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Christine quietly shut the door to the bedroom her son was occupying. As her feet carried her into the common room of their suite, she ran a hand down her face and wondered what to do with her free time. She could read one of the three books she was currently in the middle of, though truth be told, she wasn’t in the proper mood for any of them.
A glance at the clock told her that it was only nine, which meant that her husband wouldn’t return for hours, seeing as how he rarely returned from the bar before midnight. How she hated this nasty habit of his.
She pushed that thought from her mind, though, and found herself moving unconsciously toward the piano. Playing alone at night had become somewhat of a routine of hers. For many years, whenever she felt alone, she would let her fingers dance across the keys, and she would lose herself in the music, in memories of fonder times. Sitting down at the piano bench, she almost smiled at the phantom feeling of hands resting over hers, guiding her fingers to the correct keys.
Before she began playing, though, her eyes caught on the music box that had been left in their suite prior to their arrival. The box was beautiful, almost unlike anything she’d ever seen. The base was carved out of some type of wood and painted meticulously with silver detailing. Atop the wooden base sat a monkey dressed in a clown’s clothing, clashing little cymbals when the key was wound up. The song it played reminded her of a melody she had sung once, long ago, at the premiere of an opera that had never run its course.
Christine felt a pang in her chest at the sense of familiarity that struck her as she gazed at the toy. Perhaps it was a silly thing to remind her of him, but alas, here she was. She allowed herself to wonder for a fleeting moment if such a specimen had been crafted by his strong and gentle hands. That was impossible, however, as he had drowned himself in the Seine ten years ago, leaving her heartbroken with grief.
Her mind was simply making connections where there were none, or so she assured herself, and she refused to let herself dwell on such ideas any longer. And so, it was with this thought that she blinked away the moistness of her eyes and removed the music box from where it sat on the piano and placed it on a side table, out of her sight. Refusing to give it another glance, she shuffled back to the piano and sat down, eyeing the sheet music that had been left on the shelf—a song with the title “Love Never Dies”. How fortuitous that she should only notice it now.
Almost on instinct, her fingers searched out the notes on the piano—slowly, for she had never been fantastic at playing prima vista. The melody was soft and romantic, and it held a deep sense of longing. She didn’t bother to focus on the words, but she caught a few here and there as she read the notes, and the music washed over her, enrapturing her attention completely.
Christine would have played the song in its entirety, in fact, had it not been for the soft click of a door latch that sounded as she began the first notes of the second verse. Her hands practically flew off the keyboard, having been so startled by the sudden noise, and she whirled around in the direction of the noise. She had expected that it to be Raoul returning from his night cap with Oscar Hammerstein at the hotel bar, but what she saw was far from that.
No, indeed, what held her gaze was a pair of mismatched eyes, belonging to a tall frame in the doorway that led to the suite’s small balcony. Eyes that held both admiration and some other emotion she couldn’t place, though one certainly not as warm.
I’m seeing him now. Of course I am, she thought, for thinking she could see Erik was not an uncommon occurrence when her mind was so flooded with thoughts of him. She knew that as soon as she blinked to clear her vision, he would be gone once more.
She did so once, twice, a third time. And yet, he still stood there gazing back at her wordlessly.
“This is impossible,” she quietly said, speaking to herself, for what use was there in speaking to a ghost?
“I did always rather excel at the impossible,” he returned with a half-smile, startling Christine with the sound of his voice.
“You’re dead,” Christine whispered as she leaned against the piano for support. She didn’t trust her knees to hold her up on their own.
“And you’re here,” Erik replied. His voice held a certain level of awe, yet he was still guarded, cool, as though he had planned this event several times over in his head and were waiting to see if it’d go the way he predicted.
“You’re dead. The papers said that you were dead, that you killed yourself,” Christine said, her voice rising slightly. She swallowed down the emotion in her throat, though her voice still broke as she continued, “You left me. I…I don’t understand.”
Erik turned and smoothly closed the double glass doors behind him, no longer looking at her. He held tension in the set of his shoulders and his jaw, and it was clear from the furrow of his brow that he was choosing his next words very carefully: “I think it’s rather rich that you should accuse me of abandonment when it was you who came to me like a little temptress and had your way, only to leave before I awoke the next morning. I wasn’t the one who left, Christine, so why don’t you spare me the theatrics?”
“I wasn’t the one to pretend I died and flee the country like a coward,” Christine spat, swiping at a stray tear with the sleeve of her white gown. “I came back for you! Do you have any idea how it felt to know that you were gone, after I had sworn my love and made love to you and promised an eternity at your side?”
“Pretty words hold little weight when your lover wakes to find you gone,” Erik replied with a scoff, shaking his head as though he couldn’t believe he were having this conversation.
“I left you a note! You couldn’t even extend the same curtesy,” said Christine as she sat down at the piano bench and clutched the fabric of her skirt, if only to hold onto her temper.
Erik gave a mirthless, disbelieving laugh at her statement. “What note?” he asked incredulously. “When I awoke, there was no note, I can assure you of that. I do tend to remember being abandoned quite crisply.”
“There was a note! There was!” Christine insisted, rushing from her seat in the heat of her indignation. “I told you that I was coming back, that I was telling Raoul it was over and that I was coming back to you! I told you that I loved you! Don’t you pretend as if I didn’t pour out my heart to you in that note, as if it never existed. We both know you only got scared and decided to run away!” She clenched her hands into fists, turning away from him, and let out a mirthless laugh of her own. “Well, congratulations. You made your choice, and now you’ve lost me.”
Through the mirror on the wall in front of her, she could see the stricken look on his face, and she almost wanted to take the words back. They weren’t true, and to insist they were would just mean lying to herself. She had yearned for him every day for ten years, but that didn’t change the fact that he allowed her to believe him dead. Her life could have been so very different if only he’d stayed.
A few moments of silence passed between them as Erik studied his shoes, seeming to allow her words to sink in. Eventually, he found his voice and replied, “There wasn’t a note when I awoke, Christine.” By his tone, she wondered if he too was reliving the events of their evening together in his mind. “I woke up with your side of the bed occupied by my cat and the sheets otherwise cold in your absence.”
Christine took a steadying breath, trying to calm her racing her heart as his eyes met hers in the mirror. If his tone hadn’t conveyed complete honesty, the look in his eyes certainly did. “You never read it, then?” she softly asked rhetorically.
His head shook gently. “I had thought you’d changed your mind,” he whispered, as though he were afraid to speak the words. Perhaps it was the first time he ever had.
“Is this why you left so hastily?” Christine asked, her brow furrowing as she began—finally—to comprehend what had happened. “When I returned to the flat where you hid, everything was a mess. Ayesha was gone too. I…I don’t know what I had thought happened, but I knew you weren’t there. I couldn’t fathom why you would leave.” Her eyes flitted down to the expensive rug beneath her feet, though her mind was certainly elsewhere. “And to think, this whole time, you’d thought I no longer loved you.”
Erik, with an abundance of hesitancy, took a few steps to close the distance between them and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m very sorry you thought that I would leave you like that,” he softly said. “I don’t know what became of your note, but I promise that if I had seen it, I would have been there waiting for you when you returned.”
Christine gave a quiet, slightly strangled laugh. “That bloody cat of yours probably ate it. She always did hate me.”
This brought a small smile to Erik’s face as he gently turned her around. “Christine,” he said softly, “can you forgive me?”
“Only if you can forgive me,” replied Christine as she lifted her eyes to catch his, her own misting. She stared at him in disbelief and began to take in the details of his face, the fine wrinkles between his eyebrows, in the corners of his eyes. He looked weary, worn out by the years. “Is it really you?” she breathed. “I’ve prayed for years that I would give anything to see you again, and being here now…it feels as though I’m dreaming.” Her hand lifted to cup his cheek, her other resting gently over his chest as his hands rose to cover hers. “You look different. Could it really be you, my love?”
Erik’s head shook woefully as he gently removed her hands from him. “I’m not the man you once loved, Christine. So much has changed,” he quietly said. “The years have…taken their toll, I’m afraid.”
“They’ve taken their toll on us both,” Christine agreed. “But Erik, I never stopped loving you, not for a second. I’ve never stopped picturing how my life could have been with you in it.”
The look in his eyes carried ten years of misery. “You love the man I was then,” he insisted. “Would you fall in love with me again, even after all this time? Even after you’ve loved another? I’ve grown weary, Christine, and I’m afraid I could never live up to the fantasy you’ve built in your mind.”
Christine shook her head, grasping his hand tightly. “I don’t want a fantasy, Erik, I’m not twenty-two anymore. I’m beyond fantasies and childish ideals—marrying Raoul has taught me the perils of those. I just want you,” she said honestly.
Erik shook his head and withdrew from her, moving a few steps away. “Christine, you don’t know what you’re saying. You still think of the man I was on that night many years ago. I am but a stranger to you now, just as much as you are to me. I would never be able to give what you need.”
Taking a breath, Christine’s eyes landed on the sheet music resting on the piano, the title of it suddenly filling her with understanding of its composer. “Well, if that’s true, do me a favor, hm? Just a small thing to bring me some peace,” she said as she paced over and picked up the aria. “Take this music, tuck it into your coat, and take it with you when you leave. Destroy it if you must, but I can’t bear to look at it any longer.”
She watched as the crease in her former lover’s brow deepened as he looked down at the sheet music she extended to him, then back at her. “How could you say this?” he asked incredulously, offense written all over his face. “I composed this song for you over sleepless nights and countless tears. I relived our night over and over, cutting myself open and bleeding onto these pages! Do you realize what you’ve asked of me? This aria is a symbol of my undying love for you!”
“Only my Erik would know that, so I guess that makes him you,” Christine replied, taking two rushed stepped forward to cradle his face in both her hands.
His own came up to gently grasp her wrists, and he leaned into her touch, his eyes closing. “Christine.” He spoke her name like a prayer.
“I will fall in love with you over and over again,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes. “I don’t care how, where, or when. It doesn't matter to me the time that has passed; you’re still mine.” She lowered on hand and gripped his shirt tightly in her hand, almost desperately. “Don’t you dare tell me you aren’t the same person! You are always my love, and I’ve been waiting so long for you, Erik, waiting too long.”
“My Christine,” Erik breathed, his arms encircling her waist and pulling her tightly to him. “Oh, my beautiful Christine.”
In one swift moment, she brought her arms around his next and rose onto her toes so that her lips could meet his. The kiss was soft and passionate, desperate and gentle. Years of yearning and mourning and regrets were exchanged in this kiss, and when it was over, they found themselves both a little breathless. Rather than parting, though, they remained locked in each other’s embrace, holding tightly as if they feared they might awaken from a dream at any moment.
It was during this embrace, that they heard the door to one of the suite’s bedrooms open, and small feet rushed out into the common room.
“Mother, please, I’m frightened!” Christine’s young son cried.
Almost instantaneously, she was at her son’s side to comfort him, listening to him speak about the nightmare he’d had only moments prior. She assured him that all was alright and held him for a minute or two. Once he was calm, she introduced him to Erik, who took a surprising amount of interest in the child, promising to show the boy around Phantasma the next day, which quickly brought a smile to her son’s face.
As Christine led her son back to the door of his bedroom, she smiled at hearing him ask, “Why does he wear a mask, Mother? Is he a magician?”
“Yes, my darling, in his way,” she fondly replied. When the bedroom door shut and she turned back to face her love, she found him staring where the child had been, a pensive look on his face.
“How long has it been?” he softly asked, as though he were trying to piece something together.
Wringing her hands a bit, she replied, “Ten long years.”
“Christine?”
“Yes, Erik?”
“I love you.”