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Do I Dream Again?	By : LaurieBaker Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 10050 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Sullenly, Erik sat alone in the makeshift dining room that he had created. He had envisioned quiet meals with his new bride, partaking of pheasant and wine. Unfortunately, the reality was quite different for his new wife appeared to despise him. He stared at the silver tray of croissants and pastries before him, placed precisely in the center of the new dining room table. He had gone to a great deal of trouble to stock the kitchen with all different varieties of food. In his hubris, he had believed that he and his wife would need sustenance between their enthusiastic bouts of lovemaking. But now the food before him looked so unappetizing that it might as well have been refuse swept up from the street.

After Christine had fled from him last night, she locked herself in the bedroom and had remained there ever since. It was now late afternoon. The child would have to eat eventually, he reasoned. And when she would finally make an appearance, he would be waiting. He was not disappointed.

Garbed in an exotic black and gold floral robe that he had supplied for her in the bedroom closet, Christine was indeed a vision with her hair pulled back into a top knot. Yet she was always succulently beautiful, he noted. He practically felt his mouth water at the thought. Would he ever tire of gazing upon her perfectly proportioned face and lush body? He did not think so.

The object of his affection was not moved by his adoration, however.

“You needn’t look at me like I am a Christmas present that you want to unwrap,” Christine snapped at him as she sat across from him at the table and reached for a croissant. Glaring at him all the while, she proceeded to eat with relish, slathering the croissant with raspberry jam. Erik pondered other mischievous uses for that jam, but wisely kept his own counsel on the subject.

“Such a comparison almost entices me to celebrate that overrated Christian holiday,” Erik smirked.

“You truly are a barbaric heathen!”

“I’ve never pretended to be anything else,” he answered as he also proceeded to eat, carefully lowering his head so that Christine would not be witness to his mask grotesquely quivering about as he chewed. Suddenly, the food was not so horribly distasteful to him longer. In fact, he even felt his stomach rumble hungrily after a few bites. Odd as he had not had such a ravenous appetite since he was a young lad.

Erik noted that perhaps the baked goods would not go to waste after all as his bride reached for a second croissant Her hand was so small and delicate, he noted. When she once more reached for the jam, he could not resist grasping at her hand and bringing her palm up to his lips.

“Good morning, wife,” he murmured between feverish kisses at the soft flesh. “Or should I say good afternoon?”

“Don’t!” she pleaded, trying to pull away from him. Yet she could not hide her excited gasps for breath nor the glaze of passion in her eyes.

“All is legal between us with our union, Christine,” he coaxed, gazing up at her intently over her outstretched hand in his clutches. “Why deny us both?”

Wrenching away, Christine scowled at him angrily.

“I am no wife to you, Erik. I am a prisoner and shall not pretend otherwise!”

She stormed off into the sitting room.

Well, that was that, Erik thought dumbly as he sat in solitude. How had the sun fallen from the sky so quickly?

Erik’s shock hardened into hot anger. In fact, he used every ounce of self-restraint not to slam his fist into the table. So acute was his frustration that he truly yearned to kill someone. Yet violence would solve nothing. There was no one here in this godforsaken cottage besides Christine...and murdering her would certainly not make him feel better...

Sighing in agony, he rose from his seat at the table and followed her into the parlor.

“What nonsense, Christine!” he chided. “You are no prisoner.”

Staring through a large picture window located by the large divan, Christine looked with curiosity at the surrounding forest outside. She must have noted the lake with the lily pads and the well. The expression on her face was one of disbelief.

“Where are we, Erik?”

“In our home,” he answered coldly. “That is all you need to know.”

She whirled about angrily.

“You say that to me, deliberately keeping me trapped here in this strange place, and yet deny that I am your prisoner!”

“Christine,” Erik began, trying to keep the tone of his voice even and calm. “You are here in the lap of luxury. Everything that you see before you...this cottage, this furniture, the food, the clothing...all of this I have obtained for you. I have provided you with as much as a wife could ever wish for. Believe me, there are plenty of women out there who have to make do with much less.”

“You kidnapped me!” she shrieked, oblivious to his reasoning. “You used your weird experiments on my mind! You had us wed when I was barely conscious! I am surprised that you did not have your way with me on our wedding night while I was in a helpless daze! In fact, for all I know, maybe you did!”

Erik scowled, pacing the floor like a tiger in a cage.

“Do you really think me capable of being such a monster, Christine?”

“Yes!” Christine answered without hesitation. “Yes, I do! You should not have married me, Erik. You should have married that doll you made that resembled me! You could do anything you liked to her without asking! You could be as horrible as you like to her! But I am not a doll, Erik! I am a human being!”

“Good God, woman!” Erik bellowed, losing his battle with restraint. “Have I ever treated you with anything but the utmost respect and affection? Have I ever done anything besides live as your devoted slave, contented in your shadow? You are the only woman for me and always have been! You alone can make my song take fl...”

“Oh, please don’t go on!” she rudely interrupted. “You say that I am the only one for you, yet I know that you have been with another woman!”

Erik was speechless. In fact, he was not sure, but he thought that he might be blushing. At any rate, it was damned warm all of a sudden.

After an interminable amount of time, he finally said, “I do not see how you could possibly know such a thing!”

“I sense it in your touch!” she answered back with conviction. “I can feel it!”

“And here I thought I was the only one with mystical powers!” he quipped sarcastically. “Very well, Madame. Since your mind is made up, anyhow...yes! I admit it freely! Yes, I knew another woman!”

Christine gasped in shock, looking as if she were about to break down in tears. Erik felt a small amount of satisfaction in her reaction. Why should he be the only one to suffer?

“What was I supposed to do when you abandoned me for your pretty viscount?” he added. “Shrivel up and die in misery? Become a monk, perhaps?”

With what must have been an enormous amount of self-control, Christine calmed herself. No longer did she look like she was about to go into hysterics. Indeed, she looked as cold and hard as a statue.

“I would be truly appreciative if you ceased mocking my religion, sir!”

“My apologies,” Erik pleaded as he bowed, displaying even more of the mockery she disliked. He knew he was displaying horrid behavior. He knew that this sort of thing would not win her over. Yet he was so hurt and upset that he simply could not help himself.

“I refuse to recognize this marriage,” Christine announced. “Especially since I do not even remember a ceremony! I was never proposed to. I was never given a chance to accept a proposal. As such, I do not feel like a bride and I do not intend to be one. I want a divorce immediately.”

“Now you are simply being foolish!” Erik raved, feeling the panic rise in his throat at the mention of a divorce. “And you say I mock your god!? Who are you to rend asunder what He has blessed? Are you going to turn you back on Him and what He has decreed? And anyway, I thought Catholics did not believe in divorce!”

“I am certain that under the circumstances He would understand,” she sniffed haughtily before storming down the hallway towards her bedroom. “And if you dare to try to accost me, I will not be willing at all! So I hope rape is to your taste, Monsieur!”

“That is where you are mistaken! I am your husband now. It would not be within my marital rights and not rape.”

“You, sir, are despicable!”

With that, Christine slammed the bedroom door in his face. He had half a mind to kick it down. Yet to what end? He had no desire to force himself upon her. That was not how he wanted her.

---------------------------

Caressing the keys of his pipe organ with pleasure, Erik reflected that all was not lost, despite the hardships that he was facing with Christine. At least he had his music to depend upon, now that he finally had his new instrument. If he could not enjoy his rights as a husband, he could at least spend his time in a productive manner with his composition. Indeed, musical themes and scores for Wuthering Heights were running through his mind on a regular basis. He just had to set his ideas down onto paper. Granted, when he played upon the large ornate organ, all of the walls of the cottage seemed to shake with the incredible force of the volume. Yet, if Christine minded, she had not said so.

Then again, she had said nothing to him at all for the past week...

With dismay, Erik reflected upon the insufferable situation. The days and nights had passed in agonizing silence and tension between the two of them. Christine only would deign to be in the same room with him in order to eat her meals. Whenever he attempted to engage her in conversation, she would not speak in return. Whenever he even so much as looked at her for longer than a few seconds, her eyes would widen and she would scurry away like a scared rat.

She spent her nights in the bedroom.

He spent his on the divan which was now covered with an assortment of pillows and sheets. Indeed, the sitting room was starting to resemble an unkempt hotel room with all of the bedding strewn about haphazardly.

The situation was comical. Only he was not laughing. Nothing had gone the way he had planned. Nothing.

However, Erik had been right in his perception that Christine would love the little storybook cottage that he had found for them. Although she had called it a prison, her eyes would light up as she explored all of the nooks and crannies of the quaint rooms. And she would often set a blanket for herself outside upon the grass by the lake. At first, Erik was suspicious that she was plotting out a means to escape by way of the forest. It would have been quite foolhardy for her to attempt such a feat as she would undoubtedly become lost and possibly meet her end by way of some savage beast. Yet, she did not seem to be making any such attempt. Usually, she would just lie back and observe the sky or read a novel...as she was doing now...

Quietly, Erik rose up from the organ bench, paced through the house towards the rear entrance and observed Christine in her private oasis. Garbed in a simple day dress, white with a blue floral pattern, she seemed to perfectly fit in with the storybook surroundings. Indeed, she could have been a long lost princess herself. Sleeping Beauty with her hair flowing about her shoulders in repose. With her head turned to one side, she looked so peaceful with the sunlight shining upon her face. He would have been driven to distraction by the grass, the wind, the insects...but his love truly seemed to be a child of nature. Perhaps it had come from all of those years of traveling about with her father during her youth, he thought. For him, the outdoors had meant something quite different. Life on the road with the gypsies had been one miserable day after another. With the strains of sideshow music playing in the recesses of his mind, he tried to cast out the hated past and focused on the present.

Desperate to concentrate on something else, Erik walked outside and stood by her sleeping form. Surreptitiously, he glanced at her book. Another Brontë novel, of course, he noted with amusement. Jane Eyre. He had made sure there were plenty of gothic romances for Christine in the library, just in case his bride had needed amusement. He was rather pleased to note that he had succeeded in pleasing her in some fashion, no matter how paltry.

Then the seed of an idea began to take hold...

--------------------------

Later that evening, Erik worked feverishly at his composition of Wuthering Heights. He had nearly completed “Heathcliff’s Lament”. When Christine left the privacy of her bedchamber in order to grab a few sandwiches which he had left for her upon the kitchen table, he began to sing out in his pure tenor voice. With all of the passion and grief that he could muster up, he sang of Heathcliff’s ordeal with gusto. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Christine had not quickly returned to her room as she usually did. Sitting at the kitchen table, she continued to nibble at a cucumber sandwich, watching him with curiosity.

When the song had ended, Erik doodled some imaginary musical notes upon the parchment before him. While pretending to be in the throes of creative inspiration, he was secretly waiting with anticipation for some response from his spectator.

“Is that from a new opera?” Christine asked quietly.

Erik almost guffawed out loud with victory.

Passarino, go away for the trap is set and waits for its prey...

“I am sorry, my dear,” he said, not looking in her direction, continuing to scribble. “Did you say something?”

“I asked if that was from a new opera,” she repeated timidly.

“Ah, yes, I believe that this country air has been quite good for my concentration. I am writing a new piece. Do you like it?”

“It seems familiar somehow...”

“I would imagine so,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “My new opera is based upon one of your favorite novels, I believe.”

“What do you...Good Lord, Erik! Are you writing an opera of Wuthering Heights? That is it, isn’t it?”

The enthusiasm and interest in her voice pleased him very much. Ah, yes, things were going well...perhaps even better than he had expected.

“Yes. I am presently composing Heathcliff’s lament for Catherine Linton Earnshaw after her unfortunate passing. Tell me, Christine, do you think that it is true to the novel? Have I captured all of the necessary pathos?”

“Oh, very much so,” she responded. Even though he could not see her, he could visualize the gleam in her eyes and the smile on her lips.

“Your opinion means so much to me, Christine,” he admitted. “I found the novel so intensely emotional, simply perfect as an opera. Yet there are some parts of the opera that I am encountering some trouble with...”

“You? Having trouble?”

“Yes, dear heart,” he answered patiently, ignoring her teasing sarcasm. “Even I can become horribly frustrated in the midst of composing. For example, with ‘Song of the Moors’...”

“What is ‘Song of the Moors?’”

“Catherine Earnshaw’s song of sadness, missing Heathcliff as he runs off in the night in the middle of the horrible storm...”

“Oh, I loved that part of the book!”

Clapping with delight, Christine arose from her seat in the dining room and neared him.

“Yes, indeed. It is the climax of the romance and therefore a very important song. But I need to hear it sung with all of the drama that it deserves.” Erik waited a few moments before turning to face Christine. “Will you sing it for me, Christine? I could not imagine a more perfect singer to play Cathy.”

The expression of rapture faded from her eyes at once.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Erik,” she answered, shaking her head in the negative as she backed away. “I do not think we should work together that way anymore.”

“I understand, my dear,” he said lightly, turning back towards the organ. “It must be terribly embarrassing for you.”

“What must be embarrassing for me?” she asked after a bit of a pause.

“Well, ‘Song of the Moors’ definitely cries out for a beautiful voice of skill. You know the kind of songs that I write with such demanding notes. I understand if you feel you are no longer up to the challenge of singing my music.”

“No longer up to...!? How dare you!”

She stamped her foot with petulance.

“Well, forgive my impertinence, Christine, but while your voice is still lovely, you have allowed yourself to weaken over the last few months,” he lectured, secretly reveling in torturing his proud beauty. “Your breath control is not what it once was. You have not been doing the exercises I taught you, have you?”

“How dare you insult my singing! I never asked you to listen in on my singing lessons with my pupils anyhow...”

“Nevertheless, if you are to teach young unschooled voices, you must have the proper discipline and technique yourself. Otherwise, what sort of example are you setting for your students?”

“As if I even have any students now!” she cried in outrage. “And I always teach them breath control, you arrogant...”

Her words trailed off.

“Then why are you afraid to sing?”

“I’m not!”

“Prove it!” Erik taunted, beginning to play the prelude of “Song of the Moors”.

He knew that her pride would only take so much.

With indignation in her eyes, Christine stood beside him, straining to read the words scribbled out upon the sheet music that he had placed before her. Once she had begun to sing, she glared at him haughtily, silently implying that she had not lost her talent nor her technique. Yet, as she continued to sing, his music seduced her. She became Catherine Linton Earnshaw, wandering the moors in the rain and thunder, searching for her lover.

She sang the song once more.

Erik then had her sit beside him on the organ bench and sing a duet with him. The final love song of Catherine and Heathcliff. Just like in the past, their voices blended in perfect unison. With music, their spirits soared to that heaven that they thought they had lost.

Even when their duet was over, Christine was still transfixed with the ecstasy that his music had wrought in her. With closed eyes and parted lips, her expression was one of happiness and peace.

And he could not resist her.

Gently, he leaned over and kissed those soft tempting lips...
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Do I Dream Again?