The Persian urged me to stay silent and motionless. Frightened, as I knew something was very wrong, I obeyed without further questions.
We were very close to the inside of the house, for now and then we could hear steps in the next room. The effect of the room on the Persian sharpened my own perceptions. I found myself growing more and more aware of the slightest sounds. A song, at first very distant, then growing more distinct, made us exchange looks. It was a beautiful voice, peaceful - but it was a woman's voice.
As it drew closer, I recognized it as Christine's voice, much to my displeasure. She sang as careless as a bird, happily walking around, her darling voice and her light steps echoing in all the walls, through that terrible underground silence. She seemed quite joyful and secure. A sharp physical pain struck me, like a blade cutting through flesh, the materialization of my perception. Absolutely limited and trapped as I was, I simply bit my lip in bitter resignation and sank to my knees, as if the strength that had sustained me through the whole journey down had left me at once. Then I fell prey to the evil guessing of my mind, trying to find a plausible explanation for the sinister picture I faced once I reached the house by the lake.
They surely had talked already, Erik and Christine, and were living their happy ever after. While the Persian and I, wishing them the best, went through the trouble of coming there to rescue them, oblivious to the fact that they did not want or need to be rescued! They are as happy as they can be with each other!, this hateful voice screamed inside my head, over and over, mentally punishing me for dreaming too much, for daring too much.
It was just a new bittersweet twist to the tale that the defeated one, me, had to witness. And I had the privilege of witnessing what followed the scene of her victory first hand! Oh, how I hated myself for setting this situation by my own choice! Why couldn't I be happy with the noble and wealthy Raoul? Why did I insist on what could not be? Why did I step out to challenge fate without protecting myself first? I couldn't believe it was happening, and yet it was so predictable! It was obvious she was supposed to win at the end! The lovely, naïve, precious and utterly clueless girl.
Her voice tortured me, that light, perfect pitch singing what I would never have. Mocking me. I don't know for how long I had to endure it, song after song, her telling of dreams that belonged to me. That was my only role after all. Forever the good friend, or at least the good listener. The expediter of things I was supposed to be living! I ignored the Persian, not caring if he had any idea of what went on in my mind, or listening to his ravings about something called a Torture Chamber. The poor man had been explaining every detail to me, but of all his lecture, I only heard her soprano voice leading me to a poisonous hallucination.
In the middle of this inconsistent delusion, we distinctly heard the sound of a door being closed, or rather slammed - much an unexpected event, for her song faded away and absolute silence reigned once again. There was a moment of time until his voice, Erik's voice, wretched and venomous, threatened more than inquired,
"YOU?"
The walls between us didn't hinder a bit the perception of an awfully tense atmosphere that took place in there, following what I assumed was Erik arrival. So he hasn't been home...
"What do you think you are doing here?" He rudely demanded.
"I came here to..."
"You were not supposed to be here." His voice was flat, filled with deep hatred, and yet he appeared to be rather controlled.
Christine, this time not so gay, offered an explanation, "You gave me the key, remember? To the Rue Scribe entrance? I just thought you wouldn't mind me using it..."
Once again he was quiet, thinking over this fact he could not erase. "That was a long time ago."
Erik was being cold and distant. Was the sight of Christine in his house, totally vulnerable and loving towards him, so deliciously amazing?
"Erik..." she wrapped his name with such a luscious pronunciation that if he had taken her at that moment I could have done nothing but understand him completely. "I'm very sorry for what I did, and for not seeing who you really were. I came here to tell you that I need you by my side, I need you more than anything in this world...always and forever...my dearest angel...my Angel of Music..."
I instinctively buried my face in my hands, my fingers clinging to my hair and forehead, trying to protecting myself from that caustic dialog, professed in such a repugnant angelic and saccharine way. Irrational fury took over me, immobilizing. At that point my world seemed to have melted away, dissolved, leaving me there to witness my final defeat. But what was I waiting for? The play was over, the theater was empty, there was nothing to witness anymore.
Anger turned into overwhelming fear, and I wished that the torture chamber would be turned on and kill us at once, never mind how it worked, never mind what cruel devices it used, to release me from that humiliating situation. I had lived upon a hollow dream.
Against all odds, something else, first almost inaudible, and then disturbing loudly and resonating, freed me.
He was laughing!
That long uncanny laughter was unlike anything I had ever heard before. In the very beginning, it was pure disbelief, barely a snort. Gradually it took tones of simple entertainment, of something Erik was having immense joy in experiencing, and naturally only he had the reasons for that sort of dark humor. Then it was absolute derision, scornful and jeering, reinforcing the assumption that Erik had been well schooled through his life to act with perfection, every occasion finding his voice perfectly tuned to the circumstances. It reached an insane and dramatic crescendo, when I dreaded Erik had finally lost his already damaged common sense and any trace of consciousness.
At last it was plain sarcasm in its best form, again performed with a special technique that only years of training could achieve, for rarely I remembered Erik saying something devoid of some sort of irony or some sardonic remark.
"You laugh at me, my Angel?" She had come up with the courage to quietly ask, all her security being mercilessly destroyed, and I could tell she didn't know if she should fear for her pride or for her life now.
"No, my dear Christine, I wouldn't laugh at you, my precious child." His voice was mockingly tender, and extremely condescending, still shaken by occasional bursts of laughter.
"I'm simply noticing how ironic destiny is." He said carelessly.
"What do you mean?" She asked, confused.
"It's quite sad that you couldn't wait for one more day to reveal your feelings to me, my dear. It is sad, quite sad."
"Why?"
"Because then you would have kept that abhorrent Viscount of yours entertained tonight!" He exploded, and even I had to worry for Christine's safety as something crashed in the other room. And I had the oddest of intuitions...What difference would it make if the Viscount would have been busy this evening? It is true I wouldn't have...
Christine seemed somewhat offended by his assumption. "Monsieur, I think you are quite deceived in your thoughts about me! I'm not an entertainment for Raoul, I was..."
"I don't give a damn what you are to Raoul," he yelled at her, emphasizing each word. "I am getting tired of having you toy with Erik and Erik's plans! I'm getting god damned tired! "
Again madness distorted his rich voice, and he stressed, in a sour and cross whisper, "Very...tired..."
"I'm sorry!"
I got the picture on my mind of some terrible wild predator after a terrified and lost little lamb, struggling to find its way out of a trap it had gotten itself into.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Her despair was an immediate hint that something was going terribly wrong in there.
Silence was total. When Christine started to speak again, her voice trembled utterly, and their dialogues rose to a level of intensity and madness that clearly revealed to me what Erik had done - he had taken off his mask to disturb Christine.
"What? You came here to tell me you wanted me beside you, and you can't take this?" He asked laughing, tartly.
"Oh, but you ought to learn to love this, if you really want me. You must love what you are looking at, and you see, this is only the beginning. There will be many other things for you to learn, Christine."
Although furious, he seemed more sarcastic than hurt, as if he was taking great pleasure in leading Christine to loud sobs.
"Stop, Erik!" She pleaded with the little courage that was left to her. "It's not your face, Erik…You just scare me when you act angrily like that." She explained tearfully.
"Really? I'll keep that in mind." And he laughed again, maliciously.
But Christine opened her heart to him, in a belated effort, "Erik, I love you! I don't mind your face, I swear I love you! I love you more than I ever loved Raoul, I truly love you!"
Her confession rang in the air, and every life seemed to have frozen in that silence, as if her words were a sort of a spell. Not a single word was said either in the torture chamber or outside it. The Persian cast me a concerned look, once he had been part of that drama. But apparently it was at an end. The princess had said her lines; it was time for the prince to kiss her. It was up to Erik to decide the moment. But he did nothing, and said nothing. No laughing, not a kind reply, nothing. Just amazement. For some reason, this time it seemed like she had taken him completely aback. Perhaps the "love" word had its power, perhaps saying she needed him wasn't enough, but the word "love" made it real to him. Or perhaps it just led him to a final and unexpected conclusion, as I realized later...
For an endless instant, Erik wasn't capable of saying a word. But when he did, he was simple and certain. In a single firm sentence, he summarized his own drama.
"I don't want your love."
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