"

"Yes," Erik said, "is the house doctor on call tonight?"

"Dr. Smythe is on call, Mister Y. As a matter of fact, he attended to Miss Daae a half hour ago for..."

Erik did not wait for the rest of what the concierge had to say, he strode quickly to the lobby elevators, got into an empty lift and quickly punched floor 18.

Chapter Five

Christine lifted the bedcovers up to Gustave's chin. The little boy was sound asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillows, there was no need to read him a story at all. She kissed him tenderly on both cheeks and walked quietly out of the room, closing the door behind her. Once in the drawing room, she picked up the paper sheets Gustave had been sketching on earlier and looked at them. She was in awe of her little boy's gifts; how like his father he truly was. She placed the sheets on the piano and was about to turn the electric lights off when there was a sharp knocking at the door.

Louise and Emile had gone out to bring the flowers to the church, they must have forgotten to bring their keys! She imagined the couple bickering as to whose memory was failing. The knocking started again, a little sharper this time. Christine smiled and opened the door.

"You both forgot...," Christine's smile -- and heart -- froze. Erik stood outside the door.

"Christine," he whispered.

She started to tremble; this had happened before, she remembered, especially in the weeks after he had left her alone in his lair. She would see him on the street, in a café, at the far end of a tram, but always, always in shadow, his masked face turned away from her. Once she had even followed him into a shop, had even clutched at his sleeve to make him look at her, only to find herself staring at the face of a complete stranger. She had murmured her excuses and made her way back to her apartment, tears streaming down her face. She backed away from the figure, willing the image in front of her to vanish.

"Christine," Erik said again pleadingly, she had turned so pale. He stretched one hand out to her.

It was then that she slapped him with every ounce of strength she had, sending his mask flying halfway across the room, then she crumpled to the ground, weeping like a wounded animal, as she clutched her arms in front of her, bent and defeated.

The sight was too much for Erik to bear. He got down on his knees and tried to take her in his arms, but she struggled, pushing him away with a cry that tore at his very soul, and when she tried to crawl away from him, he knew his heart was breaking, shattering into tiny jagged pieces.

"Please, Christine, my darling, please stop," he begged, finally catching hold of her hands, pinning them at her sides, "oh God, you are killing me, my love, please stop."

Finally, after what seemed like hours, she did; her arms limp, her head cradled on his chest, her whole body, unmoving, except for the rise and fall of her breasts.

"I have finally crossed eternity," she thought, "nothing and no one can hurt me now, not even this phantom figure holding me."

Erik tenderly touched her head to look at her face, her head fell weakly on his arm. She was so pale and cold! He brought one hand under her knees and carried her to the chaise lounge, where he sat, still cradling her in his arms.

"Christine, my love, I must call for the house doctor, but please, please tell me you can hear me, please tell me what ails you," he pleaded.

She did not answer.

"What have I done?" the thought raced across his mind.

For several minutes, only silence filled the room. Erik's emotions were near to choking him, when, at last, he heard her whisper.

"Nothing ails me, except my heart... you broke it, you see... you broke it when you left me. If you have come to break it again, I am truly sorry, for there is almost nothing left of it to break."

He turned her towards him to look at her pale face. Her eyes were still closed. How he longed for her to open them so she could see what was written on his face.

"There is very little left of my heart, too, my love, but, if you let me, then perhaps the pieces that are left in us... can make a whole one again."

"Why did you leave me?" her voice seemed to come from far away.

"I...was a fool and a coward. I could not bear to see the...repulsion in your eyes, when you saw this," he touched his scars, "in cold daylight. I...I had no right to ask you to throw away your life, your gifts, your voice, to live with me in darkness and shadows."

"That choice was mine to make, Erik, but you took it away."

"Have I killed your love, then, Christine? Mine has not died, it will never die, it is in the pieces that were once my heart, in all my thoughts -- whole and disjointed -- in the words I speak, in the air I breathe. I beg your forgiveness that I thought myself so...unworthy of you then, but if it is retribution you want, then only say... that you do not love me anymore and I shall crawl away...and die."

Her eyes flew open. Blue eyes stared into amber, each pair seeing the tears, the pain, the longing and the scars -- seen and unseen -- that marked their faces.

She brought one hand up and once again, just as she had done years before, gently stroked the scars and ridges along his face.

"Why can you not see what I see?" she asked, softly.

With a cry, Erik caught her to him and finally kissed her, parting her lips with his and drinking in her breath, her very essence, thirstily, like a man led to a well after many days lost in the desert. She moaned and clasped his head closer. Their tongues danced, moving inside the soft moist recesses of their mouths, gliding, sliding against each other. She heard him groan deeply, he broke the kiss, only to start nibbling her chin and her neck, then even further down to the slight swell where her breasts began.

He lifted his head and looked at her, a questioning look in his eyes. She raised her body in answer, offering herself to him. He lowered his head and through the softness of her gown, began to lick her swelling breasts. She cried softly as he caught one of the hardening nubs between his teeth and pulled it into his mouth, he raised his hand and began to knead the other fleshy globe. Christine gasped at the dual caressing, moving her head from side to side, as an undeniable heat began to rise between her legs and an undeniable dampness began to soak her nether lips.

"Someone...might...come in, Erik," she whispered, remembering that Louise and Emile were still out.

Silently, Erik lifted her and carried her to the bedroom. He placed her down and took off her nightdress. She was naked except for a pair of silken drawers. He caught this with his fingers and drew them down past her thighs and down past her knees, where they fell to the floor, pooling at her ankles. He picked them up and inhaled the fragrance trapped in the soft material. It was an intoxicating brew.

Christine watched as he threw her knickers onto the bureau. He led her to the huge bed, where she lay and waited. For several minutes, he filled himself with the sight of her naked body stretched out on the bed. Her breasts were fuller than he remembered, accentuating the narrowness of her waist even more, there was the slightest swell to her stomach that begged to be kissed. Her hips were smooth and flared down to her thighs that were slightly parted, waiting for him.

Erik quickly removed his clothes and stood in front of her; his manhood jutting out proud, hard and erect beneath his taut stomach. He moved atop her and knelt between her legs. He ran his hands down from her neck to her rib cage and lower still, until he reached the V between her thighs.

"Spread yourself open for me, my love," he whispered, hoarsely.

Christine complied, parting her thighs even more. He spat on one hand and started to rub the moistness between her legs. Christine moaned, her hands gripping the bed sheets where she lay. Erik found her labia and inserted one finger between them, working it deep inside her, she moaned once again.

"Oh, my love, let me show you how much I have longed for you," Erik said as he slid his finger deeper inside her, pushing it in and then drawing it back slowly.

A soft cry escaped Christine's lips, she lifted her arms and clutched the soft pillow beneath her head. Erik eased his hand out and spat on his fingers and this time inserted two fingers deeply into her, while his other hand began to palm her clit, stroking, rubbing and pushing down on the moist flesh. Christine bit her lips, stifling a scream as she writhed helplessly beneath his ministrations, her hips moving and grinding against him, her knuckles white as she gripped the pillow even tighter. She gave a muffled scream as her body started jerking and a trickle of her juices streamed down on her thighs, Erik bent his head and lapped it up hungrily, at last her taste was once again on his tongue after what seemed a lifetime of yearning. He removed his hands from her cunt, placed them under her knees and drew them over his shoulders then he lowered his head and started licking her leaking slit. He drew his tongue inside her, pushing in almost as deeply as his fingers had, laving the walls of her clit, savoring her taste. In and out, in and out, his tongue invaded her, relentlessly. Her taste was sweet nectar.

Christine no longer had command over her body. The wave of desire was building again.

"I'm cumming!" she cried as it crashed over her, in a mad whirlpool of sensation.

Erik withdrew his tongue and held her writhing hips as she convulsed in delicious agony. When her trembling ceased he placed her down, eased himself up and and moved forward. His throbbing cock was now rock hard, he was so engorged it was almost painful, but all he wanted to do was to please Christine, to make amends for every tear he had caused her to shed by pleasuring her.

He lay atop her and reached for her hands, she quickly grasped his. He pulled her arms high above her head, forcing her breasts to rise closer to his waiting mouth. Once again he lowered his face and started kissing the sensitive mounds of flesh, he ran his tongue over and around a hardened nipple, pulling it with his teeth, then he moved to her other breast, leaving a damp trail across her chest, to do the same, fanning the flames of Christine's desire once more. The familiar ache started again, her body moved, beneath him, undulating like waves lapping at the shore. He left her breasts, and lifted his head to kiss her mouth. She was almost breathless, when he raised his head to look at her.

"I love you, Christine," he said, "more than any mortal man should love a woman, and if that is wrong, then I will gladly be damned for it."

"Then I'll be damned right beside you, Erik," she answered.

He kissed her once again.

"Open yourself to me again, my love," he commanded.

Christine parted her thighs and Erik moved, thrusting his hard shaft into her, gently at first, she was moist and ready for him, but he knew that she was also tight, it had been some time since she last had intercourse and though he was near bursting, he did not want to hurt her. He eased into her a little deeper, he heard her sigh of pleasure, he moved again, penetrating her even more.

A guttural sound escaped her lips.

His movements became more frantic, he buried himself deep inside her, withdrew almost to the tip, then drove back into her again and again. Christine raised her legs and wrapped them around his hips, urging him with her body to move faster.

"Erik!" she cried.

Her hips rose and fell in time with his in a dance as old as time. Erik thrust into her repeatedly. She bit her lips as her eyes flew open to see an almost feral look of victory on his face, as beads of sweat slid down from him onto her. The room began to fill with the heady fragrance of their sex, as they moved closer to the release they both craved for, but wanted so badly to delay. The tempo increased until finally, with a deep bellow and one mighty thrust, Erik streamed inside her, shooting coils of ejaculate into her as the walls of her hole clamped down hard on his shaft, jerking together like mindless puppets,

The shared orgasm lasted a long time, as their bodies continued to writhe, determined to milk the last ounce of pleasure from their coupling.

With a groan, his arms relaxed and he fell on her, his face inches beside hers. Christine's legs slid down from his hips, her hands lying limply on the bed. The room was silent, only their heavy breathing filled it, as they both gasped for air.

They must have fallen asleep, for when Christine awoke, she was lying on her side, with Erik behind her, one arm flung possessively across her breasts, and one leg over her thighs. She felt his warm breath on her nape. Her eyes filled with tears.

He had not left her!

She took the hand that lay across her breast and kissed his fingers greedily.

"Are you planning to eat me? I must warn you, I have the same intentions," he whispered teasingly into her ear, but his voice quickly changed when he turned her over and saw the tears.

"My love, did I hurt you? Was I too rough? Tell me please; Toscanini said you've not been well, and the house doctor was with you earlier, tell me what is wrong!" his voice tinged with fear.

"Shhh, my sweet one," she answered, holding his hand to her breast, "these are tears of gratitude -- of joy -- not pain. I called for the doctor because I had a headache earlier, he gave me a tablet and you should not always listen to the Maestro, he loves to play games."

"I'm glad I listened to him tonight, for I would still be pining for you, if I hadn't. Christine, I am not a man of pretty phrases...all that I can say is I love you," he said, touching his forehead to hers, "there has never been a day that I have not loved you, longed for you... ached for you."

She smiled and brought his head down to kiss him gently on the lips. Erik held her tighter.

"Please, Christine, let...me heal us."

"Yes, Erik, but there is..."

"Maman!"

Gustave's voice chimed from the next room. Christine quickly rose.

"I'll coming, cherie," she exclaimed, hastily wrapping the bed sheet around her and running to Gustave's room. Erik followed her, but stood outside the open door.

"What is it, my love?" she said, as she knelt by her son's bed.

"I dreamt we went into one of the mazes at the park, Maman, but when I came out on the other side, I couldn't see you!"

Christine took the little boy in her arms.

"Shhh, my sweet one, it is just a dream, but if you fall asleep again, I am sure you'll go back inside that maze and find me," she assured him, kissing his tousled hair.

The boy nodded and laid his head back on the pillow.

"Do you want me to read you a story?"

Gustave shook his head.

"Sing my favorite lullaby, Maman," he requested.

Erik's heart skipped a beat when Christine started to sing his "Adoree," quietly. After a few minutes, she came out and softly closed the door behind her. She took his hand and led him to the drawing room. They sat on the divan, their hands locked together and looked at each other.

"Your son is... beautiful," he said, at last.

Christine smiled.

"He takes after his father; he has his hair and his eyes," she answered.

"Of course," he said, tears welling in his eyes. To hear her speak of the Viscount de Chagny was a new kind of pain. They shared a son, Erik knew he could never replace Raoul in that respect.

"He has his smile and his heart...and his gifts," she continued.

He squeezed her hand tightly, the pain was almost unbearable.

"He carries his name," she whispered.

"He is Gustave Raoul, then?" he asked.

She brought his hand to her lips.

"His name is...Gustave Eric, and he is our son."

"Our son -- our son!" the thought churned and churned inside his head. The beautiful little boy was his! He turned to Christine and searched her face, almost afraid to believe.

"He is mine, Christine? He came from our love...that night we...?"

"Yes, my sweet one, yes. He came from our love that night"

Erik fell to his knees before her and placed his head on her lap.

"Oh, Christine, and I...left you alone...how can you forgive me?"

She brushed his hair gently.

"Please, Erik, my darling, let us not speak of the past anymore, we have weathered it and it has scarred us, but to dwell there is to remember only pain and sorrow." She bent her head and kissed his hair, "You said you wanted me -- us -- to heal. Then let us do just that, Erik, by living now and thinking only of tomorrow.

Erik gathered Christine in his arms again and carried her to the bed; while n the other room, across the marbled floor, the mask lay, broken and forgotten.

The End